a.lFO/f OFCAllFOftfe, i 5ME11NIVER% ^vWSANCnfx^,^ '^c'Aavaani^ ^ %a3AiNn]W^ % g A>;lOSANCflf Or O '<>a3AiNn-3\^^^ ,\UIBRARY6>/, ^^lIBRARYQc ^OJITVOJO^ ^ '^mmm ^OFCAIIFO/?^ ^OFCAllFOff^ 5? ^ '0AaVJi8ll# ^c>Aava8n-^^ ^ so XNillBRARYOc ^^OJITVDJO'^ ,^WEUNIVEI?5"/A ^•lOSANCflfX^ %3AlNn3WV^ ^OFCAlIFOfi",)^ ,^WEUNIVERVa % ^•lOSANCElfjv o %AJlVaaiHN^ •0% ^OFCAllFO/?^^ ^(^AbVliaill^ 1WEI)NIVER% '^i'iiaDNVSOl^ .VlOSANCElfj> p , CO %a3AiNa]WV -Tl rS -n O ^lOSANCFlfx^ ■^/ia3MNn3\<^ ^lOSAVCflfXx o ^iiaAlNH-^WV ^.OFCAIIFO/?/]^ ^OFCALIFOI?^ £? :^ "^(^AavaaiH^ ^c'AavaaiH^ ^^^•IIBRARYQ<^ %OJI1V3JO^ A\^EUNIVER5'/A _ ^ o ^lOSANCElfj^ '^aaAiNn^uv' ^^OFCAllFOft^ AMEUNIVERi-//, o ^^Aavaaii^^ ^riuowsoi^ '^/^a3AiNn3WV .vWSANCElfjVv -r o -n W SOl^^ '^/5Ji3AINn3Wv inSANCElfx, ^^ ^IIIBRARYO^ ^illBRARYQA^ %03nv3-30^ '^.aodnvjjo'^' VALrUABLrE WORKS [Hecently Printed by J. & J. HARPEE, New-york, And for sale by the principal Booksellers tbrougliout the United States. PELHAM ; or, THE ADVENTURES OF A GEN- TLEMAN. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. [By the Author of 'The Disowned,' ' Devereux,' 'Paul Clifford,' and ' Falkland.'] [Stereot>T)ed.] '• If the most brilliant wit, a narrative whose interest neverfla^, and some pictures of the most riveting interest, can make a work popular, * Pelhani' will be as first rate in celebrity as it is in ex- cellence. The scenes arc laid in fashionable life." — Literary Gaz. THE DISOWNED. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. [By the Author of ' Pelham,' 'Devereux,' 'Paul Clifford,' and * Falkland.'] [Stereotyped.] '- We have examined * The Disowned,' and find it fully equal in plot, character, and description to Pclham; and vastly more philosophic and reflecting. It is by far the mostj intellectual fiction that we have seen fo^ a^lon? lime ; and in it may be found some of the finest maxims, and from it may be drawn some of the best moralsj for the guidance of the hunaan heart." — Mbion, DEVEREUX. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. [By the Author of ' Pelham,' ' The DisoAvned,' * Paul Clifford,' and ' Falkland.'] [Stereotyped.] "—The author "of * Pelham,* 'The Disowned,' and 'Devereux* possesses the most brilliant qjalifications of a succes^sful novelist.— His conceptioa of character is exquisite; his descriptive powers are unequalled ; he has wit, pathos, eners^', and discrimination in an eminent desree ; and ne is, moreover . ' :\tf. icholai*. In one part icular he is not surpassed by any writ er of the present or of any olhei iao ws-mcan the faculty of imparting deep and uncontrollable interest to his sto- ries." — N, Y. itfuvo* tnfl Oldies' Lit. Gazette. PAUL CLIFFORD. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. [By the Author of ' Pelham,' ' The Disowned,' Devereux,' and ' Falkland.'] [S(;ereotyped.] " *Paul Clifford' is the most original of all Mr. Bulwera works, and cannot fail to add largely to its writer's reputa'ion. for the man of the world, it contains shrewdness and satire: for the moralist, nxatter of deep thought; and for the young, all tlie interest of narrative and all the poetry of feeling."— 7^ AlUmu FALKLAND. A Novel. [By tne Author of ' Pelham,' ' The Disowned,' ' Devereux,'and ' Paul Clifford.'] [Ste- reotyped.] " In the powerful description of intense feelin? and passion, it does not fa*! snort of a^ robse- quent work of the same Author.'"— jYtio-Iorft MoJithly lievino. Works Recently Published. DAR NLE Y. A Novel. By the Author of " Richelieu.''* In 2 vols. 12mo. " Dirnley is a superior work, and will sustain the high reputation its author has already acquired." — New- York Mirror. " Its lanpiage is vigorous, its description vivid, and its conception of character calculated to attract the general reader, air. James takes in fcis work a higher tone than in ' Richelieu.' " Court Journal. SKETCHES OF IRISH CHARACTER. By Mrs. S. C. Hall. 12rao. ** The best book since ' Devereux' . . . These Sketcljes are much in the manner of Miss Mitford, with the additional merit of being more strictly correct in point of lilseness."— r/ic Mirror. WAVERLEY; or, 'Tis Sixty Years Since. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. Revised, corrected, and enlarged, by the Author. *** Harper's stereotype edition of Waverley contains upwards of thirteen thmisand words, lu alterations and additions, not in any former edition. BEATRICE ; a Tale founded on Facts. By Mrs. Hof- LANQ, In 2 vols. 12mo. * This is I work which may be read, with profit and pleasure, by every person, young or old, religiTjs or irreligious."— £xaminer. CONTRAST. A Novel. By Regina Maria Roche, author; of "The Children of the Abbey," &c. &c. In 2 vols. 12mo. " Who has not read the 'Children of the Abbey,' and who remembers not the delight It afforded in the earlier days of romance and youth? The present volumes are not found to detract from the writer's well-earned reputation.' The work is deeply interesting."— JVeio-Kor* Minor. LAWRIE TODD ; or, The Settlers in the Woods. By John Galt, Esq., Author of "The Annals of the Parish," " The Ayrshire Legatees," &c. In 2 vols. 12mo. " To the numerous admirers of Mr. Gait's previous works, we can confidently say, his youngest child is likely to share the general fate of the youngest — that of being a favourite." — Lit, Gazette* TRAITS OF TRAVEL. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. By the Author of "High- Ways and By- Ways." " To the materials of the traveller, Mr. Grattan has brought the imagination of the novelist. His works have a value equal to their amusement." — London Literary Gazette. WALDEGRAVE. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. "A clever and well wntten work. The story is well wroug-ht out, and is interesting. The dftscriptions of Italian scenery are very glowing and magnificent^" — The Timeji. THE ADVENTURES OF A KING'S PAGE. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12ino. Works Recently Published. STORIES OF A BRIDE. By the Author of « The Mummy." In 2 vols. 12mo. " We like these volumes exceedingly ; the narratives are very interesting ; the style it as graceful a? it is tpiritiul ; and the frame-work both novel and picturesque. The young heiress it cicellenlly drawn, and her falling in love is well managed This is a very- original, as well as amusing work, and one which we think will be universally liked for its piquancy and ani- mation." — Loituimi Literary Gazette. " These are ammated and very amusing Stories."— Court Journal, RYBRENT DE CRUCE. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12rao. " This Novel fa one of the most intelligent and interesting that the season has produced."— Cdtut Journal. " This is a very clever Novel.— The Author is one from whom we eicpect much entertainment." Literary Gazette, PRIVATE LIFE. A Novel. In 2 vols, i no. * Aclmtrable Tolumes, vith all po&sible claim to attention . . . . IMb a work of whose talent asd utility its author may be justly proud."— Xondon Literary Gazette. THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. An Historical Romance. In 2 vols. 12mo. " Tnese volumes contain one of the most faithful and delicate narralives that the whole library of English Romance can furnish. The plaintiveness, purity, and simplicity' of tlie diction, and the monastic quietness, the unatlected tenderness, and the repose of the incidents, must render thiji work a permanent favourite \\ith all readers of taste and feeling." — Atlas. "** The Last of Vie Plantagencts is written by one evidently master of his'subject, who must have turned over many a ponderous volume for the sake of the lighter, bat much more valuable ones before us."— iiJ. Gazette. STRATTON HILL. A Tale of the Civil Wars. In 2 vols. 12mo. *' There is a considerable share of talent displayed in these voltmies, and they also bear evidence of some research and industry. The scenes which the author has chosen for the location of his cliaracters and incidents, are new, and as yet untouched." — New-Yoi'k Mirror. —— " Very elegantly written — fortunate too, in having its author's haunted ground, Cornwall,, ui> trodden — blending historical information with antiquarian exactness — treating of a most excitiog period— we cannot but highly conmieud Stratton Hill. " — London Litaary Gazette. THE SCHOOL OF FASHION. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. " This production bears evidence of being written by a person well acquainted with the upper circles of life — is spirited, and an agreeable prod\ictiou for the lovers of romance; — it contautf many hints that ought not to be thrown away."— XiYerajT/ Gazette. " This novel originated in a conversation at one of the late soirees at Devonshire House, in which one of the parUes (a Countess) happening to say that in all the fashionable novels extant, the main features of high life had not been fully developed, was challenged to write a story hereelf. The fair lady undertook the ta^k acconiingly, and we are pleased in being able to ay, that in its performance, ihe has succeeded to admiration." — Times. TALES OF MILITARY LIFE. In 2 vols. 12mo. By the Author of " The Military Sketch Book." "The principal scene of this very striking narration is in Ireland, and the incidents are connect* ed with those stirring times in which the celebrated Emniet bore so conspicuous a part- The mysteries— the riots — the strange history of the hero, and the extraordinary nature of the charafr ters, irresistibly fir the attention of the reader; and while the military portion of the incidents is rendered prominent, the political and romuitic featiu'es assist in the general attraction and eflfect'." New Monthly Mi£azine, THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL, and AUCHIN- DRANE. By Walter Scott, Bart. 12mo. Works Recently Published. THE DENOUNCED. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. By the Author of " Tales by the O'Hara Family." THE OXONIANS. A Novel. In2vols. 12mo. By the Author of " The Roue." SOUTHENNAN. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. By Jolin Gait, Esq. Author of " Lavi^rie Todd," " The Aniials 'of the Parish," &c. &c. THE EXCLUSIVES. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. LIFE OF MANSIE WAUCH, Tailor in Dalkeith. 12mo. YESTERDAY IN IRELAND. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12rao. By the Author of " To-day in Ireland." ROMANCE OF HISTORY. Second Series. SPAIN. In 2 vols. 12mo. THE SUBALTERN'S LOG BOOK. A Novel. In 3 vols. 12mo. FOSCARINI. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. DE LISLE. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. HAJJI BABA. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. POSTHUMOUS PAPERS, Facetious and Fanciful, of a person lately about London. 13mo. THE ENGLISH AT HOME. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. By tlie Author of " The English in Italy," and " The English in France." NATURAL HISTORY OF INSECTS. Embellished with several hundred Engravings on wood. 18mo. OVID DELPHINI, and SMART'S HORACE. Cor- rect Editions. THE FAMILY LIBRARY. Several Numbers^f this valuable work are in press. COMPLETE WORKS of Dr. SAMUEL JOHNSON. With an Essay on his Life and Genius, by Arthur Mur- phy, Esq. In 3 vols. 8vo. [In Press.] Works Recently Published. CLOUDESLEY. A Novel. In 3 vols. ISrao. By the Author of " Caleb Williams," &c. " The new Novel of ' Cloudesley,' by this celebrated writtr, is admitted to be worthy of llif geoius. The subject is one of those rom'inces of real life which sometimes actually occur in so ciety, and surpass ihe inventioa of fiction. There is no writer who knows so well how to deal with these as Mr. Godwin; the denouement aud catasti-ophe of the present tale are, perhapij without parallel in their iiupressive character." — Chronicle, THE LOST HEIR ; and THE PREDICTION. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. " One of the best tolJ tales we have met with for some time. The Story is an excellent on^ and powerfully written.'' — Literary Gazette^ THE COUNTRY CURATE. By the Author of " The Subaltern." In 2 vols. 12mo. I* This is a book as soothing and consolatory, by the wilJuess and beauty of the spirit in which Ji is TVTitteo, as it is interesting by the force and vjgoxir of its descriptions, and the general tTHth and interest of tne materials of which it is composed."— S'/'eciafor. TALES OF THE WEST. By the Author of " Letters from the East," &c. In 2 vols. 12mo. "We have perused this work with much CTriiification. The lansTiage is chaste and impressWe— the portraits natuiul, and the descriptions vivid." — ^^civ-Tork Mirror. " The present tales have a freshness, a vividness of colouring, which are never to be found any where but ia the productions of Genius. The description of Rosemain's escape from the captured smuggler's ship would not disgrace ihe peuof Scott himself.''— freeA^y Review. TALES AND SKETCHES. By a Country School- master* In 1 voL 12mo, " This is the production of a man of vigorous and healthy understanding, |ood sense, shrewd ob* •ervation,and much practical knowledge of the world and its fashions. His descriptions of rural scenery are peculiarly graphic, vivid, and poetical, and his conception of character, particularly fe male character, beautifiil. In tbis item of authorship, our pedagogue is superior to Cooper ; in hia nautical descriptions nearly or quite equal." — A'. F. Minor, STORIES OF WATERLOO, and other Tales. In 2 vols. 12mo. These are two volumes of beautiful 'ales, written in language the most elegant, with narratiTei of extreme interest, yet simple and latural. PEACE CAMPAIGNS OF A CORNET. A Novel- In 2 vols. 12mo. *' It is full of stories, and told in exactly that manner which will render it highly popular. Itg adventures of humour and fun— its anecdotes— iis practical jokes — and its personal quizzes and caricatures are very amusing,andfuruishnia'tcriormuch pleasant reading." — Lon. Wuhly Sxtiew* ST. VALENTINE'S DAY; or, THE FAIR MAID OF PERTH. Being S^^cond Series of " Chronicles of Canongate." By the Auiiorof Waverley. 2vols. 12mo. ALMACK'S REVISITED; or, HERBERT MILTON. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. APICIAN MORSELS. A Comical Work. With Cuts. 12ino. Works Recently Pubhshea* THE HISTORICAL WORKS of the Rev. WILLUM ROBERTSON, D.D.; comprising his HISTORY of AMERICA; CHARLES V.; SCOTLAND, andlNDI A. In 3 vols. 8vo. Embellished with Plates. Harper's edition of these valuable standard works is far superor, in every rcBpect, to any other edition ever pubhslted id Ihis country ; aud is to be preferred to Jones's DDiversity edition, as the type is larger, the printing and piper are equally good, and tliey are sold for less than the cash price of tb^t coadeufied edition. £ach volume is a separate history in itnell'; aod may be porchaseA •epajately) or bound uxiifonuly with the other volumes iu sets. GIBBON'S HISTORY of the DECLINE^ andTFALt of the ROMAN EMPIRE. In4vols. 8vo. With Plates. Harper's edition of Gibbon's History is stereotyped, and great care has been taien to render i' correct and perfect. The dates originally introduced by the author are preserved in the Tabltw • Contents prefixed to the Volumes, and also embodied lu the text. This will render tho pr^^^f edition decidedly preicrable to the English edition in foux volumes, as in the latter the dates afh' Tables of Contents axe entirely omitted. HOOPER'S MEDICAL DICTIONARY. From the last London Edition. With Additions, by Samuel Aker- ly, M.D. 8vo. In order to render this stereotjrpe edition of Hooper's Medical Dicthnary mnre acceptable to Che medical public of the United States, considerable additions have been made, paLrticuUrly on Materia JVIedica, Mineralogy, Botuiy, Chemistry, Biography, ic. &c. GOOD'S (Dr. John Mason) STUDY OF MEDICINE. In 5 vols. 8vo. A new edition (Oct. 1829). With addi- tions by Samuel Cooper, M.D. "Dr. Grood's extensive reading and retentive niemery enaole him to enliven the most common •lementary aetails, by interweaving curious, uncou.mon, or illustrative exainplea in almost every page. — Wf have no hesitation in pronouncina; the work, beyond all cooiparistm, ttio best of the kinl in the English lauguage. With the naval, the military, the provincial, and Ihr colonial practitioner, the worlt before us ought at once to supersede the uiacicnli& compilation of Dr. Thomas — and A will do io,"~Medico-Ckirurg. Kevicio, THE BOOK OF NATURE ; bemj? a popular Illustra- tion of the general Laws and Phenomena of Creation, iu its Unc organized and Organized, its Corporeal and Mental Departments. By John Mason Good, M.D. and F.R.S. In one vol. 8vo. " — tte work js ccrtsiulv the best philosophical digest of tho kind which we have seen." London Monthly Raiiite, GIBSON'S SURVEYING. Improved and enlarged. By James Ryan, Teacher of Mathematics, &c. 8vo. HISTORICAL VIEW of the LITERATURE of the SOU'I'H OF EUROPE. By M. De Sismondi. Trans- lated from the Original, witli Notes. By Thomas Ros- coe, Esq. In 2 large vols. 8vo. "This is a valuable ahd inltri-slinR wiTk. It preaenlsa bmad and general view of (hefiHtnd jroKTess of iiio'lcni liientturc, «liith will he read by those Who arc uiuafornie4 oo ti« subjeol Wllil efjual gi-aiilicatiou acd iiriprovemcat." — New Timet Works Recently Published. THE HISTORY OF THE JEWS: (Nos. I. H. & HI. of the Family Library.) By the Rev. H. H. Milman. In 3 volumes, l8mo. Illustrated with original Maps and Woodcuts. * The Editors have been most fortimate in enga^ng on this work the pen of a scholar, both classical and scriptural, and so eleg^ant and powerful a writer, as the Foetry Professor. Few theolo- gical works of this order have appeared either in ours or in any other language. To the ChristiMi reader of every age and sex^and we may add of every ject — 'i will -ja a source of tlie purest de- light, instruction, and Lomtort : and ot llie iufii«e!s who open it nitrely *•*%{ they may not remain Id ignorance of a work placed by general consent in the rank of an English classic, is there not every reason tn hope that many will lay it down in a far diilerent mood ?'' Blackwoo(Va Masaxine., " Though the subject is trite, the manner of treating it is such as to command our deepest atten tion. While the work has truth and simplicity rnou^h to fascinate a child, it is written with a masterliness of the subject and an elegance of composiiion that will please tlie most refined auil fafltidious reader."— £iii»6. Saturday's Post. "The most pr.pular history of the sons of Israel that has hitherto been published. The highest euconium we can pass upon the work under notice is to urge its purcl.ase, from a conviction of its striking and permanent worth." — Berkshire Chronicle, "The woik is admirably adapted for the instmction of youth." — Sheffield Courant. "We are acquainted with no work which we can more heartily recommend to our readers; to the younger part of them especially, we are sure it will [,rove a most acceptable present." Literary Gazette. "TJ« narrative of the various and highly interesting events in that period flows on in a chaste style; and a Uiorough knowledge of his suLJ^ct is eviden* in every page. The work is spirited well arranged, and full of information, and of a wise and well cultivated religious spirit." AthcnsEum. " It is not too much to say, that to the Christian reader, of every age and sex, it will be a source of the purest delighf, instruction, and comfort." — Cork Scrathern R/iporter, " It is one cf those rare publications which unite all the attraction of novelty, and all the beantie* of finished and spirited composition. — We cannot close without strongly recommending the His- tory of the Jews as a work equally enter*aiiiing to age and instructive to youth, alie acceptable *o the ignorant, and to be perused with pleasure by the learned."— Tyn* Afercury. THE EXCLUSIVES. A Novel. In 2 vols. 12mo. ** * The Exc'usives' will excite more attention than any work of a similar class has done since 'Tremaine.' It will do this for several reasons; partly from its name— still more from the curiosity which has been raised respecting the alleged eminent station of its writer— but most of all from its intrinsic qualities and characteristics. ■ The Exctusives' is emphatically, and ' exclu- sively,* a picture of fashionable life in the present day. It is written with great general ability with a fine sense of the mixed motives of human action, sf> far as its obseri-atioiia extend with a sufficient iusisjht into thp leading and permanent passions and affecuDns of the hi^art — with a per- fect knowledge of tlie society in which all its scenes P'e placed— and finally, with an air of supe* riority over all the matters which compose tliose scenes, and the persons who frequent them." Court Journal, THE RIVALS. A Novel. By the Author of « The Collegians,''^ &c. In 2 volumes, 12mo. " For touches nl ^euuine pathos, simplicity, acd mist hislily-wron^ht interest, wc make ctm- ti^n if any thin? of •he kuid ever took precfdeiicy nf the .sinries of this writer ; and their e'ffect n.ust be to raise their voung author high in ttie raiili of illustrious names, nov securely established ill the records of literature, and highest of all in the annals of precocious genius." " We canntt help saying, that we consider these Tales as among the most deeply interesting of contemporary roirances.'* " Tliev place their author on a level with the most spirited painter of national maauen in our language.'-^Fiiie iitcroiT/ Gazette, 2'iines,Jtlas, Traveller, he. &C. LAWRIE TODD; or, The Settlers in the Woods. By John Gait, Esq. Auth'trof "The Annals of the Parish," " The Ayrshire Legatees," &c. In 2 vols. 12ino. ^ To the numerous admirers of Mr. Gait's previous works, we can confidently saj, his youngest child is likely tu s^iare'the general fate of the youngest — that of being a favourite.'* — LiU GazetU, Works Recently Published. DOMESTIC DUTIES; or Instructions to Married Ladies. By Mrs, William Parkes, In 1 vol. 12rao» [Stereotyped.] "The Toliune before us is one of those practical works, vrhich are of real value and utilify. It is a perfect vade niecum tor the married lady^ who may resort to it on all questions of household economy and etiquette— There is nothing omitted with which it behooves a lady to be ac- quainted." — New Monthly Mag, THE COOK'S ORACLE, AND HOUSEKEEPER'S MANUAL. By William Kitchiner, M.D. Adapted to the American Public, by a Medical GGiitlenian. I2mo. [Stereotyped.] " This is a very good book — not calculated, as many may suppose, to promote luxury and excess in eatine, but imparting information that will enable housekeepers to diminish their ex- penses, while they add to their enjoyments." — N. F. American. "Dr. Kitchiner's Manual, combining, as it does, for every rank of life, all that is useful in domestic arran^emejits, with much that is aniusmg, will, we venture to say, be in possession of every one that can possibly obtain it. The poor mau will stion gnin from its maxims of frugality more thai! its cost, and the rich will find its price tenfold in the increased delicacies of his table." jV. T. Courier at^ Enquirer, ENGLISH SYNONYMES, with copious Illustrations and Explanations, drawn from the best Writers. By George Crabb, M.A. A new Edition, enlarged. 8vo. [Stereotyped.] "The work is valuable to every reader j but it is precious to tlie student, and almost indifr. pensable to the public writer." — N'. Y. Merc Adv% LIFE OF LORD BYRON. By Thomas Moore, Esq. In 2 vols. 8vo. With a Portrait. [Stereotyped.] " This is the best piece of biography of modern days, not excepting Southey'sXife of Nelson, or Lockbat's splendid biography of BarasJ'^—Blackwood^s Magazine. THE HISTORICAL WORKS of the Rev. WILLIAM ROBERTSON, D.D. ; comprising his HISTORY of AMERICA; CHARLES V.; SCOTLAND, and INDIA. In 3 vols. 8vo. Embellished with Plates. [Stereotyped.] Harper's edition of these valuable standard Trorks is far superior, in e\er^ respect, to any other edition ever published in this country ; and is to be preferred to Jones's University edition, as tb« type is larger, the printing aud paper are equally ;;nod, and they are sold for less than the cish price of that condensed edition. Each voluiiie is a separate history iu itself; and may be purctiased separately, or boimd uniformly with the other volumes in sets. GIBBON'S HISTORY of the DECLINE and FALL of the ROMAN EMPIRE. In 4 vols. 8vo. With Plates. [Stereotyped.] Harper's edition of Gibbon's Hisinry is stereotyped, and great care has been taken to render it correct and perfect. The dates originally in(rnduce/i \>y the author are preserved in the TaWes of Contents prefixed to the Vidutnes, and also imhodied in the text. This will render the present clition decidedly preferable to the English edition in four volumes, as in the latter (be dates and Tables of Contents axe entirely omitted. COOPER'S SURGICAL DICTIONARY. In 3 vols. 8vo. Greatly improved and enlarged by the Authort [Stereotyped.] Recently revised by Mr. Cooper, and contains above two hundred paget^of matter eiitire\y original} begidGS aumcrous notes from American Surgeon*. Works Recently Published* GOOD'S (Dr. John Mason) STUDY OF MEDICINE. In 5 vols. 8vo. A new edition. With additions by Samuel Cooper, M.D. *'Dr. Good's extensive reading and retentive memory enable him to enliven the most common elementary details, by in'erweaving curious, uncomnmn, or illusirative examples in almost every page.— We have no hesitation in pronouncing the work, beyond all comparison, the best of the kind in the English language. Wilh the nival, the militar>-, the provincial, and the colonial practitioner, the work befoie us ought at once to supersede the unscientific compilation of Dr. XhomLas— and it will do so." — MedicO'C'hirurg. Review. THE WORKS of the Rev. JOHN WESLEY, A.M. With his LIFE, Complete in 10 vols. 8vo. From the last London Edition. With a Portrait. These Works should form a part of every Christianas library ; and to the Methodist they are in- dispensable. The Sfrmons are comprised in three volumes— the Miscellaneous Works aXso la thvee volumes — and the Journal in four volumes. Each Work may be obtained separately. PRESENT STATE OF CHRISTIANITY, and of the Missionary Establishments for its Propagation, in all Parts of the World. Edited by Frederic Schoberl. 12mo. Schoberl's work on the " Present State of Christ ianitj'" is highly spoken, of, and contains a com- ptJdimji of Missionary exertions from the earliest ages ot Christianity to the present times. It is a work which maybe consulted with advantage by all denominaiious; as it is written with a truly Christian spirit, and gives dus credit to every sect for their exertions and labours. The work is concise, giving a summary, or the result, of Missionary labours in all parts of the world, and con- tains the muitum i/i parvo, LETTERS FROM THE jEGEAN. By James Emer- son, Esq. In 1 vol. 8vo. 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" These works are a prnurl testimony, not only to the sisterly love of these ladies, but to thof high attainments.'* — New-York Mirror. THE BARONY. A Novel. .In] 2 vols. 12mo , By Miss Anna Maria Porter. " This is a delightful work— it will be, and deservet to be, lughly popular." — IM. Gazettt, FRANCE IN 1829—30. BY LADY MORGAN, AUTHOR OF "FRANCE" (in 1816), "ITALY," "LIFE AJVD TIMES OF SALVATOR ROSA," &c. &c. &c. Prance is acquainted with her rights, and well knows how to defend them y— Lafayette. IN TWO V0LL3IES. VOL. I. NEW- YORK : PRjyTED BY J. 4- J. HARPER, 82 CLIFF-STREET. SOLI) ny luLLlNS AND HANNAY, COI.MNS AND CO.,0. AND C. AND H. CARVILI , O.A. ROORBACH, WHITE, UALLAHER, ASD WHITE, A. T. GOODRICH, W. B. GU.I.EY, K. BUSS, <;. s. FRANCIS, o. c. mor(;an, m. Bancroft, w. burgess, n. b. HOt.MKs, M'ELRATn AND 8ANOS,E B. CLAYTON, J. K. BETTS, ANDJ. T. K. PORTER ; — ALB.X..VY, <). STJfl.E \Nn LITTLE AND ClMi\lINi;s. 1830. TO THE C^ GENERAL COMMANDANT OF THE NATIONAL GUARD, TO GENERAL LAFAYETTE, TUE rOLLOWIXO SKETCH OF THE STATE OF SOCIETY IN PRANCE, A (;oNDrnoN, in part, the result of his own great EXAMPLE AND NATIONAL INFLUENCE ; W rru WHICH HIS illustrious name WILL BE ASSOCIATED TO THE LATEST POSTERITY, IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, a HIS FRIEND AND SERVANT, THE AUTHOR. 321850 PREFACE. The following pages arc transcribed from a journal, circumstantially kept, during a visit to France. In most instances, the original entries have been retained in all their first freshness and integrity. In a few, the im- portance of the subject has required a more reflected consideration, and has obtained it. In all, the impressions have been preserved, as they were received : not an item has been changed in the inventory since it was drawn,, though some of the articles may have been polished for public exhibition. Having left Ireland in the dark moment which preceded the bright rising of her great political day, — after lingering there, till hope delayed had made the heart sick, — we went abroad in search of sensations of a more gracious nature than those presented by the condition of society at home. It matters not whether any preconceived intentions of au- thorship influenced the journey ; a second work on France can be alone justified^by the novelty of its matter or by the merit of its execution. It may serve, however, as an excuse, and an authentica- tion of the attempt, that I was called to the task by some of the most influential organs of public opinion, in that great country. They relied upon my impartiality (for I liad proved it, at the expense of proscription abroad, and persecution at home) ; and, desiring only to be represented as they are, they deemed even my humble talents not VI PilEFA.CE. wholly inadequate to an enterprise, whose first requisite was the honesty that tells the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. This I have done to the full extent of n)y own convictions, and to the utmost limit of the sphere of my observation : I answer for no more. I am indebted to Sir C. Morgan for the articles on Philosophy, the Public Journals, Primogeniture, and Public Opinion. S. M. Duhlm, Juw, 1830. CONTENTS THE FIRST VOLUME. I'afre Notre Dame de Calais . 9 L'Aubergc . • ■ . . 13 Pas de Calais . .... 14 Barriere de la Villette 16 The Rue Rivoli— Hotel de la Tcrrasse 19 Our first days in Paris — Old friends 22 Old and New Paris • 25 General LaXayelte . 32 An^'loniania .... 48 Royalism (in 1829) . 53 The " Congregation" ... 55 Perfumery — Magazin de Felix Iloubigant — Chardin 57 The Count de Tracy . 60 Ball at the Eniilish Emb assy .... 65 The Count de Segur . . 68 Romanticists and Classicists .... 73 Modern Literature ..... 98 French Philosophy 116 French Sculpture . 127 Mornings at Paris 134 Le Fevre 145 The Protestant Pope . . 150 Madame Jacotot 154 Furniture . 156 Au Grand Voltaire . 158 Readers and Authors . •160 French Dandies . 164 VUl COKTKKTS. Page Tortoni's • 167 Public Opinion in 1829 171 The Giraffe . 193 Gerard — Le Sacra du R,oi Charles X. . . . 195 Societe Philoteclinique . . . . . . 198 Beranger — Visit to La Force .... . 205 Private Collections . . . . ". . . 213 Society — Exchisives . . . . . .218 Horticultural Institutions — Fremont . . . ^ 219- FRANCE, &c. NOTRE DAME DE CALAIS. Oh ! the delicious burst of agreeable sensations ! It was for this a Roman emperor, in the plenitude of his power, ofibred a premium, and oftered it in vain. Were I to'write a receipt for its acquirement, it should run thus: — First, take up your residence, for any given time, in " the most unhappy country that is under heaven ;" then devote to its interests all your sympathies, to its cause all your talents ; draw upon yourself the persecution of one party, without se- curing the protection of another; get sick of exhaustless dis- cussions upon long- exhausted subjects ; get satiated with party watchwords, applied to the purposes of personal pre-eminence ; become disgusted, or indignant (according to your tempera- ment), with petty intrigues and semi-civilized views ; and when the horizon looks darkest, and the storm rages loudest ; when the vessel you have seen nearly within hail of port, seems sud- denly dashed back among the breakers, leaving hope forlorn, and exertion without forther motive, then — " cut the painter," escape as you may, upon raft or hen-coop, reach, as fast as you can, a foreign shore, and mingle with another population, congregated under other institutions. Be the transition rapid, the contrast striking — site, scene, and climate, all novel and opposed — change the bitter bise of a northern spring, for the heavens all blue^ and air all balm, of a southern region. In a word, leave Ireland in its worst of times and worst of weather, and get to France in t!ie happiest epoch of both, when the season and the people (alike fresh from the toucli of regene- ration) give the best aspect of the moral and the natural world ; and then {probatum est) you will enjoy that new pleasure, for which imperial magnificence offered its reward, and offered it without success. This delicious burst of sensation I am now enjoying, in the fjrst flutter of an escape from Ireland, and arrival in Calais, 10 NOTRE DAME DE CALAIS. What a delightful place (by-the-by) this Calais is ! (for I take it for granted, that I am not mistaking internal disposition for external object:?.) " After Calais," says Horace Walpole, while writing from Italy, " nothing surprises me." Calais surprised Doctor Johnson too ! The genial Yoricks, and the saturnine Smell-funguses have alike paid their tribute, and lighted a taper, at the shrine of Notre Dame de Calais ; and all British travellers, who for the first time have left their boxes of brick, and faces of phlegm, to see houses that are not boxes, and faces that are not phlegmatic, have never failed to be astonished, if they have refused to be pleased. But that /should be delighted, and for the fifth time 1 and with Calais too ! — the limbo of British insolvency in feeling and in foi-tune — the asylum of worn-out passions and exhausted purses — the last retreat of dandies who are done up, and of millionnaires in misery, — the lascia-speranza of beaux and beauties, where B s go to vegetate, and Hamihons to die !* But there is no mistaking the evidence of sensation ; and so here I am surprised and de^ lighted with Calais all over again ; just as I \vas when I reached it, for the first time, in 1816, and stood entranced before the gold ear-rings and three-cocked hats of the most awful of custom-house officers. Apropos, these officers are more civil,, without being less strict than they used to be. There is less of that ruflianly display of power, which all the familiars of oflice in France exhibited, on the first reaction of the restoration, to [)rove their questionable fidelity, and dubious adhesion to the new order of things. The zeal of girouettism is now probably falling iiito disuse, with the costume of the old r{'ginie ; for one of the doiiaiiiers, instead of the customary cocked hat, actually wore thixt bonnet du petit caporcd^] which fourteen years ago was a badge of disloyalty, and something like a signal for proscription. As we walked from the custom-house 1o our inn, we had to stem the full tide of the female population of the town ; so, instead of running against it, we did more wisely than we ever did before — we turned with it. It brought us to the church of Our Lady of Calais. The vesper bell was tolling, the vesper * Here also died the beautiful and too-celebrated Dutchess of King- ston, She had purchased some property in Calais, which she was de- sirous of bequcatliing to licr friend tlie commandant of tlie town; but by the wording of the will, she left it to the olficcr, and not to the man ; and the military commander of Calais, for the time being, enjoys her legacy unto this day. + So called, from being occasionally worn by Napoleon in his cam^ paigns. XOTRE DAME DE CALAIS. II Iiymii was commencing, and the vesper toilette was in full re- quisition and perfect uniformity. All the fair pilgrims were dressed in the conventional costume of blue ribands and black mantles; /oMr«M/*e French ; petticoats, short ; heads, high ; a missal in every hand, and a rosary on every arm. All talked loud, and even " the little children talked French,'' to the sur- prise of some of our party, as of Doctor Johnson ; but French, oil il n''-7j-avoit mot de Dieii.^^* Nothing appeared less devo- tional than the mood of these votaries. As we drew aside the heavy curtain of the portals of this ancient pile, the spectacle was very striking, imposing, and picturesque. The sun poured a shower of many-coloured lights through the fine, painted casements ; and slirines, altars, and candelabras, shone in the bright reflection of their vivid tints. The deep peal of the organ was rolling through the vastness of the edifice. The atmosphere was still breathing of incense ; the officiating ministers, with their white-robed attendants, were moving solemnly and mysteriously, with fre- quent genuflexions, in front of the great altar, which terminated the perspective. The awe and surprise of our Irish footman (a worthy son of his church), who walked after us, was very obvious. How imposing the first view of a catholic temple, in a catholic country, must be, to a poor Irish papist, who knows nothing of the exterior splendours of his religion, beyond the tarnished stole of its laborious priest, and the tawdry orna- ments that deck the rude altars of some mud cabin, conse- crated by the cross stuck in the thatch I The abbey-church of Nutre Dame de Calais was crowded to its choir, with a female congregation, coming in and going out, and scattering round tlie holy water, with fingers as care- less as their looks. The ('life, more composed (as the elite' should be), occupied chairs, which they jocked to and fro, with a vibratory motion of their'smart heads, and a wandering glance of their bright eyes, which, truth to tell, v;ere fixed upon every object in turn, save the book they held in their hands. We came in for our share of looks, and smiles, and whisperings ; while the Swiss (just as I left him fourteen years ago), all pomp and importance, baudricr] and buttons, cocked hat, and '^ Where there was no word of Heaven. — Madame de Sivigni. t To the unlearned in such mattors, it may be necessary to explain, that the rigorous costume of a French church-boadle is of more ancient date than the " plain, honest, homely, industrious, wliolcsome, bro'^vn" or blue habiliments, of the protestaut functionary of the same denomi- nation ; so formidable in the eyes of our parish urchins. The " Suisse,'''' 12 KOTRE DAME DE CALAIS. gold-headed cane, at once " marked us for his own," and, with his wand of office, beckoned us to approach. Solemnly ap- plying liis keys to the door of a lateral chapel, he began his office of cicerone, by pointing to a flaring, staring picture, for which lie bespoke our admiration, by the assurance that it was a Coreggio. " A Coreggio!" I reiterated, with a foolish face of praise, " I should have taken it for a Raphael."' " Coreggio, oti Raphael,''' he replied, " c'est ^gale, 'tis equally a fine picture." A group of saiiling.arch girls, who sat near to where we stood, burst into an ill-stifled titter, of which the Swiss and ourselves were the evident objects. ^^Ccst un beau saint, Madame, que voild," muttered one of the joyous band, as we passed. " And are all your saints as handsome as that, Mademoi- selle ?" I asked. '■^Mais tons, tons,''' replied the group, eagerly, and laughing ; " demandez d Monsieur le Suisse.''' Monsieur le Suisse extended his staff, with a " silence, Mes- detnoiselles,'^ and motioned us on, to other chef d''(£iim'es of equal value, and equal authenticity. What particularly struck me in the congregation was, that, with the exception of a few old men, who looked either poor or infirm, it was so exclusively female. 1 remarked the circum- stance, afterward, to a gentleman of the town, who replied, with an ironical smile, Madame, nous sommes indignes, nous autres.'"* " But I remember (I said) seeing the military, the autho- rities, and many others of the male population, assisting at ves- pers, when I first visited Calais." " And when was that, Madame ?" • -"In 1818." " A la bonne heure! But we are not now in 1816. This is the year 1829." as he is called, derives his outward man, very probably, from the time when the sons of Helvetia were first appointed to jruard the gates of the French nobility. His coat is of the oldest cut of livery, and garnished with its foil compliment of worsted lace ; over which is passed,'- garter- * wise," a broad embroidered sword-belt, (the above-mentioned baudricr), of sufficient length to suspend a slight fencing sword transversely across the calf of his leg. What a strange amimai is man I —to think that this preposterous niascarade should have survived the storms of the revo- lution, in which the tithes were swamped ; and that beadles should have exhibited a greater tenacity of life than mitred abbots and feudal chiefs ! * " We men are unworthy," [ 13] L'AUBERGE. On the first view of our hotel, I exclaimed, " How French !'' There were the court and its treillage, its vine and its liber- nuni, and its kitchen on the ground-iloor, with its bright bat- terie shining through the scarlet geraniums of its open win- dows. There were the black eyes and white caps, popping in and out of its many doors ; and the ruins of an old dili- gence, with its tackle of ropes, enjlute, under the old remise ; and the good-humoured host, with his military air, and the graceful hostess, with the manners of a well-bred lady, (for in France the men are all gentlemen, and the women all la- dies, — the universal courtesy incidental to a genial tempera- ment). This was my first impression : my second extorted the -jexclamation of " How English !" Not a sanded floor, nor a sullied parquet are now visible. Notliing but English car- pets, and English cleanliness ; English delf and English da- mask ; not a rag of the old huckaback left, which seemed formerly to serve the double purposes of bed and table. The ostler, too, speaks English to our servant, with all the classic slang of " Lad-lane," or the "Golden Cross." The ^a/"- ron cries, " coming up ;" and the tea and muffins are worthy of the Talbot at Shrewsbury. An horn, too ! not the " crack, crack, crack !" of old associations, but a " reg'lar" mail-coach horn ; the " f>ang-up," from Bou- logne, cantering into the yard, with horses curvettino-, and not a hair turned— a whip, that " tips tlie silk" like a feather — " ribbons," not ropes — a coachman, all capes and castor — a guard that cries " all right" — and the whole " turn out," worthy of the four-in-hand club ! Not a jack-boot, aot a queue, not a powdered tovpte left : nothing to ridicule, no- thing to blame. " Il-n\i/-a plus de Py rentes /" The age of tourists and of chivalry is alike over. What luck to have written my France, while France was still so French .' Vol. I.— 2 [ 14] PAS DE CALAIS. But, for the Napoleon column to the left, (a monument of recollections, beyond the parallel of all former records of his- tory,) one miglit take the route between Calais and Bou- logne, particularly as the latter town is approached, for the road between London and Brighton. A number of yeiuths of both sexes, galloping their horses along the strand, in the cavalry costume of Hyde Park, recalled, by force of contrast, a Picardy lady, whom I once saw riding out from the upper town, (like the picture of Madame de Montespan going to a rendezvous de chasse, dressed en cava- lidre,) and her groom with a cocked hat and jack-boots be- side her ; but this was in 1810. 'J'hen, what smart gigs, and natty dennets come rolling on ! an Irish jaunting-car ! (This is really " too bad.") A barouche full of mothers, fhildren, and nursery-maids — " a terrible sight" in any coun- try, and in France an anomaly. A baker's taxed cart gives the go-by to a drsohligeant with three coronets, the " avant, ■pendant, and ap7'i't>," distinctions of some official of the ar- rondissement, who is taking his morning's drive, in all the pomp and circumstance of successful raiting. In the envi- rons of Boulogne, " cottages of gentility," with white walls, and green shutters, and neat offices (opening to the^road, in all the glitter of brass harnesses, and highly-varnished equi- ])ages,) rival the diversified orders of the Wyatvilles of Is- lington and llighgate. English neatness and propriety prevail on every side ; as if the isle, " frightened from its propriety" at home, had come to recover it here. Is there iiothinf French, then, out of London, where every shop is a " magazin,'' and every article labelled by the vocabulary of the Rue Vivienne ? Yes ; here is the old fortified town of France, with its once impregnable walls, and picturesque towers ; and in the remotest distance, beyond the dark woods, are the gleaming turrets of former feudality. The sharp, pure air, too, is French, and the bright blue sky, without a cloud to dim its lustre, save one long line of dense, dark vapour, hovering over the waveless sea, and marking the track of a -ressel, which, without wind or tide, gallantly enters the port, while hundreds of spectators stand watching and hailing its •xpected arrival, at the given hour. PAS DE CALAIS. 15 In this vessel lies the secret of much of the change and im- provement visible on the threshold of France, as it is in most parts of Europe. Facility of communication, safety, cer- tainty, the mastery over space and time, (that glorious conse- quence of science,) unimpeded by the superstition that once made the discovery of a truth the signal for persecution, and the happiness of the many subservient to the unrestricted power of the few. — these are the regenerators, the great conciliators betvveen free England and liberal France, the bonds of union between nations, which defeat and neutral- ize unholy alliances of conspiring despots. How I longed, in the impetuosity of my Irish feelings, to fling a stone, and raise a cromlech on the spot, where impressions of such hap- py augury for the happiness of mankind were awakened ! But the only elevated spot, suited to such a monument, was already occupied. It lay to the left, where an artificial mound was crowned by a gigantic crucifix, wreathed and garlanded with withered flowers, the limbs transfixed wilh nails, the breast laid open, and a bleeding heart, anatomical- ly faithful in its delineation, all exposed, to scare the eye, and to sink the spirit of the spectator.* This token of the revived worship of the " sacre coeur,'' the signal of the resuscitated order oC the teachers of bad faith,-]- seemed like a finger-post erected by the " powers that be," to point out their intention of restoring that state of things which it has cost millions of lives to destroy. What a contrast ! On one side, the nineteenth century, with all its glorious conquests over error and ignorance, its triumphant progress towards the improvement of the species. On the other, the dark ages of suffering and of superstition, Avheii the wheel was raised, and the fagot lighted, to punish truth and to repress amelioration ; when science pined in its dun- geon for denying the movement of the sun, and philosophy was chained to the galleys for doubting of the categories of Aristotle.:;: * This is not to be confounded with the ordinary emblem of Cbrist- ianity in Catliolic countries. It is the symbol of Jesuitism, the engine of rijligidus fraud, and of political tyranny. t The Jesuits of St. Acheul have set uji this monstrous image in al- most every village in their neighbouriiood. J Mucli more recently, a Baron do Zuch was arrested, tried, and ese- cuted at Turin, for having published that the earth moves round the sun. At the present day, efforts are still made in Rome to prevent tha tenchiui;, either verbally or in print, of the Copernican doctrine. Lit- tle did the good people of England think, when they were scatlerinj; 16 BAEEIEKE DE LA VILETTE. This spectacle, which to us seemed fitted to seize on the imagination and " grieve the heart," produced not any ap- parent effect upon the natives. Pedestrians and horsemen, comers and goers, all passed on witii outward indifference — heedless of the fate of La Barre.* Not a knee bowed, not a hat moved, not a sign was made in token of recognition. All eyes, all heads were turned to the shore, and followed the vessel, which without sail or oar, won its mysterious way through the waters, with all the punctuality of the post ; tri- umphing over the caprice of tides, for which no man now waits, as they wait for no man. We took these contrasted incidents, on the first stage of our journey, as omens of good augury : — nous verrons. RARRIERE DE LA VILETTE. "What, not enter Paris by the Port St. Denis ! Break up all our old associations, disappoint all reminiscences And origi- nal impressions ! " Helas /" said the witty Vicomte de Segur, apropos to the revolutionary abandonment of petiis souperSy " Oil vi'a gate mon Parw."f This barriere de la Vilette was formerly a terra incognita to us " posters by the sea and land." La Rue Charles X. spick and span new, looks like a fragment of Regent Street, sent over by Mr. Nash, as a spe- cimen of the domestic architecture of a free country. The houses are small enough for exclusive proprietors — the homes of constitutional citizenship, not the old hotels of despotic rule, vast and comfortless as eastern caravanserais, and des- tined pretty much to the same purposes of lodging prince and pauper under the same roof, with all the intermediate grades of various privileges and no rights. Troltoirs, too ! to pre- serve the lives and limbs of humble pede:e to the bed-rooms. Pierre threw open another folding door, and did the honoins of a whole nest of rooms, wliich had each a little camp-like bed in it. " But there are no toilets," I said; The term, misapplied to a dressing table, was not in Pierre's vocabulary. I ex- plained ; and he pointed to a fihe old, dusky mirror, over (he lofty chimney-piece, with an antique, embroidered pin- cushion dangling from a candle-branch ; and then, to a bulh conmiode, on the marble slab of whicii was deposited a small dclf salnd dish, and a pint carafe, of muddy water, (the only -preparations for.dress in the suite) ; " T'oi/ti,'' he said, " tout re {/ii'd faul jjoiir la loilctfe de jnadamc'^- i at last begged a carpet. " JTn tapis ! IScigneur Diev ! a carpet to hide out this * " An inlaid floor" — universal in tlic best apartments of a Trcncli bouse. j " Here is everj thing necessary for your toilet."' THE Rl'E DE RIVOLI. 21 beautiful parquet ! Does Madame know why the English use carpets ? — Because they have no parquets /" " If you have no carpets," I replied, " we cannot stay with you." "'A/i / c'est une autre chose,'''' said Pierre ; and ilying out with incredible celerity, returned with an ancient piece of tapestvy, which represented the faded loves of Telemachus and Eucharis, and which, having served the purposes of a century of fctPs-dieu, was now destined to serve mine. " Voild,'' said Pierre, as he unrolled its dustiness at my feet, " voila, madame, votre affaire.'''' As a last eftbrt at comfort, we requested a fire. Pierre opened his great black eyes, as much as to say, " a fire ia the month of April ! and the sun shining in the court be- low !" We insisted. "But," said Pierre, " there is not a spark in the hotel." " Cest (gale,'' said I, " you must procure a spark else- where." " Pardon me, it is the business of your valet de place,^^ replied Pierre. The self-hired valet, who had made our acquaintance as we alighted, and had followed us up stairs, produced a list as long as Leporello's catalogue of Don Juan's mistresses, of the materials necessary for the purpose ; braise, briquets, fagots, bois, &c. &c. &c. " Then," I said, " we shan't have a fire for a week." " Pardonnez 7noi," replied the valet, " you shall have one by to-morrow." In short, we found that our hotel garni was dcgarni of €very thing in the way of comfort, to which English people are accustomed ; and that we were lodged pretty much as in a Spanish inn, where nothing is to be found produced by art or nature, but shelter and sunshine. Such was our arrival in 1816. Per contra ; on driving into our hotel in 1829, we were received by a smart, dapper, English-innkeeper-looking landlord, — his black crop, frock coat, and russia ducks, all in harmony with his busy, bustling, officious activity. I looked round for Pierre, the frottcur, and found' myself in the midst of a bevy of tight, neat cham- bermaids, who, but for their French accents and French a|)rons, might have passed for the handmaids of " the Ship,'' at Dover. The apartments, to which we were conducted by " mine host" and his attendants, were a box of boudoirs, as compact as a Chinese toy. There were fires in every room, 22 OUU FIRST DAYS IN PARIS. carpets on every floor, chairs that were moveable, mirrors that reflected, sofiis to sink on, footstools to stumble over ; in a word, all tlie comfortable luml)or, and incommodious com- modifies of my own cabin in Kildaie Street. The dressing rooms, too, were complete, and supplied for all the " ablu- tions of oriental scrupulosity," with basins to swim in, water to float a jolly boat, tables to dress at, and Psyches to flatter, as elegant as their name ; and all this within view of the limes and horse chestnuts of the Tuileries, with a moving scene before the windows, in itself worth tlie journey ; — royal carriages, with their inmates, driving abreast with om- nibuses and vehciferes ; — cabs and" culeshes drawn up at the garden gates, to await for the English dandies and French mcrveilleux, who owned ihein ; — diligences arriving and de- parting with all the bustle of Piccadilly, and all the noise of the Toledo ;* — and last, but not least, the whole mass of equipages, which the Chaussce (TAntin rolls along the Bou- levards, to take the air in the Champs Elysees, and the Bois de Boulogne. Within half an hour of our arrival Ave had made our toilet, and were seated (though at the exorbitant hour of eight, wiien every furnace in Paris is usually cold) round as comfortable a dinner, as if it had been high change among the restaurateurs. OUR FIRST DAYS IN PARIS- OLD FRIENDS. Years and hours are no certain measures of the duration of life. A long life is that in which we live every hour, and feel that we do so. It is a life made up of vivid, rapid, and varied sensations, the parents of lasting impressions, and of prolific combinations of ideas ; a lite in which the feelings are preserved fresh by past associations, and the fancy exer- cised by a quick succession of images ; a life which, whe- ther it makes us feel the blessings or the burthen of existence, still gives the liiU consciousness that we do "live, breathe, and have a being." All that is not this, is nothing, — or at " One of the most remarkable ehanges uliicli has taken place in French life, is indicated by tlie increase of intercourse' between the f.'i|iita] and tiie viliaoes in its environs. Where one short stage plied at the time of our first residence in I'uris, there are now, at least, twenty. OLD FRIENDS. 23 best the raw material of life, unworked and unenjoyed : it is the charcoal and oyster shell, substantially identical with the diamond and the pearl, but wanting in the lustre and po- lish which confer on them their rarity and value. The quantity of sensations and ideas we have crowded into a petty space of time, since our arrival in Paris, is well worth twenty years of ordinar^^ existence. The old friend, ships revived, the new ones founded, and the changes im- pressed on every object and institution of taste, feeling, and opinion, during the interval ' of our absence, have left no breathing time for reflection. I have not yet found leisure to register a single impression for my own amusement, or haply for that of a world, which, it must be allowed, is not very difficult to amuse. Still the bright Aurora of my return to the land of my predilection has not risen cloudless : a mist has passed across the glow of its horizon ; and the light of the bril- liant welcome, wliicii has been given me in this capital of European intellect, (like the sunshine of the month that brought me here,) has been sullied by a tear, which no sunshine can dry at its source, or restrain from falling. The morning of my arrival, I took up my old Paris visit- ing book for 1818, to look for addresses, to dispatch cards to old acquaintances, and notes to friends, after tho Parisian fashion. The first name that met my eye was one which made me shudder, and feel, as I had felt when I broke the black seal of the letter which so unexpectedly announced the decease of its owner. Well might that distinguished name present itself the first upon the list. The lirst hand that was wont to hail our return to France, was Denon's ; the first cordial smile that gave us the warm assurance of a wel- come was his. Other hands were now extended, other smiles beamed now as brightly ; but his were dimmed for ever ! The brightest aspect of the national character, in other times, and under other institutions, was preserved and pre- sented in the person of Denon. Kind, courteous, cordial, gay, witty, and learned, he was not only the most agreeable and instructive of companions, but the most obliging and serviceable of friends. His brilliant and varied conversa- tion "was a book in which men might read strange things." The page, minister, and gentilhomme de la chambre of Louis the Fifteenth, the friend of Voltaire, the intimate of Napoleon, 24 OUR FIRST DAYS IN PARIS. the traveller and historian of" modern Egypt, the director of the Mus6e of Fiance, when Paris was the museum of the world, — as courtier, diplomatist, author, artist, antiquarian, he had passed the ordeal of the greatest changes, the most vio- lent transitions, the world had ever seen ; and he had passed them with principles unshaken and feelings unworn. All this was Denon ; but though he were not all, or any of this, st'iU he suited ?«e — / suited him. The same follies made us laugh, the same crimes made us sad. There was between us that sympathy, in spite of the disparity of years and ta- lents, which, whether in trifles or essentials, — between the frivolous or the profound, — makes the true basis of those ties, so sweet to bind, so bitter to break ! As I drew my pen across his precious and historical name, 1 felt as if I was throwing earth on his grave ! The next came my old and kind friend, Madame de Vi- lette, the '' belle et bonne'^ of Voltaire; tome, the link be- tween the last age and the present ; she, too, was gone, for ever ! and then came Ginguene, Talma, Langlois, Lanjui- nais, — hut I closed the book ; and with the feelings with which Macbeth flings away tl»e magic mirror, involuntarily exclaimed, " I'll see no more." So, closing my eyes, as I might, upon the past, and giving myself up to the hope of the future, under the influence of a climate which developes a sensibility prompt, not deep, I threw open the window to the sunshine and fresh air, which poured in with a burst of light and odour. I thought of all that death had left me, of the " greater still behind ;'' for Lafayette, and many other illus- trious friends, whom time has spared for the benefit and glory of their nation, still live, — each in his way, a specimen of that genius and virtue which, in all regions, and in all ages, make the ne plus ultra of human excellence. [25] OLD AND NEW PARIS. Tvlucii may be seen in a great capital, before a stranger is supposed to have seen any thing. Much may be inferred from the outline and surface, before time and opportunity are aftorded for analyzing elements, or sounding depths. To day, the exigencies and incidents of my manifold little busi- nesses-, pleasures, duties, and amusements, seconded by French job horses, whose patient endurance of fatigue ap- proaches to the impassibility of a steam-engine, carried me nearly through all Paris. The charming city ! Every house is a monument ; every quarter has its annals, where the very stones furnish memoirs, as those of R6me are said to embody histories ; and where the names of the streets point to the leading epochs of time, when bigotry destroyed, or philoso- phy benefitted mankind.- In the narrow avenues and gloomy edifices of the ancient quartiers, what food for meditation ! Plague, pestilence, and sudden death, seem to lurk in their ill ventilated and uncleansed thoroughfares. The faithful descriptions of Old Paris are not to be perused without a sen- sation of horror.* The very enumeration of its localities be- trays a moral state as baleful as the physical. The " Rue Mal-voisin," leading to the " Rue Coupe-gorge,^^ and the " V'al de Misere" running parallel to the " Rue Coupe-gous- set,^' indicate the insecurity and the suffering of a barbarous and an undisciplined people. In great and crowded cities, nothing favours crime more than the existence of such ob- scure shelters for the degraded and the vicious. Filth and offence, darkness and outrage, go but too well together. The axiom of Comus, that " 'Tis only day-light that makes sin," though good poetry, is but indifferent philosophy. Day-light reveulS) and by revealing, abashes and baffles crime. When all Paris was, what some of its oldest quarters still are, every species of violence was publicly committed in its streets. " Chose ^travge,'" exclaims the naive L'Estoile, the annalist * " Des rues trfroites et torteuses telles (ju'oii eii voit encore dans les plus anciens quartiers decetle ville, ct iiotamnieiit dans celui qui est au noid de Notre Dame, bordees (si Ton exceple les editices publiques) de tiisles chaumiires-, les rues denuees de pave, pleiiies d'immondices, jamais netloyees, bourbeuses, inalsaines, iic. &c. &ic." — Delaure. Vol. I.— 3 26 OLD AND NEW PARIS. of Henry the Fourth, — " chose Strange de dire, que dans une ville telle que Paris, se commettent avec impunity des villiinies ei brigandages, tout ainsi que dans une pleineforit.^'* Down to the end of the seventeenth century, organized bandittis patrolled the streets, who, equipped with masks and daggers, stabbed and robbed passengers, pillaged houses in open day, plundered passage-boats on the Seine, under the windows of the royal palace, and retired, unmolested by the authorities, to their dens, in the desolate suburbs, beyond the walls ; where none had the courage to pursue them. Such were the well-known band, who, by the name of the " mauvais garcons," set an example of successful rapacity,f which even princes, instead of punishing, imitated for the purposes of their own vengeance, or of amusement. In the light, airy, and spacious streets of modern Paris, the chances of concealment and impunity are infinitely les- sened : nor is the benefit of modern philosophy less appa- rent in destroying the physical causes of crime, by bettering the condition of the people, improving their security and health, and raising them above the temptations to criminality, than in amending the laws, and rendering them more effi- cient safeguards of the citizen, from the violence and injus- tice of both great and little offenders. * *"Tis a strange thing to tell, that in a city like Paris, all sorts of villanies and robberies are committedvith impunity; as if it were in the midst of a forest." Thus also the Homer of Cartouche sings : — *' Dans Paris, ce beau lieu, toujours si frequcnte, Personne ne pous^oit marcher en surete ; Cartouche et ses supots, de richesses avides, Remplissoient la cite de vols et d'homicides ; Les archers les plus fiers, et les plus valeureux, Abalus, constenies, n'osoient marcher contre eux." t " Le 12 anflt, 1659, le procureur gtn'ral se plaint auparlement que des solclals dcbandes de I'armee du mi, joints a des VHgabonds, s'ttaient rendiis Et Paris, et d'accord avec les filous ordinaires de cctte ville, com- metlaient plusieurs vols tant de jour que de nuit." — Registres du Parte- m.nt. This lawless condilion of the lower classes, was encouraged by the example of the piivileged nobles ; the king himself authorizing them in their frequent assassinations, by the pardons he so unworthily bestow- ed. In the year 165G Rene de L'H6|)ilal murdered a clergyman for the sake of his benefice, togellier with a procureur fiscal, who was (ravel- ling in the unfortunate man's company ; but he was pSrdoned, because 1(0 was the son of tlie IMarerhal de L'Hopital, who was the friend of Mnzarin. " Uy a bien ifaulri s exem/ilcs," says a modern historian, " de pareils aVentnts conlre Vordre civil et mural, dont on petU accuser la mimoire de Louis XIV." OLD AND NEW PARIS. 27 In the 7^. ugustan age of Louis the Fourteenth, when poets were pensioned, and " la languefut Jixt'e,'^ as modern classic- ists have it, (that is, when the king set bounds ahke to the capital and to Uie intellect of his people) such was the igno- rance of the sovereign and his ministers, that an attempt to enlarge the limits of the crov.ded metropolis, was deemed an invasion of the royal prerogative. The seventeenth century but quoted precedents for the propagation of pestilence, frona the 16th and 15th ; for Henry tlie Second, in 1548, issued an edict to pievent the enlargement of the city, by building beyond the wall ; Louis the Thirteenth passed a similar law ill 1h38; and Louis the Fourteenth in council decreed, that a *' statement should be drawn up of the boundaries of Paris^ and of tbe houses which had been built beyond them." By another act, he declared that the government would permit the proprietors of such houses to retain their buildings, as they were, on paying a tax of about one-tenth of the value ; but ordered the demolition of those houses, whose owners should neglect to pay the prescribed sum within a certain limited time: yet in this day, the inhabitants were lodged even on the bridges, and under the very roofs of the houses. When it is remembered that the immense number of con- vents, founded within the walls of Paris by Louis the Four- teenth, by his mother, wife, and mistresses — all large edifices with spacious courts and gardens — entrenched on the ground assigned for the residence of the citizens ; — that the court drew to the capital all the ambition, wealth, and luxury of the provinces ; — that the parliaments and tribunals filled the city with pleaders, their clients, and witnesses; — that the academies and libraries made it the centre of literature and: the sciences ; — that the increase of public amusements, and the splendour exhibited by the nobility, all contributed to draw strangers to the metropolis, to quadruple its population, and to make it " deborder de son enceinte,^' — it seems scarce- ly credible that the government should have passed such ilK conceived laws, and mistaken its own most obvious necessi- ties. Yet this is the age, quoted as, par excellence, intellec- tual. A tragedy of Racine, or a sermon by Bossuet, was deemed the proof of a condition beyond which human genius, could never reach. All the edifices raised in this gorgeous reign,* are so ma-. * " Les tnaisons semblent ici t)Aties par des pliilosnphes, plufot que par des architectes, tant elles sont grossieres pn ci;^h(irs; niais elles sont bieli ornOes en dedans. Cependaiit elles n'ont rien de rare, que la mag- 28 OLD AND NEW PARIS. ny monuments of the i:. satiable pride and perrfonal vanity of him, who gave the age its ci>aracter. Even the opening of the Rue de la Ferronniere, which by its narrowness had as- sisted in causing the death of Henry the Fourth, was made conducive to the gratification of this weakness ; and exhibit- ed at one of its corners the royal bust, dressed in the accus- tomed voluminous peruke. All improvement was made with reference to tlie king and his nobihty, who, secluded and sheltered in their pa'aces, surrounded by spacious courts and gardens, felt not the misery of the citizens, shut up in their narrow streets and filth}^ habitations, exposed to the inunda- tions of the Seine (which frequently swept away the houses from the bridges and banks,) and to the devastations of pes- tilence, which, under various forms, filled those hospitals, the glories of a monarch, whose bad laws and bad police had rendered them so necessary. In the improvements of Paris with which I was so much struck in the course of my morning's drive,* the greater part is for the advantage of the people, rather than for the honour of the privileged. Old streets have been opened, and new ones laid down, of sufficient width. Arcades give shelter, and passages afford facility of communication. IVottoirs are every where in the course of formation ; in the new streets continuously, and in the old by patciies."]' It is remarkable, that while the scale of domestic archi- tecture in Paris is diminishing, in order to provide the com- forts of individual proprietorship for householders of small for- tunes, the dwellings of the citizens of London, are in their way also considerably improved. 1'his demand for space and air is not more a result of police regulation, than of nificence des tapisseries, dcint les raurailles sont co«ver(es.'~ — Charac- ter oj Paris in Ihc 17th Cenlury, by an Italian Traveller. * A, copious memoir has been drawn tip by the Gomte de CItabrfxl witli great ability, on the ameliorations and embellishments of wliich Paris is still susceptible, and which it is projiosed progressively to exe- cute — the enlargement and n''"king straight of t c streets, the improve- ment of comnuinicaiions, increased salubrity, the removal of nuisan- ces, &c. &c. ^'C. "i'he rxeoiilion of these plans will increase the su- perficies of the streets of Paris ri96.481 square metres, that of tlie Quais 21,516, and that of the" L laces" 16,012. t In the old streets, lime was allowed for the inhabitants In lay down the trc'Joirs : I believe, three years. In this operation, the individuals and the government each contribute ha'f of the e^ipense ; and as the pe- riod has not yet expired within which the whole is to be completed, the existing state of the pavement shews the relative degree of eatcrprii^Q and activity of each householder OLDr AND NEAV PARIS. 29 what may be considered almost a new sense in the inhabit- ants. The wealthy merchants of London will no longer coiv sent to dwell, as their ancestors did, in the narrow, stifling courts and alleys in which their counting-houses stand, but have emigrated westward, to tenant the numerous squares, the peculiar ornament of the modern capital. The opening of Regent Street, and the other similar improven.ents now going on in the metropolis, are in strict accordance with pub- lic opinion, with the wants and wishes of the people, to whom these changes are an act of deference. In both countries the tiers etat are rising in importance ; and an attention tO; their health and comfort is forced upon the government. It is lamentable, however, to be obliged to add, that the influ^ ence of excessive taxation shews itself in England rnder a thousand forms of suflering and annoyance, to whic'^ French- men are less exposed. 'I'othis cause must be attributed the Lilliputian scale on which the houses of our artisans are still built ; and what is worse, the insufficient and perilous man- ner in which they are put together. The conseo,uence is the almost, daily occurrence of fires, attended but too fre- quently by loss of life. From the narrow scantling of the timbers, rendered thin as laths, to meet the imposts upon the article, a modern tenement of this class may be considered as a box of matches, or rather as a pile constructed for the express purpose of being involved in flames, in the short3S(? possible time after applying the spark. The quantity of wealth thus annually destroyed is out of all proportion to the value of the duty, and is, therefore, most burthensome and wasteful to the nation. But the fiscal daemon is a blind and uncalculating spirit, which requires the frequent interven- tion of the schoolmaster to exorcise it, and keep its activity within decent bounds. The splendid Rue de Rivoli is a monument justifying in itself the revolution, and typifying, in its actual state, as contrasted with what has preceded it, the immense benefits which that calumniated- event has showered on the human species. In the rei^n of Henri III., the ground on which the Rue de Rivoli now stands, was principally occupied by one of the most celebrated and wealthy monasteries of the powerful order of Capuchins.* Towards the close of the sixteenth century, when the progress of the reformation * Here also was the monastery of the FeuillajQS, from which one of the terraces, of the Tuiieries takes its name. 3* 30 OLD AND NEW PARIS. gave new alarm to the intriguing courts of Rome and Spaii/, they resolved on reinforcing the cohorts of the teachers and ministers of Catholicism, by the establishment of an order which should obtain the same influence over the consciences of the people which the more learned and astute Jesuits pos- sessed over the courts and aristoci'acies of Europe. The bigoted and profligate Henri III., to whom every vice was familiar, and by whom every superstitious rite was praciised, lent himself to the schemes of the Vatican and Escurial, which ended in his own assassination by one of their agents. The order of Capuchins, thus introduced into France, was nobly endowed, and taken under the " especial protection and safeguard of the king." Their convent, situated in the Rue St. Honore, with its courts, gardens, and church, extended to the very walls of the royal palace of the Tuileries, and con- stituted the most considerable and magnificent of all the Capucinieres of the kingdom. An hundred and twenty monks, with their numei'ous train of followers, lived there, like princes, and ruled like despots, beyond the power both of the law and the sovereign. The consumption of their able, as registered in their own books, exceeds belief ; and their qudlcurs, wlio daily scoured the streets of Paris, and beset the citizens, levied contributions, which were an ex- orbitant tax on the industry of the city. The power and influence of these monks was first invaded, and the dark hokls of their crimes first broken in upon, by the dawning illumination of an age, whose fulness will dispel every ancient error and delusion. In the ^ear 1764 the vices and the quarrels of the brotherhood, and the scanda- lous scenes to which they gave rise, produced a public pro- secution. The attention of the nation thus awakened, led to still further inquiries. The trial brought to light un- guessed-at enormities. Crimes were proved, horrors reveal- ed, and the establishment became a bye-word of popular dis- like. At the breaking out of the revolution it was the first devoted to public execration ; and in the year 1790, the na- tional assembly charged the municipality of Paris to cause the building to be evacuated and cleared out, for the purpose of establishing the public offices on the site of this vast and once impenetrable hold. In the reign of Louis XVI., that reign of feebleness and procrastination, of projects wisely conceived and indolently adjourned, the opening of the capital had become a subject of discussion, but of discussion only. In the first epochs of OLD A>'D NF.W PARIS. 31 the revolution there was neither money nor leisure to devoid to such a purpose. The revenues of the nation were all re- quired to purchase those victories, which were necessary to its very existence. The ruins of the Capuchin monastery, tjierefore, continued to present a mass of rubbish, intersect- ed with rude walls, and hovels built up to the very gales of the Tuileries, v.hich it required means to clear away, not pos- sessed either ui-.-ier tiie directory or the consulate. It was not, therefore, till the year 1804, that the great embellisher of cities, Napoleon Bonaparte, directed his attention to this spot, and removed the remnants of the " graride Capiici- nitrey Then it was, that the Rues de Rivoli, Castiglione, and Mont Thabor, sprang up like magic, with their arcades and passages for the embellishment of the capital, the facili- ty of trade, and for the health, pleasure, and amusement of the people. When we first visited Paris, this magnificent plan was ex- cuted only to a very partial and limited extent. The Rue de Rivoli was still encumbered with scafiolding, and with large blocks of stone, and it looked like a great quarry, out of whose roughness some noble forms and fine proportions might here- after- be developed by the sledge and chisel. At present, the grer.t monument of French improvement is finished ; and tlie Rue de Rivoli, with the beautiful gardens in which it opens, and the noble views it commands, from the Champs Elysees to the palace of the Tuileries, stands less a triumph- al testimony of the victory its name recalls, than of the phy- sical and moral advancement which a few years of self- government can impress on a nation. In comparing the present aspect of the scene, with the " oubliettes^'' and " vade-in-pace'^* cells, which may. have haply occupied the very site of the luxurious dressing-room in which these notes are penned, the contrast is so terribly striking, that the feelings and fancy would willingl} take shelter in a belief that such horrors had never existed : but history leaves our sympathies no such resource ; and if the unhallowed vows of a party should once more recall the " F-reres Anges" of the Capuchins, this boudoir may again become a ^' vade-in-pace," \vhere some such refractory daughter of the church and state, as myself, may expiate her " " Vade in pace," was the disgusting, hyopocritical formula witli which the Capuchins took leave of the unfortunate offender against the rules of the order whom ihey inntnured alive. 32 GENERAL LAFAYETTE. rebellions against the orthodox maxims of social order, — as I have expiated the sin of denouncing their iniquity in the " carcero duro" of ministerial reviews. GENERAL LAFAYETTE. " But the chief gods of her idolatry are the vain, feeble, doating coxcomb, Lafayette ; who after indulging his vanity, by insulting the king and overturning the throne, fled basely from the storm which he had raised ; and only returned to public life to take a seat in Bonaparte's Champ de Mai, dec. &c." Quarterly Review on " France," April, 1827. Such is the picture of General Lafayette, presented to the British public by the Quarterly Review, in its attack upon my work on France in 1817. Now that " The hurly biirlj''s done, And the battle's lost and won," it will scarcely be credited that such a statement, in defiance of historical fact, and of cotemporary witnesses, and in utter recklessness of European opinion, should have been put forth to the British public, to work upon its timidity, and to insult its ignorance. Yet this picture of the idol of two great nations, of the friend of Washington and of Jefl!erson, of Fox and of La Rochefoucauld, of the respected of Na- poleon> and the eulogized of Charles the Tenth — of the most illustriously virtuous man of his age and country, of the most consistent public character in ancient or modern story — this picture, in which every trait is a falsehood, and every touch , a calumny, was risked by the paid organ of the British go- vernment, and was received unquestioned by the British na- tion ! From what a slough of slavery, from what a mire of prejudice, folly, and self-satisfied debasement, has England emerged, since the very recent epoch, when such things^ GENERAL LAFAYETTE. 33 could be dared, and tho actors bo rewarded and cheered by a myslitied public ! Without searching deep into the annals of modern France for a political portrait of Lafayette, there are many sketches of him scattered througii dilfcrcnt works, in dilFerent lan- guages, by various hands, of dilTerent talents and diiTerent shades of political creed, which all combine to rei)resent him as one of the most virtuous public and private charac- ters that ever honoured or illustrated humanity. I have my- self given some anecdotes of this extraordinary man in my former work on France ; but the present state of the country would not be faithfully depicted, Avere all further notice of him omitted ; and the model his example holds fo-th is too valuable to leave anj' apology necessary for entering on the subject somewhat more in detail, and giving a biographical portrait of General Lafayette up to the eporih when we had first the honour of making his acquaintance, and of winning a friendship and enjoying i correspondence, that will long, I trust, continue the boast and the happiness of our lives. General Lafayette was born in Auvergne, on the 6th of September, 1757 ; and was sent at an early age to the col- lege of Du Plessis, at Paris, where he received a classical education. In his seventeenth year he married the daugh- ter of the late Due de Noailles, and grand-daughter to the great uiid good Chancellor, D'Aguesseau. His fortune was vast — his rank was with the first in Europe — his connexions brought him the support of the chief persons in France ; and his individual character, the warm, open, and sincere man- ners which have since distinguished him, and have given him such singular control over the minds of men, made him powerful in the confidence of society, wherever he went. It was at this period that his thoughts and feelings were turned to the struggles of the American colonies against the oppression of their mother country. Nothing could be less tempting to a man of mere personal feelings than an interfe- rence in behalf of the United States at this time. Their army was in retreat ; their credit in Europe was entirely gone ; and their commissioners, to whom Lafayette still persisted in offering his services, were obliged to acknowledge that they could not oven give him decent means for his conveyance. " Then," said he, " I shall purchase and fit out a vessel for myself." He did so ; and this vessel was sent to one of the nearst ports of Spain, that it might be out of the reach of the French government. It was not till he was on his way to 34 GENERAL LAFAYETTE. embark that his romantic undertakino; beffan to be known, and the effect was greater than could now be imagined. At the instigation of the British minister, an order was despatch- ed for liis arrest ; and a letlre de cachet overtook him at Bourdeaux, where he was arrested : but assisted by friends, he escaped under the disguise of a courier, and passed the frontiers, three or four hours before his pursuers reached them. The sensation produced by his appearance in the United States, was much greater than that excited in Europe at his departure. This event still stands forth as one of the most prominent and important circumstances in the contest ; and none but tiiose who were then alive, can believe what an impulse it gave to the hopes of a population, nearly dis- heartened by a long .series of disasters. Immediately on his arrival, Lafayette received the offer of a command in the American army, vi'hich with a rare mo- desty he declined. During the whole of his service he seem- ed desirous to render disinterested assistance to the cause in which he was embarked. He began by clothing and equip- ping at his own expense a body of men ; and then entered as a simple volunteer, without pay, into the service. By a vote of congress, in July, 1777, he was appointed a major-gene- ral, and in the following September was wounded at Brandy- wine. In 1778 he was employed at the head of a separate division ; and after receiving the thanks of congress, em- barked at Boston in the year 1779 for France ; where his services it was thought would be more effectual than at the moment they could be in America. He arrived at Versailles on the 12th of February, and the same day had a long conference with Maurepas, the prime minister, though he was not permitted to see the king. As a punishment for having left France without permission, he was ordered to visit none but his own relations ; but as he was connected by birth or marriage with almost the whole court, and as every body thronged to his hotel, the order fell lightly upon him. By his personal exertions the treaty be- tween America and France, then on foot, was hastened and made effective in favour of the former. For he laboured unremittingly to procure from his government a fleet and troops ; and having succeeded in this object, and ascertain, ed that he would be speedily followed by Count Rocham- beau, he again crossed the Atlantic, and joined the head quarters of the American army in May, 1780, where he confidentially communicated the important intelligence to the GENERAL LAFAYETTE. 35 commander-in-chief. Immediately on his return, receiving the separate command of a body of infantry of about two thousand men, he clothed and equipped it partly at his own expense ; rendering it by unwearied exertions, constant sa- crifices, and wise discipline, the best corps in the army. His forced march to Virginia, (raising two thousand guineas on his own credit, to supply the pressing wants of his troops) his rescue of Richmond, his long trial of generalship with Cornwallis, and, finally, the siege of York town, the storm- ing the redoubt, and the reduction of the place, in Octobe;', 1781, are proofs of his talents as a military commander, and of his devotion to the welfare of the United States. Congress had already repeatedly acknowledged these ser- vices ; but, in November, 1781, when he again returned to France, they passed a resolution, desiring (among other ex- pressions of approbation,) the foreign ministers of their go- vernment to confer with him in their negociations concerning American affairs ; — a mark of respect and deference, of which no other example is probably known. In France a brilliant reputation had preceded him ; the cause of America was already popular there. On his re- turn, he was followed by crowds in the public streets, where- ever he went ; and, in a journey he made to his estates in the south, the towns through which he passed, received him with processions and civic honours : in Orleans he was de- tained a week by the festivities prepared for him. In the mean time he was constantly urging upon the French government the policy of sending out more troops ; and Count d'Estaing was ordered to hold himself in readiness to sail for the United States, as soon as Lafayette should join him. Forty-nine ships, and fveiity thousand men, were, for this p'.irpose, assembled at Cadiz, when the peace rendered further exertions unnecessary. This great event was first announCfc this savage multitude ; but Lafayette opposed their inclination, even while the municipality of Paris supported them ; and it was not until an exasperated mob of above an hundred and fifty thousand men and women had thronged the road, (with arms and even cannon at their disposal,) that he consented to obtain an oi'der to march from the authorities, and set off to what had become the post of danger, and which it was then his duty to occupy. He arrived at Versailles at ten o'clock at night, after hav- ing made incredible exertions, both at Paris and on the road, to control the multitude. " The Marquis de la Fayette," says Madame de Stael, " at last entered the chateau, and passing through the apartment where we were, went to the king. His manner was perfectly calm : nobody ever saw it otherwise. He asked for the interior posts of the chateau, and was refused : only the outer posts were granted him." Lafayette answered therefore for these posts, but he answer- ed for no more ; and his pledge was faithfully and despe- rately redeemed. Between two and three o'clock, the royal family went to bed. Lafayette too slept after the great fa- tigues of the day. At half.past four, a portion of the popu- lace broke into the palace, by an obscure interior passage which had been overlooked ; and which was not in that part of the building entrusted to the General. Lafayette imme- diately rushed in with the national troops, protected the guards from the brutal populace, and saved the lives of the ro3"al fsmily. As soon as it was light, the same furious multitude filled the vast space of the " court of marble." They called on the king to go to Paris, and they called on the queen to ap- pear at the balcony. The king announced his intention to set out for the capital, but Lafayette was afraid to trust the queen in the midst of the infuriate multitude. He went to her therefore, and asked if it were her purpose to accompany the king. She replied in the affirmative, and he prevailed upon her to shew herself, with him, at the balcony. — " Are you positively determined ?" — " Yes, sir." — " Condescend then to go out on the balcony, and suffer me to attend you." — " Without the king ?" she replied, hesitatingly ; " have you observed their threats?" — "Yes, madam, I have, but dare to trust me." When they appeared together, the cries of the crowd Vol. L— 4 3218.50 38 GENEKAL LAFAYETTE. rendered it in)possible that his voice could be heard. It was necessary, therefore, to address himself to the eye ; and, turning to the queen, he simply kissed her hand, before the vast multitude. An instant of silent astonishment ensued ; but the whole was immediately interpreted ; and the air was rent with cries of " Long live the Queen, long live the Ge-. neral !" The Queen reached Paris in safety. The same day that this scene was passing, the first meeting of the Ja- cobin club was held. Against this club Lafayette at once de- clared himself. Assisted by Bailly, the mayor of Paris, he or- ganized another club, in opposition to its proceedings ; and the victory between the two parties remained doubtful for above a year and a half. The contest, however, placed Lafayette in a most dangerous position. He was obliged to oppose the Jacobins, without retreating upon the ancient despotism ; and it is greatly to his honour, that he did this, most faithfully and consistently, and without committing his judgment or principles. On the 20th of June, 1790, a proposition was suddenly made in the assembly to abolish all titles of nobility ; and Lafayette, true to his principles, rose to second it. It was objected against the measure, that no such reward could af- terwards be granted, as was once conferred by Henri II., when he created an obscure person " noble and count, for having saved the country at such a time." " The only dif- ference will be," he replied, " that the words ' noble and count' will be left out, and the patent will simply declare, that on such an occasion such a man saved the state." From this time General Laftiyette renounced his title of Marquis, and has never since resumed it. On the 14th of July, HOO, (the anniversary of the fall of the Bastille,) the celebrated acceptation of the Constitution took place in the Champ de Mars. On this day the General had military command of four millions of men, represented by fourteen thousand elected mihtary deputies, and he swore to the Constitution, on behalf of tlie nation, at the altar which had been erected in the midst of tiie arena. It was the most magnificent and solemn ceremony the world had ever seen ; and perhaps no man ever enjoyed the sincere confi- dence of an entire people more completely than Lafayette did, as he thus bore the most imposing part in these extraor- dinary solemnities. The Jacobins however were constantly gaining power ; the falsehood of the court, the intrigues of the emigrants, GENERAL LAFAYETTE. 39 and the hostile attitude of foreign governments, all combined to prevent the constitution from taking root. Among other weaknesses that had destroyed the popularity of the king, he insisted on adopting the ministration of a priest, who had not taken the civil oaths ; and for this purpose he had made arrangements for passing the Easter at St. Cloud ; but the populace and the national guards tumultuously stopped the royal carriage. Lafayette arrived at the first suggestion of danger. "If," said he, "tiiis be a matter of conscience with your Majesty, we will, if it be necessary, die to main- tain it ;" but the king hesitated, and finally determined to re- main at Paris. Lafayette, faithful to his oaths, now defend- ed the freedom of the king as firmly as he had ever done that of the people : his situation therefore became daily more dangerous. He might have been appointed constable of France, he might have been generalissimo of the national guards, but he thought it more for the safety of the state, that no such power should exist ; and at the dissolution of the constituent assembly, he resigned his command and re- tired to his estate. In April, 1792, war was declared against France, by Aus- tria ; and Lafayette was appointed one of the three generals to command the French armies. But the Jacobins were fast maturing their arrangements to overturn the constitution. That public order, of which Lafayette had never ceased to speak on all suitable occasions, no longer existed. Under these circumstances, with a courage, which few men in any age have shewn, he wrote a letter to the assembly, in which he plainly denounced the growing fiiction of the Jacobins, and called on the constituted authorities to put a stop to the atrocities they were openly promoting. In the course of this letter he dared to say, "let the king be respected, for he is invested with the majesty of the nation ; let him choose a ministry that shall wear the chains of no faction ; and if traitors exist, let them perish only under the sword of the law." There was not another man in France, who would have dar- ed to take such a step at such a time ; and it required all his vast influence to protect him in expressing such opinions. On the 8th of August his impeachment was moved ; but even then more than two-thirds of the assembly voted in his favour. At length, however, the Jacobin party prevailed : a majority of the assembly, intimidated or disgusted, bad ceas- ed to attend its meetings ; and Lafayette, unable to do more in Paris, returned to the array. But the army also was now 40 GEXEKAL LAFAYETTE, infected, and it became apparent from tiie movements both at Paris and among the soldiers, that he was no longer safe. On the 17th of August, therefore, accompanied by three of his general ofHc<3is, Alexandre Lameth, Latour Maubourg, Bureau de Puzy, lie left the army ; and in a few hours was beyond the limits of France. On the same night the exiles were seized by an Austrian patrol, and exposed to the most disgraceful indignities. Com- mitted to the custody of the Prussians, (because the Prussian fortresses were nearest at hand,) they were again transferred to the keeping of the Austrian?, on Prussia making a separate peace; and they were finally imprisoned in the loathsome and unhealthy dungeons of Oimutz. Among sufierings to which Lafayette was here exposed, in the mere spirit of a barbarous revenge, was the assurance that he should never again see any thing but the walls of his dungeon ; that he would never receive news of events or per- sons ; that his name would be unknown in the citadel ; thatj in all accounts of him sent to court, he would be designated by a number ; and that be would never receive any notice of his family, or of the existence of his tellow-prisoners. His sufferings proved almost bey<-nd his strength ; and want of air, and the dampness and filth of his dungeon, brought him more than once to the borders of the grave ;* at the same time, that his estates in France were confiscated, his wife cast into prison, and Fayefteism (as adherence to the constitutioa was called) was punished with death. Among those who made the most vigorous exertions to ob- tain information of Lafayette's fate, were Count Lally Tolen- dal, then an emigrant in London, and Dr. Erick Bollmann, an Hanoverian, whose adventurous spirit led him to engage in the attempt to discover the existence of the General, and his place of confinement ; and to procure his escape. After g. tedious journey to Germany, Dr. Bollmann returned with- out having procured the desired intelligence. But the iViends of Lafayette were not to be discouraged ; and, in June, 17!)4,. the Doctor returned to Germ.iny to renew his researches. With great difficulty and ingenuity he traced the French " This deles'ciWe and useless tyranny is not to he llinijgiit of as of a talc of otiier times. At this moment the same scenes are passing in the dungeons i,f Spilsherg, and of other state prisons of Anstiian tyranny- where the Italian p:itriots, tlie nol)le, the virtuous, am) the enlightened arc, atth.; end of ten years of unmitigated suticring, still exjjoted to su mitar treatment GENERAL LAFAYETTE. 41 prisoners from Prussia to their prison at Olmutz, communi- cated his projects to the objects of his enterprize^ and re- ceived their answers ; and, after a lapse of several months, it was determined that an attempt shotdd be made to rescue Lafayette, while on one of the airings with which, on account of his broken health, he was then indulged. In this enter- prize was associated Francis K. Hugcr, a young American,, accidentally in Austria at that time. As the parties were personally unknown to each other, it was arranged, that when the rescue was to be attempted, each should take off his hat, and wipe his forehead, in token of recognition. Having ascertained a day when Lafayette would ride out. Dr. Bollmann and Mr. Huger sent their carriage to HofF, about twenty-five miles on the road they meant to, take ; and proceeded on horseback to the attempt. A carriage, whicli. they supposed to contain the prisoner, passed out of the gate, of the fortress ; they rode by it leisurely, and exchanged sig- nals. At two or three miles, the carriage left the high road, and, passing into a less frequented track, in the midst of an open country, Lafayette descended to walk, guarded only by the officer who had accompanied him. They rode up at once ; and, after an inconsiderable struggle, from which the guard fled to alarm the citadel, the rescue was effected. In the meantime, however, one of the horses had escaped,, and Lafayette was obliged to take his departure alone ; be- ing told by Mr. Huger, in English, " to go to HoftV This he mistook for a more general direction, to go off ; and, tak- ing a wrong road, he pursued it till his horse could go no further ; when he was stopped at the village of Jagersdorff, and detained, as a suspicious person, till he was recognised bv an officer from Olmutz, two days afterwards. His friends, equal!}" unfortunate, were also taken, and se- parately confined, without knowledge of each other's fate. Hr. Huger was chained lo the floor in an arched dungeon, six feet by eight, without light, apd with only bread and wa- ter for food. Once in six hours the guard entered, and, with a lamp, examined each brick in his cell, and each link in his chain. To his most earnest request, to he permitted to send to his mother, in America, merely the words '' I am alive," signed with his name, he received a rnde refusal. After eight months delay, the two friends were brought to trial ; but through the interference of Count Met row sky, were sen- tenced only to a fortnight's imprisonment, after which they were discharged. A few hours after they had left Olmutz, aa 4* 42 CfENERAL HAVATETTiS. order came for a new trial ; but the prisoners were already beyond ihe reach of pursuit. In the year 1796, the motion of General Fitzpatrick for an inquiry into Lafayette's case, produced a debate in the Eng- lish house of commons, in which the conduct of the Austrian government was exposed publicly, before the face of all Europe ; but the Pitt majorities then prevailed ; and the mo- tion was lost, without probably exciting much sympathy in the English people. In the meanwhile the American nation was not idle ; and the immortal Wasbington had not remained an unconcerned spectator of the sufferings of his friend. His letter to the Emperor of Austria, requesting the release of the liberator of America, remains a monument of honour to the writer, and of disgrace to the despot who could receive it un- moved. On'the 25th of August, 1797, at the instance of Buonaparte, Lcfayeite was at length liberated, with his family; J\Iadame Lafayette and his daughters having sh-ired his confinement twenty-two months, and himself having been a prisoner five years. From the efiects of tltis detention, Madame Lafa- yette never entirely recovered ; though she survived ten years after her return to liberty. France was at tiiis time too unsettled for Lafayette to enter it with safety ; the di- reclory not even having removed \he sentence under which the Jacobins had placed hi'm. It was nc therefore till after the iSth Brumaire, that his exile ceased ; when he retired te La Grano;e, (a moderate estate about forty miles from Pa- ris,) wijere he has since continued to reside. Between Napoleon and Lafayette, political friendsiiip or concurrence cou'd not subsist ; Lafayette voted against the consuhUeff i" life, and sent a letter to Buonaparte himself on the subject ; and froir. that moment all intercourse between them ceased. Napoleon even refused to promote his son, George \?ashingtoa Lafnveite,* ar his son-in-law, M. Lasteyrie, though they repeaicdl} distinguished themselves in the ar- my. On one occasion, he himself erased their names from a bulletin, with the impatient exclamation of " These La- layettes cross my path every where." The restoration of the Bourbons, in 1814, made no change in Lafayette's position. He presented himself once at court, * Th*^ inheritor of his father's courage in the field, as of his uncono— promising consistency and patient perseverance in the senate. GENERAL LAFAYETTE. 43 and was kindly received ; but the government men establish, ed, did not meet his wishes, and he did not a^ain return to the palace of the Tuileries. On the apparition of Napoleon in 1815, Lafayette entered his protest against the acte additionnel ; and was elected a representative by the very college of electors who had re- ceived his protest. Napoleon, at this time desirous of ob- taining his influence, offered him the first peerage in the new chamber he was then forming ; an offer which Lafayette declined. As a representative of the people, he saw Napo- leon for the first time, at the opening of the chambers on the 7th of June. " It is above twelve years since we have met, General," said Napoleon, with great kindness of manner ; but Lafayette received the Emperor's advances with marked distrust ; and all his efibrts were directed to " make the chamber a representation of tlie French people, and not a Napoleon club." After the battle of Waterloo, Napoleon had determined to dissolve the representative body, and to resume the dictator- ship of the country. Regnault de St. Jean d'Angely, who was of his council, but opposed to this violent measure, inform- ed Lafayette that in two hours the legislative body would cease to exist. As soon therefore as the session was opened, with the same courage and the same self-devotion with which he had stood at the bar of the national assembly in 1792, Lafayette ascended the tribune, for the first time for twenty years ; and pronounced those few but emphatic words, which would have been his death warrant, if they had not been supported by the asseml)ly he addressed. Their re- sult was that the chamber declared their sessions perma- nent, and all attempts to dissolve it high treason. On the abdication of Napoleon, which closely followed, a project was arranged to place Lafayette at the head of af- fairs, as carrying wilh him the confidence of the nation, and especially of the national guard, whom he would immedi- ately have called out en masse ; but a scene of unworthy in- trigues was begun, and a provisional government was esta- blished, whose principal measure was the sondmg him with a deputation to the allied powers, to endeavour to stop the in- vasion of France, an embassy which of course failed, as was intended. Paris was entered by the allied troops, and the representative government was dissolved. Several of the members, however, met at Lafayette's house, entered their 44 GENERAL LAFATETTEr formal protest ; and then went quietly to their own homes.* The example this great and good man's career affords oC incorruptible honesty, and of the weight it possesses in all communities, cannot too often be held up to public imitation ; and, it seems to me, even in the present day, no superfluous task to exhibit to the people of England the extent to which a sys- tem of wilful I'alsehood and misrepresentation has been carried by a party amongst themselves, whose influence and opinions are still but too operative in the management of their affairs. For England there remains but one chance of regeneration, and that lies in the total destruction of this party, through a recovery of that system of self-government, (by a real and effectual representation of the people,) which has been the one leading object of Lafayette's long labours and unparal- leled sufferings. The history of Lafayette, like himself, be- lon'TS not exclusively to France, but is the common property of all civilized nations ; and there exists not an individual to whom liberty is dear, who has not an interest in his fair fame. Since the moment when my impressions of this truly illus- trious iTuin called forth the observations of the Quarterly Re- view rt'hich paint him as sunk in feeble dotage, Lafayette has thrice been elected to the chamber of deputies, by the un- purchased voice ot' public opinion. His mind, brightening like a fine coin by the friction of use, has come out on every occasion on whioh the liberty of the people has called for his exertions, with a strength beyond that even of his first youthful vigour. He has resisted the various ai.empts made upon the freedom of the press and on the purity of election,-}- * For a more ample account of (be life of General Lafayette, (lie reader is referred to the North American Review, a publication remark- able forilstalen' and pr^itical soundness. t " The iiehi which has been shed on manlcind by tlie art of print- inff has eminently changed Hie condition of the world. As yet that ji^ht has davvnf^d on the middle classes only of the men in Europe. The kings and the rabble, (of equal ignomnce.) have not yet received its rays ; but it continues to spread ; and, while printing is preserved, it can no more recede than the sun return on liis course. A. first at- tempt to recover the right of self-government may fail ; so may a se- cond ; a third, &c. &c. ; but as a younger and more instructed race comes on, the sentiment becomes more and more instinctive ; and a fourth, a fifth, or some subsequent one of the ever-renewed attempts, will ultimately succeed. In France, the fi st eflfort was defeated by Bobespierre, the second by Bonaparte, the third by Louis XVIJI. and his holy allies. Another is yet to come, and all Europe (Russia except- ed) has caught the spirit; and all will attain representative govern, ment, more or less perfect." — Jefferson's Correspond, vol. iv. p. 387^ GKNEBAL LAFAYETTE. 45 with the same firmness that has distinguished all his votes, and with the same tenacity to original principles with which he started for the goal of immortality. His attendance on the duties of the chamber of deputies, strange as that fact may appear to very many o*"the honourable members of an- other legislative assembly in another country, is as constant and unwearied, as if age could not enfeeble his body, nor disgust nor languor assail his mind. Without the walls of the chamber, his influence is even more decided than within. He is indeed the centre upon which the whole liberal opposi- tion moves — the guide to whom the youth and the aged alike turn with confidence and affection. His ascendancy is not obtained by flattering the multitude — it is not purchased by violence and exaggeration. It is not even the result of those all-commanding talents, which are occasionally found uncon- nected with honesty or judgment. He has not the eloquence of a Mirabeau, the brilliancy of a Canning, the financial ca- pacities of a Neckar, nor the political philosophy of a Ro- milly or a Bentham. His persuasive power is the force of good sense and of self-conviction — the clearness of his views — and the earnestness with which he exposes them. In one word, it is the force of honesty, of public virtue, and of pri- vate worth ; and if in the violence and storm of human pas- sions, amidst the tornado of a revolution, this force has been too frequently borne down by qualities more imposing, and by volitions more violent, yet, in the long run of political life (to the credit of human nature be it observed), there is no more powerful engine for moving the public, for accomplish- ing useful ends, and for beneficially influencing the destinies of nations, than tried probity and proud consistency, in which the confidence of a people have long reposed. In ]825, (eight years after the appearance of the Quar- terly Review with its ^^ feeble dotage") General Lafivyette received and accepted an invitation to revisit the n^ world. The card came from the American people, and its object be- came the "guest of the nation." It was not, alas! by the Washingtons and the Franklins that he was thus invited to the land to whose greatness and happiness he had so power- fully contributed, in the interval, but little short of half a This passage jilaces in a strong licriit ihe value of political perseve- rance, and the services wiiicli Lafayette h;is rendered his couniry and liumanily, as the conneoiing link iietween tlie several epochs of libe- ralism, as the guardian who has preserved the sacred flame of liberty, nnd transmitted it to another generation. 46 GENERAL LAFAYETTE. century, another and another generation had sprung up to benefit by his hibours : but the sentiments of love and grati- tude to Lafayel.te were a national inheritance, treasured and transmitted by every American of every age. The guest of the nation was received by the sons and the grandsons, as the liberator had been by the fathers* when he came to share their perils and to promote their triumphs.! History, amidst its pompous records of brilliant victories, from those of the Caesars to the unparalleled conquests of Napoleon, has no such line in its pages as the visit of La- fayette to America will form ; and every public organ of li- berality in the two hemispheres has borne testimony to its marked distinction.:}: * Jefferson, in an interesting letter to liis friend Kosciusko, in which he describes his own life and position, has the following passage; "A part of my occupation, and by no means the least pleasing, is the direc- tion of the studies of such young men as ask it. They place themselves in the neighbouring vilJage, and have the use of my library and coun- sel, and make a part of my society. In advising the course of their reading, I endeavour to keep their attention fixed on the main objects of all science — the freedom and happiness of man ; so that, coming to bear a sliare in the councils and government of thoir country, they will keep ever in view the sole objects of all legitimate government." (Vol. iv. p. 145.) There is nothing in all antiquity more beautiful than this pictu e of the retired statesman preparing the rising genera- tion for the task of self-government. t " He is literally the guest of the nation ; but the guest, it should be remembered, of another generation than tlie one he originally came to serve. We rejoice at it. We rejoice, in common with the thousands who throng his steps v\ he rover he passes, that we are permitted to offer this tribute of a gratiiude and veneration which cannot be misinterpreted, to one who suffered with our fathers for our sake! but we rejoice yet more for (he moral effect it cannot fail to produce on us, both as indivi- duals and as a people. Foi' it is no common spectacle which is now pir. Jed before each of us for our instruction. We are permitted to see one. who, by the mere force of [.rinciple, by plain and resolved integri- ty, hds passed with perfect consistency through more remarkable ex- tremes <>( fortune than any man now alive, or perhaps any man on re- cord. We are permitted to .'•ee one who has borne a leading and con- trolling part in two hemispheres, and in the two most important revolu- tions the world has yet seen, and has come forth from both of them with^ out the touch of dishonour. We are, in short, permitted to see a man who has piofessed, atnidst glory and suffering, in triumph and in dis- grace, the same principles of political freedom on both sides of the At- lantic :, who has maintained the same tone, the same air, the same open cnnfidencp, amidst the ruins of the Bastile, on the Champ de Mars, un- der the despotism of Bonapdrle, and in the dungeons of Olmutz." — North Ameiican Review. t An account of this interesting visit has been published in Paris, in one volume, by Monsieur de Vavasseur. GENERAL LAFAYETTE. 47 His return to his country and to his family was noted by the same triumph that distinguished his visit to the western hemisphere ; and each day of his Ufe, up to the present hour, has added to his reputation, and to the briUiancy of his social position. Upon every occasion that has brought him before the public, in sorrow or in joy — at the funeral of his friend Foy, or at the festivals of French and American independence, so often celebrated in the capital of European civilization — he has appeared surrounded by his body guard, the " youth of France," and in the halo of national popula- rity. We had long been aware of this : previous to our present visit to Paris, we had been assured of his well-being by his delightful letters, and by those brilliant details of his public life, which the journals furnished even in ow ultima Thule ; and yet when we arrived in 1821), the interval which had elapsed since 1820, his time of life, and the reiterated blows his feelings (we knew) had sustained, threw a shadow of me- lancholy over our expected meeting, which we had other- wise contemplated with pleasure and impatience. We had left him at La Grange years back, suffering in bodily health from the consequences of a wound ; and since that time he had lost such friends as life could never again bestow — the friends of his youth, of his prime, the sharers in his labours, and the partakers of his triumphs. Domestic affliction, too, had laid its chill and terrible hand heavily on his noble heart. He had strewed flowers on the bridal grave of one who, in the order of nature, should have placed the cypress and the laurel on his own. These were events that I was aware had preyed upon a constitution which the dungeons of 01- mutz had not destroyed ; and bowed a spirit which the per- secution of the powerful, and the calumnies of the vile had not broken. If, in the struggles between time and feeling, necessi- ty and resignation will always decide the triumph of the for- mer, still years must make inroads on external forms, even while they efface the visible traces of affliction. Though we did not expect to see General Lafayette either "feeble" or" do- ting," w'e thought with regret that some of the original bright- ness with which we had formerly seen him irradiated, must have been partially obscured. He had called on us immedi- ately on our arrival, but'we were from home. Our first visit at his house was equally ill-timed. On returning the following day, we found the entrance of his hotel pre-occupied by a car- riage which had drawn up at the foot of the great stairs, 48 ANGLOMANIA. opening into the court. We alighted, and entered on foot* A gentleman who was standing on the last step, while his servant threw a large military cloak over his shoulders, turn- ed round to enter into the carriage. A mutual exclamation and recognition followed. It was Lafayette, younger, health- ier more on the alert than ever. His heart-whole cordiality, his affectionate welcome, his animated manner and benignant smile exhibited the same consistency in feeling and in friend- ship as he has shewn in political principle. " I was just going to see you," he said ; and ordering his carriage away, instead of availing himself of my husband's offered arm to ascend the stairs, he drew that of the dear little companion I was so proud to present to him, under his own ; and with the air and manner of the " young and gallant Lafayette'' of Marie Antoinette's fastidious court, he led us to his salon. After a long and delightful conversation, in which the calm vigour and sober enthusiasm of his mind came forth in details the most interesting and instructive, we parted ; but only with the mutual promise of meeting at night at the house of his celebrated relation, the Count do Tracy. ANGLOMANIA. Expecting a very early nursery visit from a new little relation, who has conferred on me a brevet rank by no means flattering even to a lady, " qui a tt^ jeune si long temps" (as the Journal des D^hats once pleasantly said of me, before we came into the same category of official proscription,) I was led into the vulgar nursery ambition of paying my court to my infant visitor, through her gastronomic propensities, by the toady-ism of comfits and sugar-plums ; so I walked out in search of a confectioner. My intention was to proceed to my old mart for hon bans, the " Fidele Berger," in the Rue Vivienne. But as topography is not my fort, I stopped short at the first shop that ft'll in my way. • With my head full of the poetical pastry of De Bar, soi.ie of whose bright con- ceptions I once gave to a country lady in Ireland, who orna- mented her dress with them for an assize ball, — I asked bold- ly for some Diahlolins en papiUote, Pastilles de Nantes, and other su;fared prettinesses ; but a demoiselle behind the counter, as neat as English muslin and French tournure ANGLOMANIA. 49 could make her, replied, conceitedly, in broken English, *' we sell no such a ting." A little surprised, I asked what she would recommend that would melt in the mouth, and not soil the fingers — something fit for a marmotle ; " Dere is every ting that you may have want," she replied, pointing to shelves piled with biscuits, — " de cracker, do bun, de plom- cake, de spice gingerbread, de mutton and de niince-pye, de crompet and de muffin, de gelee of de calves foot, and de apple-dumplin, as bespoke." f was struck dumb ! One of the things worth a visit to Pa- ris, if you had no other motive fur tiio journey, is its exqui- site confectionery ; so light, and so perfumed, that it resem- bles congealed odours, or a crystallization of the essence of sweet flowers. Plum-cake and apple-dumplings ! — sugar of lead and leaden bullets ! I thouglil of the " Fidele Berger,'* its fanciful idealities, its " tritles light as air," and " infinite deal of (sweet) nothings ;" its candied epics and eclogues in' spun sugar. Then, too, its ^arco/i,s, like "feathered Mercu- ries new lighted on" a sponge cake or a carmel, giving to the magazin the air of a store-room of the Muses. What a con- trast ! A chubby young man and a phlegmatic old woman, were busily at work. Batter was beating with wooden spoons; force meat was chopping with liirmingbam hatch- ets. Currants were drying, and suet v/as melting in the sun ; beaf-steak gravy steamed from the hot hearth, the oven was redolent of apple-pye : in a word, the pandemonium of an English country kitchen on a Christmas eve, was exhibited on an April morning, within view of tb.e violet beds and hya-. cinth banks of the elysium of the 'J\ulerics. I rubbed my eyes, and scarcely believed their evidence. [ looked up, and perceived a large black board, itjtimating, in gilt letters, that " Here is to be had all sorts of English pastry," by Tom or .Tack somebody, " pastry- cook, from London." Placards, too, were in every pane of the windows, with " Hot mutton pies," " Oyster patties," " Devonshire .-.ider," " Spruce beer," and " London porter." Odd's nausea and indigestion ! I thought I should never get out of the atmosphere of Cornhill or St. Paul's churchyard. So, paying for a bundle of crack- ers, hard enough to crack the teeth of an elephant, I con. signed them to my servant, and was hurrying away from the shop, when I was shot on the left cheek, and covered with a shower of froth, by the explosion of a bottle of " Whit, bread's entire," the pride of the counter, and the boast of its oAvner, Vol. L— 5 SsO ANGLOMANIA, Annoyed beyond measure, I was hastening home, to ckianse myself of the stain and the odour of this essence of aloes, liquorice, and cocculus indicus, when passing along the arcade, a perfumer's shop caught the most acute of all my senses. I never in my life was more in want of something to " sweeten my imagination" withall, so I turned in. One has always a long list of wants on a first arrival at Paris, that renders any and every shop a station, where a franc may be dropped, or a j)etit ecu offered with advantage. I there- fore prepared to " air my vocabulary" in my best Paris ac- cent, wiih all the classic names of eaux, essences, and ex- traits : but before I could make known a single want, the master of the shop pushed foward divers pint bottles of evi- dent English manufacture ; interrupting me with " Oui, out, madame, fentends ! voild tout ce qu'il vous faut, de lavender- vatre de Monsieur Galiie, de honey-vatre premiere qualife, de essence of hurgatnot, de tief his vinaigre, and de Vindsor soap ,•'' and addressing a young v/oman, who was tossing over a box of English fans and silk handkerchiefs, with O'Connell's handsome Irish face glowing in the centre, — " Ecoutez, cherc nmie," he said, " shew madame the Regent's vash-haU, de Hunt's blacking, de fish sauce, and the pill aMi bilieux.^' I heard no more, but gathering up my purse and reticule, quitted the shop in a fever of disappointment, which all the patent pills it contained could not cure. On reaching home, I found a little basket lying on the table of the anti-room, la- belled with a card ; and an English livery-servant waiting for a receipt; The card ran thus : " Mr. 's best compliments to Sir C. M., with a flask of genuine pot- feenJ" ■ This was too much! Was it for this we left the snugness and ceconomical comfort of our Irish home, and encountered the expensive inconveniences of a foreign jour- ney, in the hope of seeing nothing British, " till the threshold of that home should be passed by our feet :" — to meet at every stop with all that taste, health, and civilization we cry t^own at home, as cheap and as abundant abroad ; — from the aw tough fibre of a hard rosbif de mutton, to genuine pot- leen, or, " by your leave, Georgy,'^ with all its original bor- yachio of still and bog ? While I was in the first bitterness of my vexation, there dropped in young L , one of those juvenile citizens of the world, pecuhar to the present day, to whom Rome, Dublin, and Petersburg are as familiar as their native Paris. " Why, you look like Patience on a monument/' he said, in good ANGLOMANIA . 51 English and trite quotution, tliat gave the finishing touch to my ill-humour, " V/hat is the matter, 7na bonne miladi?^^ I described to him the disappointments of the morning, beginning with the mutton pies, and ending with his own English accent, and cockney quotation. He lauglied, and observed, "oh ! I sec you have fallen in with a condsevr ro- mantique.'^ " A what ?" I asked, opening my eyes. " Why, a pastry-cook of (he romantic school." " What does that mean ?" " Now that is really too pleasant. You pretend not t^ know that, who are yourself one of the standard-bearers of the romantic school.'' '^ Sans m^en douier, then," I replied ; " for though I know what the romanticif^m of the Italian literati meant, ten years ago, when I loft them all fighting for and against the unities, as fiercely as the " ancients" and " moderns" of the seven- teenth century, I thought their tactics too puerile for this side the Alps. But a romantic pastry-cook quite passes my comprehension." " Then, you must know that every thing English, except their politics, is now, in Paris, popular, and is deemed ro- mantic ; and we have romantic tailors, milliners, pastry- cooks, and even doctors and apothecaries." He then entered into some very graphic details and illus- trations ; and we laughed out this amusing absurdity till I quite recovered my spirits, and rejoiced in the accidents of my ramble, which had produced so much pleasant informa- tion. These disappointments of the morning, this eternal ren- contre with things merely English, which snaps the thread of association at every turn of a walk tin-ough the streets of Paris, is not, however, to be regarded as a mere result of a general conspiracy of Frenchmen against nationality and the rules of Aristotle. I am very much inclined, at least, to sus- pect, that some portion of it belongs to a well-imagined specu- lation, on catering for the home-bred propensities and long- ing, lingering regrets of the great European cavalicre pagante, John Bull. The majority of Englishmen do not so much travel to acquire continental ideas, as to fortify and fix their own. They do not voyage for the sake of comparing British institutions, sentiments, and usages, with those of other coun- tries ; but for measurincp all things foreign by the one infal- hble standard of all right and reason, " the custom of En- 53 aivgloma:^ia. gland." But the closer tilings can be brought into juxfa po- sition, the easier is it to form a judgment between them. It is therefore meitter of unspeakable delight to the connoisseur to be thus enabled (o bring home to the senses of the Pari- sians, the superiority of brown stout over champagne, and of muffins and twelfth cake over briocJies and gdleaus de Nantes ; not to speak of the tender yearnings such home-bred objects must excite in the " weary way-wanderers" in a distant land. If Englishmen generally travel for tlie sole purpose of con- gregating in foreign eilies, and meeting the same faces which they habitually encounter in Rotten-row and ihe round room at the Opera, it is probable that, to eat salt-beef in Naples, and hot apple-pye in the Palais-royal, must afford them es- pecial deliglit. There are no such penetrating philosophers as tradesmen, nor any key to the mysteries of the human heart like pecuniary interest ; and I cannot help thinking that the frequent shop-board inscription, " From London," that meets the eye at every turn in the Rue Vivienne and the Rue St. Honore, is not altogether addressed to the French love of free trade with England, and a romantic " coveting of neighbour's goods." Still, however, there does exist among the French a strong disposition to try all things, and especially all things English. English fashions and uses are the vogue among tiie merveil- leux et peiites mattresses ; English literature, with a large class of French writers; English aristocracy, with a certain portion of the faubourg ; and Engiisli Mantons by every chasseur, from the bear-hunter in thePyrennecs to the slayer of cock-sparrows in the banlicue of Paris. Tiiis is as it should be ; for though some exaggerations and absurdities are incidental to all vogues, inasmuch as it is the many who make the fasliion, and that fools are apt to predominate in all conmiunities, still a free inlcrcourse betv/een nations, and a mutual importation of virtues and of knowledge, must eventually be productive of universal good. Tiiere may be some awkwardness at first, to excite ridicule, (for affect-ition is always ridiculous,) but in these national interchanges, both parties will probably end by adopting what is really the most accommodating, serviceable, and best ; while (hey will be mutually more pleased with each other, and less disposed to be haUooed, (without motives,) into murderous and des- tructive wars, the disgrace of Christianity, and the scourge of the human race. t 53] ROYALISM IX 1829. " Jarnicoton !" as Louis the Fourteenth used to exclaim, in the language of his nursery education, (where, says Vol- taire, " he learned nothing bat dancing and the guitar,") jarnicoton ! how ten years have changed every thing in France! I ought now to liave done wondering ; and yet [ have not. My old impressions are for ever leading me into new blunders — into mistaking old names for old principles, and judging " every man by the scrip" of the old nomen- clature. The other day I dined in the Chaussee d'Antin, in that house where it is always such a privilege to dins : where the wit of the host,* liiie the menus of his table, combines all tliat is best in French or Irish peculiarity ; and where the socie- ty ischasen with rcterence to no other qualities than merit and agreeability. It was niy luck to be placed at dinner next a most agreeable person, who, in ceasing to be young, had not ceased to be very attractive. I had missed his name in the muttered introduction which had given him mine ; but it struck mc by his style and manner, his time of life, and a certain air pot to be mistaken, that he was of tliO viciUe no- bl-esse. As he did not, however, attack me after the fashion of 1820, when such persons shewed me no quavtor, I soon changed my opinion. I spoke, therefore, with loss reserve, the conversation became animated, and I rose tVom table de- lighted v.ith an acquaintance, who, without afllcting the hel esprit, was eminently literary and intellectaai. In tlie de- sultory topics we touched upon, many occasions must have arisen for the indulgence of angry prejudices, and for those explosions of feoIii)g, not to say rage, which were occasion- ally so disagreeable i;i mixed societies of Paris in SGIG. But nothing of this sort occurred ; no diatribes, no exaggerated claims to pure princii.'les, no sarcasms on things or |;ersons, nothing, in short, hut what might best become a tliorough-bred man of the world, of our own English political atjiiosphere, at the present moment so unexcited and so tranquil. I met this gentleman agaiii at an assembly at Lady V. M.'s, . and begged her to give nve hi.s name " bieji sonn^.'' * Patrick Lattin, Esq. of i\Iorrice-towD, in tbe county of Kildare, and •of 4he Cli-aussec d\lnlin, in Paris. 64 ROYALISM IN 1829. " Whr>t, not know the Count de Sabran, the successor of La Fontaine, the son of the brilliant Countess de Boufflers, and son-in-law to the chevalie?', par excellence ?"* What names ! vvhat associations !■ How was it possible, with such a descent, and such alliances, that the Count de Sabran should not be " more royal than the king, and more pious than the pope !" Still as we conversed, I thought more than once of the ancient device and motto of his house, " 7ioUte irrilare leonem,^' and took the hint. This evening, at a concert at Mad. de W 's, the Count de H — f — t was introduced to me by our accomplished host- ess. We soon became intimate, as persons usually do who hit upon some points of mutual agreement. As he was high in office, I was a little surprised ; but I let things take their course, and we talked of all sorts of n^atters, in all sorts of ways ; on his ow^n book on Spain, and his popular ministry there. When this gentleman moved oft", and was succeeded by another baron fiodal, whose royalism, dated at least from, the Valois, I frankly expressed my surprise at the change which had taken place in the manners and tone of society ; and I related to him a rencontre I had had at a masqued ball in 1819, where two ultras, (the sons of the most devoted danglers in the ante-chamber of Napoleon,) aid>)d by an ex-prot/'g^ of the Bonaparte family, had attacked me with more Dourbon- ite zeal than gallantry ; and had availed themselves to the utmost of the privilege of the mask. — " That,'' said the par- ty addressed, " that was the eagerness of girotieUism, so anx- ious in 1819 to dislinguish its questionable loyalty, no matter how. It is now loned down by a prevailing liberality, and by the natural subsidence of all exaggerations." " Such strange things take place every day," I replied, '' that I should not be surprised to find, on my return home, that Monsieur de Marlignac had written himself down at my door ; or tliat the minister of marine, my neighbour, (who is otie of the best speakers I think in the chambers,) should in- vite me to his Tuesday assemblies ; na^', that the king him- self should smile on me as he passes my window, and that I should exclaim with Madame do Sevigne, afier a similar fa- vour — " Le roi est le plus grand roi du monde.^^ " And why not, madame ?" replied my liberal royalist; " to be a faithful partisan of the august house of Bourbon, is * The friend also of Madame de Sla?^I, who frequently quoted with approbalion his line on the pine tree : " Le Pin deuil de I'^t^, ornement de I hyver." THE " CO>'GRF,GATI0?r." 55 it necessary to be childislily intolerant ? I am a Bourbonist by- inheritance and by devotion ; but ! am also a Frenclinian, and of that French party more especially, which (loving the king, but detesting Jesuitism) is royalist according to tho charte, and not according to the Coni^i-egation." I opened my eyes ! and was opening my m.outh to ask something relative to this same Congregalion, when the first touch of Rossini's inspired linger on the piano silenced every other sound ; and the voices of two of the prettiest women* in France, "breathing and stealing" inspiration . from iii.'^ most wondrous accompaniment, awakened sensations worth all the politics that were ever discussed. THE " CONGREGATION/'t JKsiiTisjr, in a religious sense, and as it is applied to a monkish order, is a mere name in France. It serves to amuse a few idle old women of either sex, and to occupy a few feeble young ones, who belong to the confraternities of the holy heart, or to convents which are under the influence of the * The Comtesses de Spar and Goussard, who, witii the Comtesse de Merlin, are, perhaps, the finest amateur singers in Europe. t Among the many writers who have attacked the Jesuits, Le Comto de Montlosier has attracted the most universal attention, l)y the spirit and talent with which his " Memoire d consuUcr" has exposed their designs. Foreseeing the loss of his pension, as a rerlairi conserjuence of this publication, he was desirous of preparing his son for the change in the circumstances of his family. With this intention, he caused a splendid dinner to be served ; but at the moment when the parties sat down to table, the servants carried oft' the viands, and replaced them by an omelette, some chee=p, and brown bread. This moral, in action, was explained in a brief address, in v,'hich the parent spoke of the com- parative indigence \\ liich must result from the s!ep he wasaljontto take ; and added, that he had too high an opinion of his child, to fear that he could repine at his father's having acted in obedience to the dic- tates of his conscience. Monsieur INJontlosier is a rigid Catholic, and his attack on the Jesuits, the Congregation, and ultramontanism, was wholly in the interest of religion : " II annons^ait vouloir defendre la religion et le trone contra un plan religieux et poliiique tendant a les renverser ; les Jesuites et tout ce que leur est attache par intoret et par ambition virent bien que c'otait a eux que Monsieur Montlosier allait s'attaijuer : on en tressail- lit de St. Acheul au Vatican." — Notice sur Le C'omle Monllosier devant son ouvrage " Dcs Mi/stires de la Vu Humaine." 56 THE " C0>7GREGATinX." brotherliood of Igntitius. But Jesuitism, as that most ingenious and fearful system has ever been applied, both in the old and recent times, to politics, is still making a stand, with a tena- city and perseverance which are its peciiliar characteristics. 'i he resuscitation of the system began openly to manifest it- self about ten years back ; since which period, two princi- ples or powers have disputed the direction of public opinion and government : the one, open, legal, constitutional, sus-' ceptible, indeed, of the errrors incidental to humanity, but, enlightened by discussion, by the press, and by the habits connected with representative governments ; — the other, fraudulent, fanatie, and intriguing, is essentially false, and, like all other fraudulent combinations, it rejoices in darkness, because its deeds are evil. The first party consists only of the nation, of that mass that, under the old regime was trodden to the earth, to which it was bound in feodal servitude ; that was despised, wronged, and ridiculed, as the tiers ^tat, — of the men of liberal professions, of commerce, of letters, and science, who were virtually included in the territorial cata- logues, among the live stock which gave value to Ihe lands of the aristocracy. This party is, in France, called the parli (or jwuvoir) -parlementaire. Its opponents, mounted upon the old springs of Jesuit machinery, as it existed in the reign of Louis the Fourteenth, struggling to bring back Europe to its old position, compromising the throne they affect to up- hold, and mystifying the nation they affect to instruct, are moved by the Congregation. This association has enrolled in its band the fragments of the ultras of 1815 and 1810, (all at least who have not deserted the Bourbons for Pere la Chaise, that most successful recruiter for ^zVowfi/iM ;) toge- ther with the whole phalanx of ministej'ial dependants, maires, prefets, bishops, and cures, and the candidates for and ex- pectants of similar offices. These two parties, so unequal in numerical strength, and in moi'al and political force, were brought into close contact in the chamber of deputies. The Congregation, fortified by royal favour, reigned there with a majority of more than 130 ajfilies, backed by place, pension, honours, and the whole influence of Viilele : the nation, sup- ported only by the incorruptibility of the electors, and the firmness of the cole gauche, were repeatedly beaten, but as of- ten returned to the charge. After a lapse of five years, the force of public opinion prevailed, and the Congregation gave wa)". Monsieur de Viilele fell not by a private stab, as in the times of the RicheUeus, but by the public voice ; and h« FELIX HOUBIGAIVT-CHARDIN. 57 cannot return to power without a tocsin being sounded, wliicli will warn the nalion to rise in defence of its interests. But should France thus be called on — should it again be forced to rise — should the folly, the feebleness, the fanaticism of the Congregation urge the sovereign on the rocks of a coup (Telat, why then let him have his post-horses ready, and a courier dispatched to give orders for the airing of the royal apart- ments at Hartwell or at Ghent, too happy if he be not reduc- ed like Macbeth, to declare, that '• There is no flying hence, nor tarrying here." PERFLMERY.— MAGAZIX DE FELIX HOUBIGANT- CHARDIN. No one should leave Paris, without visiting that " spicy Araby" of sweet odours, the Magazin of the Sieur Felix Houbigant-Chardin, in the Rue St. Honore. I passed an hour there, this morning, in an atmosphere that penetrated to the very imagination, and sent me home with ideas as musquces as my person. There is a philosophy in odours, if one knew how to extract it ; attars and essences apply to the mind with considerable influence, through the most suscepti- ble, but capricious of the senses. A Roman lady very liter- ally "dies of a rose in aromatic pain," and swoons at the as- pect of a bunch of flowers ; while she inhales with i,ndifler- ence the steams of the iinmondczzaio piled up under her casement. A 'petite ma'itresse of Billingsgalc, or " les Halles," perhaps might faint at the effluvia of an Hottentot toilet. In the middle ages, and even down to the times of the Bourbons and the Stuarts, the absence of personal cleanliness and domestic purity rendered artificial odours indispensable ; and "sweet bags," perfumed pillows, and scented gloves, breathing of rue, rosemary, cinnamon, and cedar, like a box from the Fonderia of Sania Maria Novella, in Florence, were indices of the barbarity of a people, to whom the first duty of civilization was unknown. The hero of the Fronde, and traitor to all parties, the gal- lant Prince de Conde, was so notorious for neglecting his person, that Mademoiselle cites him in her memoirs, as past ti'6 rtUFUMLKY. JIAGAZIN DE endurance ; and talks of his uncombed hair, and untied cravat, with other less supportable slovenlinesses. She her- self, however, was apt to lapse into similar faults ; and she gives a descriplion of her personal disorder in going in the " carrosse de la Heine,'''' as a thing of frequent occurrence, and even of boast, when not in her state toilet. In the old times, apartments strewed with rushes, rarely removed, or 'parquets never washed, tapestries that received the dust of ages, hangings inaccessible to purification, and filthy feathers nodding over canopies as filthy, with princes and princesses too dignified to wash their hands, required at least an " ounce of civet, good apotliecary/' to cleanse the foul imagination of the visitor ; and tliey must have given oc- casion for a love of perfunicry, more overwhelming than mo- dern nerves can well relish. Cardinal Mazarin, who, in his quality both of priest and Italian, could not have been parti- cular in such matters, (for it is unnecessary to observe that dirt was a dogma of that religion of which the pic-puces were the ministers, used to joke Anne of Austria for her love of perfumery. He was accustomed to say, that bad smells would be her punishment in the other world ; and really I think they might suffice for any moderate iniquity, short of the "seven deadlics." As personal purity has increased, the intensity of the fash- ionable perfumery has lessened ; and the verity of the axiom been more generally acknowledged, that they who are with- out odour, are the sweetest. There is a wide interval be- tween the musk}^ sv.eet bags of the olden times, and the es- sences de Mousseline and Resida of the present day. In 1816 the French had scarcely got further in the progress of perfumery th_an the eau de Chiprc and MiUesfieurs ; and the eau de Cologne (or, as the lady's maids call it, eau de Coloan) was still in high vogue. In the actual state of illumination, eau de Cologne is banished to the medicine chest, with laven- der drops and cardamom tincture. Instead of bathing the handkerchief, its ministry is confined to bathing bruises, and dissipating headachs. By the bye, ?re Parisians do not bathe our handkerchiefs now with any thing. The most delicate perfume thus conveyed, would be deemed too strong and coarse for modern romaniic nerves. The process of per- fuming an handkerchief is more elaborately scientific, and marks the spirit of the age : as such, it cannot fail to interest posterity ; and I record it, as a matter of conscience, even though it should never "reach its address." % FELIX irOUBIGANT-CHARDIN. 59 Take a dozen embroidered cobwebs, such as some '• araignee du voisinnge''* might weave for the reticule of Queen Mab, and phtce them in the pocket of an elegant porle- mouchoir, which must not be of any of the old fashioned prismatic colours; but, (as ^'^ La Mode'' phrases it,) '^ du couleur leplus ??oMoea?f.''f Into the cover of this elegant and indispensable superfluit}-, the delicate odours are to be quilt- ed, which communicate a just perceptible atmosphere ; (that is to say, an atmosphere perceptible to the practised olfacto- ries of enlightened nerves ;) and which mingling with the freshness of the last spring-water rince of the laundry,, ren- ders the application of the handkerchief to the face a " per- fect pleasure." This receipt I give almost in the very words of the merveilleux from whom I had it ; and who inveighed with more eloquence than I can hope to convey in writing, against the pints of lavender water which English ladies scatter on their handkerchiefs, giving their opera box the smell of an apothecary's shop, or an Irish whiskey house. ^ With reference to thia taste of civilization (the quality of the perfume) the magazin of Monsieur Chardin is two cen- turies m advance of the essences of the Fondcria of Flo- rence. Both, however, are to be consulted as historical mo- numents : the one illustrating the charte ; the other, a com- ment on the legislation of that holy alliance ; which, among other equivocal works, has re-esiablished the laboratory of the monks of St. Dominic, in its monopoly of " quesii odori gratissimi die con il low spirilo, hanno vlrkl singolare di con.-, forlare e foriijicare i ire sjiirUi, il naiurale, Vanimale ed d vi- tale ; siccome ricreano ammirabilmente la, icsfa, corroljorando il cerehro, e risvegliando la merite."^ There is no taste so frivolous, but it has its philosophy. * '* Neighbourino; spider." t " The newest liue." t That is, when the spirit predominates (no uncommon case) over the lavender. §"Jf this '' choice Italian" of the monks of St. Dominic require trans- lation, the foliowin^c is their " own choice English," and may ho de- pended on as faithful : — '• These are most grateful Odours or Pesfumes, that powerfully che- " risch, confirm et fortify, the natural, the animal and the Vital Sipirits ; '' they also recreate and enliven all the parts ot the Head, sfrengthen- '•ing te Brain, quinckening tiie Apprehension, and preserving the Me- " mory.'' [ 60] THE COUNT DE TRACY. " Destutt de Tracy," says the venerable Jefferson, in his admirable letters to John Adams, " is, in my judgment, one of the ablest writers on intellectual subjects. His three oc- tavo volumes of ideology j'*- which constitute the foundation of what he has since written, I have not entirely read, be- cause 1 am not fond of reading what is merely abstract and unapplied immediately to some useful science. Bonaparte, with his re|)eated derisions of ideologists, squinting at this au- thor, has, by this time, felt that true wisdom does not lie in mere practice, without principle. The next work De Tracy wrote was his Commentary on Montesquieu ; although call- ed a Commentary, it is, in truth, an elementary work, on the principles of government. He has lately published a third work, on political ceconomy, in which all its principles are demonstrated, with the severity of Euclid, and, like him, without ever using a superfluous word." — Memoirs and Cor- rcspondtnce of T. Jefferson, vol. iv. p. 305. The Count Di;stutt de Tkacy, the champion of positive ideas, the subtile analyst of mental philosophy, the conimen- tutor and developer of Locke, is, in England, more celebrated (iiiui luiown ; because his writings have swept away more of tiie cobwebs of sophistry from moral science than suits the interests of those who dictate opinions to those most confid- ing and indolent of half-thinkers, the larger portion of the British public. This is not precisely the place to enter upon abstract points of philosophy, nor, if it were, am I competent to illustrate the views which De Tracy has taken of the all important subjects of which he has treated. It is, however, sufficient to say that he has, in his writings on mind, follow- ed and extended the method of the immortal author of the Essay on the Human Understanding, and has admitted no position into the category of science, which is not more or * They now form five volumes. Ideology, the science of iJeas, com- prehends the whole round of moral philosophy. The phenomena of sensations and volitions, grammar, logic, morality, government, and po- litical ceconomy, form a series of dependent facts distinct from those which belong to physical science, and embrace a circle, which has been called ideology, to distinguish it from metaphysics, or d priori specula- tions concerning mind. THE COUiXT DE TKACY. 61 less directly referable to observed fact. He has endeavour- ed, and more successfully than his predecessors, to redeem his subject from the inconclusive vagueness and verbiage of the old metaphysicians, and to introduce into moral philoso- phy the Baconian method, which has given such gigantic pro- portions, and such immutable certainty to the natural sci- ences. Considering the mental operations as phenomena, equally susceptible of being observed and appreciated as any other functions of the organization, he has applied his sin- gularly acute and lucid intellect to their enumeration and analysis ; and, laying on one side all hypothetical reasonings, he has fixed the boundaries between the demonstrable portion of psychology, and that which must ever remain conjectural, and incapable of proof. His style is simple and clear, to transparency ; and notwithstanding the abstruseness of his subject, (abstruse, when treated by the writers of the old school,) his works are easy reading, even to the least initiat- ed in such studies. They must, therefore, be ranked as classical ; and as they mark an epoch in French literature, so they will, in all probability, maintain their place and repu- tation as a necessar}- part of educational study, unless some unforeseen revolution in knowledge should wholly supersede all that is at present known concerning the matters he dis- cusses. Monsieur de Tracy is one of those rare and estimable per- sons in whom the accident of birth has not determined the nature and character of their political and philosophical opi- nions. He has inherited from his ancestors none of that in- vincible prejudice and indomitable hostility to popular rights and popular reasonings which attached so closely to the ge- nerality of the members of the privileged classes in France. All his writings breathe a warm, and even enthusiastic love of his species ; and his commentary on Montesquieu may be consulted with advantage by all the advocates of good govern- ment, and the happiness of the greatest number. There are certain positions, and, above all, certain cele- brities in society, to which the mind necessarily attaches cer. tain ideas — ideas which are not to be shaken ofT, however often refuted by individual experience. When we approach thie cell of the sage, or the study of the philosopher, we feel a certain reverential awe that communicates itself even to our movements. 1 thought, therefore, that I was unconscion- ably late, the night I visited a person of the Count de Tra- ces advanced age and character, a conscript father of the Vol. I.— G 62 THE COUNT DE TRACY. House of Peers, and the most profound of moral philoso- phers. But there was no getting away from Monsieur de •Segur's, whose society and conversation make one forget " all seasons ana their changes." Yet it was a point to visit, on the same evening, the most brilliant remaining litth'aleur, and the_most celebrated metaphysician of the last century ; — to say nothing of a rendezvous with Lafayette. As we passed through the antechamber, and entered the first salon, I was surprised to calch the sound of, what the prim brothers of the lady in Comus, too precisely call " ill-managed mirth" — mirth that exploded in joyous peals of laughter, coming from the heart of the youthful. The room was almost im- passable. Its centre was occupied by a circle of young per- sons of both sexes, (the grandchildren of De Tracy and of Lafayette,) with their friends ; among whom were some ju- venile Americans. In the midst of this group stood Lafa- yette, legislating for some complex case in the law of forfeits, for which purpose he had been called away from another group in a distant part of the room, composed of Benjamin de Constatit, the Ternaux, Perriers, Monsieur Victor de Tra- cy, and other notables of the coU gauche of both chambers ; whose conversation was not in the least disturbed by the joy- ous party, no less intent on their small plays, than the seni- ors were on the great game of political life, which they were discussing. My own dear little relation, who accompanied me, was received into this happy party, as though she had been as old a friend of its members as her aunt ; and I left her, in a moment, as busily occupied in the mysteries of le mot a double sens, as if the acquaintance of a minute had been the friendship of a century. Oh ! youth, youth ! " Give me back, give me back, the wild freshness of morning, Us tears and its sighs are worth evening's best smiles !" The Count de Tracy was seated between two extremely pretty and fashionable women. Several distinguished fo- reigners were dispersed through the room. The Count's excellent daughter, Madame George Lafayette, presided at the tea-table ; and the elegant Madame Victor de Tracy, his daughter-in-law, was doing the honours to some female strangers in another part of the salon. The assemblies of Monsieur de Tracy, which occur week- ly during the seasoji, are among the most select and remark- able in Paris. Inaccessible to common-place mediocrity and pushing pretension, their visitor must be ticketted in some THE COUNT DE TRACY. 63 way or other to obtain a presentation. We found ou ■ cele- brated host much declined in health and strength. His fine intellect, however, was unaltered, and his conversation full of interest and information. Still there hangs a shade over his spirits, a feeling consciousness of impaired powers, which none but himself perceives, and which, I believe, is peculiar to persons of genius and of strong character in old age. It is rarely found in the senility of the dull and the ordinary. Self-occupied from the cradle to the tomb, tiieir mechanical flutter, in advanced life, is but a continuance of the heartless vivacity of their youth. What capabilities to please others we must possess, before we become dissatisfied with our- selves ! — We endeavoured to argue the Count out of his conviction of being greatly changed since we last saw him ; but it is to no purpose that we preach to feeling : so we got upon other subjects, which drew him out to talk, in a manner that was the best refutation of his opinion of himself. We talked of modern literature and philosophy, of the romanti- cists and classicists. Like all the men of a higher order of intellect, in France, he is of no school but that of truth. He has studied in all ; and acknowledges the spell of talent wherever he finds it. I spoke of a young man with whom I had lately conversed, and who talked lightly of Voltaire's genius. "That," he replied, ''is an opinion of a party, or rather, a mode desecte. I had," he said, " an academic dis- pute on the subject with poor Auger, a few days before he drowned himself. At a sitting of the Institute he had read us a paper on Voltaire, which he intended for a biographical work, and in which he treated the first writer, tlie greatest and most universal genius that France ever produced, as a clever school-boy, amusing, but superficial ; and talked of his having ' some grace in his style.' I was then suffering under a complication of maladies — I was very ill ; but in- dignation gave me strength ; and to the best of my poor abi- lity, I defended the man (who will want no defence with pos- terity) againsf one of those ephemeral attacks which are al. ready forgotten. I replied, with more warmth, perhaps, than such an attack could deserve ; but to hear the author of • Mahomet,' of the ' Henriade,' of ' Candide,' and of those admirable volumes of correspondence, equally remarkable for their playful wit and their philosoph}', complimented for possessing ' some grace !' and this, too, by a Monsieur. Auger ! — it was difficult to be calm." "And who is Monsieur Auger?" I asked, "I know no- 64 THE COUNT DE TRACY. thing of him. His name has not yet crossed the Channel.'^ He a:nswered me by a quotation from ' U Hypocrisies of Vol- taire. It was quite fine to see the Locke of hfs age and country, tiius suddenly forgetting his infirmities in a burst of generous displeasure against the folly and presumption of obscure mediocrity, in thus undervaluing a genius, upon which the public has definitively decided.* Voltaire is the author whose renown will survive that of all the writers who flourished with him. " We shall see what the present age will produce ; at least our posterity will ; but as yet he has the most voices with him. The numberless editions which are daily teeming from the press, of all sizes and prices, ex- ceed all that has ever been achieved of popularity by any writer, in any country." Ye classicists and romanticists of the nineteenth century — which of you will do this? We talked of the new school of philosophy. The school of Monsieur Cousin is not that of the Count de Tracy ; but, oh ! what indulgence, what to- leration, what justice and impartiality, with respect to the ta- lents, the merits, and the spirit of the young philosopher * " Au resle,^^ he said, when we pressed him a little too closely for his sentiments, " I can give you no very decided opinion, for I do not understand my author. II faut entendre, ait main's pour juger ; and I must answer your question like the man in the comedy : "Que penzez-vous, monsieur, de cette auteur ? Je peiise, raadarae, qu'il est — fort el-la- mode." If simplicity be the true test of genius, it exists iii the per^ son and manners of Monsieur de Tracy, in its most winning and amiable form ; uniting the frankness and honesty of Franklin with all the ease and polish of the French gentle- * This opinion, whicli prevails cliiefly among tiie younger literati oC Paris, is deiived partly from ilie present age having got so far the start of the last, and [)artly by a reaction produced by the obvious eifort to restore a veneration for whatever is old. The classicists hold nothing perfect that is more recent than Louis XIV'. ; and the romanticist re- venges liimself by denying merit to all that is older than his owt) times. That clause also of the C'harte, which excludes men under forty from the Chamber of Deputies, has produced a schism between the young and the old, which powerfully modifies the sentiments of individuals^ The nation at large, however, of all ages and sects, are still true to their worship of Voltaire; a worship that has been almost inflamed to fanaticism by the violence of the parri-^re/rc against bis Avorks and me- mory. BALL AT THE ENGLISH EMBASSY. , 65 man of the old school ; ga}', cheerful, and affectionate in iiis domestic intercourse, his private virtues are as respectable as his public character is exalted. In his own person he il- lustrates by irrefutable example, that the highest order of in- tellect is the best adapted to the practice of the purest morality. It is, in fact, an error as unfounded as it is mischie- vous, to suppose that there exists a natural connexion between genius and irregularity. The Miltons, the Lockes, the New- tons, the Benthams, and the De Tracys, are undeniable wit- nesses to the contrary. At the weekly assemblies of this excellent and eminent man, and his charming family, we were constant attendants, during our residence in Paris; and it was with feelings of sincere regret that we took leave of one, whose advanced age, coupled with the uncertainty of our early return to PVance, made it so doubtful whether we should ever again enjoy his society. The Count de Tracy, notwithstanding his growing infirmities, is constant in his attendance at the cham- ber of peers, whenever a question of major importance re- quires the benefit of his talents and vote. It is unnecessary to add, that the friend and kinsman of Lafayette has, through- out the revolution, been a firm and consistent supporter of li- beral principles. B\LL AT THE ENGLISH EMBASSY. "Que d'objpts. que de fjens, inconnus jusqiralnrs. T ous les ai;il)HSsadf>iir-:, des marechaux, des lords : D«s arlistt'i, Ih fleiir de la lilterrtMire ! Des feiiitnes. (|ii''i ectit, quel goCit dansleiir pariire — Dieu ! le^ beaux diain;iiis !" Ecole de f ieillartls* On the first burst of this magnificent assembly on my dazzled- eyes, I felt pretty much as Hortense is supposed to • " What a scene, and what faces one ne'er saw before, Lords, niar>hals, nmhassadors, princes 'lalore- ; Romanticist'!, c assicists, b'ue slocking peers, With .ii tists, in virtu rieep' 1 up to tl:e ears ! T en the women ! wliai S|)lend(»ur and laste in their finery, And, ye godi ! wtifil fine diamonds, all glitter and shinery." 6* 6if»' BALL AT THE ENGLISH EMBASSY- do, when she gives vent to her feelings in the above quoted^ exclamations. There is nothing in the world like these di- plomatic balls on the continent, for brilliancy and the gathering of strange and remarkable people ; and this, upon the whole, was one of the most splendid and picturesque I ever saw. It was given in honour of the king's birthday, (the king of Eng- land's s^entencl). All the great authorities were in grand cos- tume ; and the rest of the company in full court dresses, except that the women did not wear trains, and that court plumes were not de rigueur. The representatives of all the nations of the civilized world, each in his national or professional dress^ afforded a curious and interesting spectacle, on which philo- sophy itself might have gcizod, without reproach. It was a bal costume, to which ages lent their assistance :. and imagination could scarcely have added a trait to the pic- turesque eticct of the diplomatic masquerade in which past and present times combined to add diversity and rarity. The most striking group was that formed by the Austrian embas- sy, splendidly altired in ancient historical costumes ; with a numerous troop of attaches, the elite of the gay, the gallant youth of their country, in all the gorgeous pageantry of the middle ages. When his Austrian excellence was announced, how I started, with all the weight of Aulic proscription on my head. The representative of the long-armed monarch of Hapsburg so near me, — of him, who, could he only once get his tidgetty fingers on my little neck, would give it a twist, that would save his custom-house officers all future trouble of breaking carriages and harassing travellers, in search of the pestilent writings of " Ladi Morgan." I did not breathe freely, till his excellency had passed on with his glittering train, into the illuminated conservatory, and was lost in a wilderness of flowering shrubs and orange trees. Other visions as bright, but less startling, succeeded, appearing and disappearing with a rapidity, that added to the illusion of the scene, till the opening of the ball left the reception room clear and cool, and gave me time and opportunity to look around at the changes impressed on the mansion, since I had last seen it, some dozen years or so gone by. All h-ere, as elsewhere, was altered, totally altered ; the room I was in, was still that where Pauline Bonaparte, Prin- cess Borghese, had figured in such loveliness and fortune ; but all the alentours of her favourite apartment, which were, on my last visit, as fresh as when she had left them, had va- aished. The canopy of her superb bed, the hue and forai of" BALL AT THE ENGLISH EMBASSY. 67 her magnificent furniture, like her beautiful self, were gone, and left no wreck behind, save in the memory of the behold- ers. The hotel had been newly and entirely fitted up by its present tasteful and elegant tenant, with a splendour chasten- ed by simplicity, and an admirable adaptation and harznony of its hues and ornaments. The pompous and cumbrous ex- travagance of decoration, substituted by Napoleon for the republican simplicity'of the half-furnished apartments of the first consul (rich and sumptuous as it was) was far inferior to the taste, accommodation, and enjoyment (if I may use the term) of the style of furnishing, which prevails in the present day. The conservatory alone, (a creation of Lady Stuart,) and its illumination, were worth all that had preceded it, on a site, where the imperial treasures were permitted to flow with unrestrained profusion : biit the mines of Golconda cannot purchase taste, that slow product of time, experiment, and the full developement of all the arts. " Barbaric pomp and gold" are the results of the first attempts at civilization, pre- ceding the homelier but important arts, which constitute the comfort of nations ; but the discovery, that state is not in- compatible with enjoyment, and that true luxury is ease, is among the last refinements of regal and aristocratic inge- nuity. While I was thus occupied in noting the operations of time and change, since my last visit to the embassy, one was an- nounced, unchanged, and it should almost seem unchangeable — the Prince Talleyrand. It was the same impassible coun- tenance that I had seen at the Duchesse de Berri's marriage; and were I now to describe it, I could but repeat the very phrase which I then employed, ^^ jamais visage ne fut moins baj-ometre.''* The youthful had passed their prime, the man- ly and the vigorous had dropped into caducity ; the reigning beauties who, on this spot, had sought to conquer the nation's conqueror, had given place to successors, who in their turn already were learning that their tenure is not eternal ; but Talleyrand was still the same, an unchanging monument of the mutability of all things around him. * " Never was there a countenance so little the barometer of the feelings." [68] THE COUNT DE SEGUR. We have just returned from a delighful dinner at the Count de Segur's. In France the " oiije dine,Je reste," of Madame du DefFand's English bore, is a rare event. A dinner party, in Paris, always breaks up with the chasse cafe, for the rest of the evening would be too short for the multifarious claims made on its hours by pleasure, were it " as long as Lapland nights, when nights are longest there." But when one goes to such societies as that of Monsieur de Segur, where one is seated at his round table of eight, where every word that falls, would form the redemption of an Ana, or swell the note book of the historian, — where the careless pleasantry of not unconscious wit is indulged with the certainty of a congenial auditory, and names marked by every species of celebrity, both of past and present times, give confidence to every effu- sion of gaiety or of philosophy, — the fearful words of the faclieux are forgotten, and one willingly remains to "the last syllable of time," which the late habits of Paris accord to every society. With what a pleasant emotion of surprise, curiosity, and admiration, I first met Monsieur de Scgur, in 1810, at a dcjeune a la fourchetle, given us by Denon, in his splendid apartments on the Quai Voltaire. Monsieur de S. had not then made his new claims upon public interest, by the vivacious and simple relations of that most varied and im- portant life, which have since come forth in his own elegant and most amusing memoirs : but I knew enough of the lite- rature and politics of the latter part of the last century, to be aware with what success and celebrity he h.-^d mingled in its business and in its pleasures. The son of the gallant Mare- chal de Regur, the brother of one of the most brilliant wits of France, the father of the best military historian of the present day, the uncle of the illustriuus Lafayette, and the companion of his striking campaigns in America, the most successful diplomatist of his time, the ambassador of Louis the Sixteenth to Russia, Prussia, and Rome, the friend and travelling companion of Catherine of Russia, of the Emperor Joseph, of Frederick of Prussia, (a striking evidence, by the- bye, of the possibility of the highest intellect occupying the highest places under false and baneful institutions, with lit- tle benefit to mankind,) aad one of the most classical and; THE COUNT DE SEGUR. 69 voluminous writers of modern Franco — had claims upon the attention of an educated stranger, which must have rendered him an especial object of interest in any circle, however bril- liant. I soon discovered that he was also one of the most agreeable and amiable persons (in the strictest sense of those charming epithets,) that I had ever met, in any society, at home or abroad. He was then accompanied by his late estimable and ad- mirable wife ; and though both were struggling under one. of the most striking reverses of fortune, which, even in thia age of strange transitions, have struck down a brilliant pros- perity to the very extreme of adversity, yet the talents which had charmed and mastered the astute policy of Catherine, the spirit which had tied the pleasurable pavilions of Ver- sailles, for the desolation of the wilderness and the perils of the camp, and the graces which called the ex-minister of the Bourbons to preside over the imperial court of the modern Charlemagne, were in that gloomy and doubtful moment, in their fullest force and activity. From the date of this first introduction to the present mo- ment, when I am come fresh from the charm of his society, I have owed to the friendship and abilities of Monsieur de Segur, an increasing sum of obligation, which, whether bor- rowed from his society, or his works, lias contributed largely to the pleasure and instruction of my life. The last books I read, before leaving Ireland, (and it was for the second time,) had been the first three volumes of his own memoirs ; but notwithstanding the spirit and grace with which they are written, I almost feared our first interview. The head of the noble tree was evidently still green and vigor- ous ; but its trunk and branches, and all the external signs of" preservation, might but too px'obably have yielded under the attacks of malady, on a frail and failing constitution. Since we had last met. Monsieur de Segur had sustained severe domestic afflictions, and he was now seventy-seven. I wait- ed, therefore, till my husband had visited him, and reported to me the state of his health, that I might not come upon him in all the redundancy of my own newly-kindled ex- citements, and with spirits too exuberant, perhaps, to be in harmony with his own. My husband found him going to the House of Peers, of which he is a diligent member ; and a cordial recognition, an English shake of the hand, and an intimation that he received company every evening, set ap« prehension at rest. 70 Tire COUNT DK SEGUR. If there is a country in the world where age sliould re- treat, to wear out its brief remains of existence, and die in the midst of enjoyment, it is France ; for there intellect, and what the French term " esprit,^^ [which are of all ages,) are the qualities most prized ; and friendship is the sentiment the most inherent and inHuential. We found Monsieur de Segur surrounded by old and young> friends, by some of the liveliest and loveliest women of the capital. His male com- pany was chiefly composed of the liberal members of the House of Peers, general officers en retraite, (men whose names were well known in the fasti of the heroic i\ge of France,) and authors of .confirmed celebrity. This society was perpetually changing during the hours of our visit ; the grey heads of the aged, and the '' chapeaux feuris,'' of the young succeeding and mingling, and giving interest to a cir- cle, whose great charm, (after the object round which it moves,) is, that it is made up of no one party, sect, or fac- tion in politics, literature, or philosophy. It is sufficient to have merit, agreeabilify, or the claims of old acquaintance, to belong to it ; but, truth to tell, it is still so far exclusive, that what Madame Roland calls " VuniverselJe mediocrity" gains no admission there. What a delightful existence we found Monsieur de S. en- joying ! and yet, over our meeting, time and death had thrown their deepest shades. — His once beautiful person, still so distinguished by its air de grand Seigneur, was much changed since we had last seen him ; though his sight was considerably improved, and his toilet was as soignee, and his smile as benignant as ever. After our first salutation and inquiries were over, two images fixed my attention, which saddened the conversation. Immediately opposite his ha- bitual seat was a fine picture of Madame de Segur, who had died the year before, and whom we had left in health and spirits : a little bust of our mutual friend, Denon, was on the chimney-piece. Interpreting our looks, he observed, " yes, two dear friends are gone since we last met. That is a fine picture ; it is painted by my old friend, Madame Le Brun ; who, thank God, is alive and wonderfully well." After a moment's si- lence, he continued, — " 'tis very like ! and it is all that re- mains of fifty years of the most perfect friendship of which I know any example. Not only there was not a single disa- greement between us upon general subjects of literature, politics, or private affairs, but (he added with emphasis) pas THE COUNT DE SEGUR. 71 le moindre nuage domeslique, pas mhne une difference d'opinion dans les defaUs du inaiage* The loss of such a friend, such a companion, such a secretaiy, is not to be estimated — would not be endurable, if there was much of life left to indulge in vain regrets. What comfort and support she was to me un- der my (Treat calamities ! When you were in France, she was my amanuensis, and wrote the whole of my ' Universal History,' under my dictation ; for I was then almost blind. And, poor Denon, too, your chevalier, and my oldest friend, after my nephew Lafayette, and De Tracy. Two days be- fore his death he dropped in here, at a lute hour ; as young as you knew him. He was in the highept health and spirits, and full of engagements to Enghsh din;;ers and French as- semblies. I said, ' no matter what your engagements are, you must dine with me the day after to-morrow. C^est la fite de Madame de Segur.' He replied that he would not fail ; and he went off to Madame d'H , to consult on a birth-day present for my wife. The t >y arrived, and while we were waiting for him, the frightful intelligence was brought us, that he was no more." To change the conversation, which was becoming too painful to spirits susceptible of every injpression, my husband talked to him of his Memoires, of which he could not say more laudatory things than we both thought. Monsieur Segur replied that he had written, to the best of his conviction, in the spirit of veracity, and the most perfect impartiality towards all parties : that was his merit. " But when shall we have the fourth volume ?" He shook his head, and said — " 'his is not the moment. Come what come may, I ne^er will write against my con- viction ; and whenever I shall speak of that great man to whom I owed so much, I shall say what I believe to be the truth." He alluded to Napoleon. There is an absence of pretension and a noble simplicity in the higher order of genius, which, with the superficial, is apt to detract from that adtniration '.vhich great minds ought to inspire ; and the philosophy of Frenchmen is of so tran- quil and unobtrusive a cast, that it passes current with the world, rather for the absence of feeling than for its mastery. But to the view of observers of more penetration, there is in the unaffected cheerfulness and calm serenity of such cha- * " Not a domestic cloud, not a difference of opinion concerning the every-day details of llie family." 72 THE COUNT DE SEGUK. racters as Monsieur de Segur, something infinitely exalted above the bullying impassibility of the ancient Stoics, their hard morality, and wordy boasting. This high-born noble- man, statesman, author, and courtier'; the inheritor of a great name, the once-possessor of vast paternal and acquired wealth, of which scarcely any thing remains, borne down by. domestic misfortunes, and worn by painful maladies, exhi- bits, in the decline of his life and fortunes, the same grace and cheerfulness, tlie same wit and amiability, which in tha plenitude of youth,, health, and worldly grandeur, had charm- ed successive sovereigns, and animated circles the most po- lished and refined. True it is, that of all countries, France is that in which reverses of fortune should be the most lightly felt, because there, the man and not his means are the ob- jects of public consideration and private esteem : but even where inequality of condition is least perceptible, and where opinion enters for nothing in the privations attendant upon great reverses, enough remains to task all the energies even of superior minds, to sustain them with dignity and ease. How frequently are the feelings pained, and the imagination disappointed, by the morosity, the complainings, and the egotism of the declining hours of men, whose intellectual energies have in the prime of life illumined the understand- ing, or wielded the destinies of mighty nations ? With such recollections present in my memory, I have, in the modest apartments of the Rue Duphot, and in the presence of their highly-gifted inhabitant, more than once pondered, with an admiration not unmixed with envy, on the geniality of the French temperament, and the practical philosophy of the French character, there so charmingly iilusti'ated. I 'J3 ] ROMANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS. '' Lady Morgan despises Racine : to be sure, he was guiL ty in iier eyes of the atrocious offence of piety ; and for this, she more than sneers at his imbeciUty. But her rage against his memory is carried so far, that, in defiance of the unanimous voice of France, the assent of all Europe, and iri contempt of a century of fame, she has the audacity to pro- nounv.e him no poet." Quarterly Review, 1817, I DESPISE Racine because he was pious ! " Ciel ! que de vertus votrs me failes hajr!" I judged ilacinc then, as I do now, after my own impres- sions : I preferred Siiakspeare, and I avowed the preference. I thought the works of Racine, whose genius I never dispul- ed, belonged to his age, and not to ours ; and I think so still. A French critic of some tact (to use a phrase of his own) was of my opinion. " Bien que Racine ait accompli des chefs-d'oeuvre en eux7n^mes" said Napoleon, '^ il y a r^pandu neanmohis une perpetuelle fadeur, mi (ternel a?nour, et son ton doucereux, son jastidicux entourage ; mais ce li'^tait pas pr^cisement safaute; c'^tait le vice et les moeurs du temps."* But, with respect to the unanimous voice of France, I have some reason to think that it is now with me ; or at least that it soon will be, at the rate at v/hich opinion is changing in this particular. This morning, as I was looking over the " ajjiches'' of the theatre, in doubt to which of them we should go, (having, through the gallantry of new friends and the kindness of old, boxes assigned us in several,) a young gentleman, to whom we had been presented the |)revious evening, called ^' pour f aire ses hommages.^'' There was something of an exalte in his air, in his open shirt-collar, black head, and wild * '' Nolwithstandins; that Racine has composed works which are chefs-d'oeu\'re in themselves, yet he has spread through them a perpe- tual feebleness, an eternal love-making, his peculiar |)uny precise ton, and pomposity of circumstance. This is not so much his fault as the vice and manners of the times."— Lai Cases. Part vii. pase 197. Vol. 1.-7 t4 ROMANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS. and melancholy look, that had engaged my attention the night before ; and this, together with one or two paradoxical opi- nions which I heard him let fall, made me glad to see him again ; for, like Madame de Sevigne, I hate " les gens qui ont toujour s raison." As Ihave too little time left to waste on forms and cere- tnonies, even with strangers, I cut short " les hommages" and " devoirs" of my new friend, by telling him he should chute for me the theatre to which I should go, and that he should have a place in a box if he liked - it, to reward his trouble. He accepted both offers with eagerness ; and, running his eye over the list of the theatres and their respective perform- ances, I saw him fillip his finger and shake his head at the Francais, which announced a tragedy of Racine's — I think L^Iphigeflie. I took this movement for an epigram levelled at my pub- lished opinions on the god of French idolatry : " I see," I said, " that I am never to be forgiven. You French are good literary haters ; but come, I will go this evening to the Francais, and put my old opinions to the test of new impres- sions. Every thing changes in this world ; and I, who slept over the monologues of Phedro in 1816, may, in 1829, re- main quite awake, even during an eternal speech of that pro- ser Ulysses, who has lost nothing of his ancient disposition to loquacity in the hands of the French poet ; so, if you please, it shall be the Francais. " Go to the Francais, if / please ! / sit out a tragedy of Racine's ! Oh, Miladi, vous plaisantez, vous rCy penzez pas." The alarmed, imploring look with which this was said, with hands clasped, and eyes uplifted, astounded me ; and I remarked, "then you are of the same heresy as myself; and I am like poor Iphigenie, who " Voyaitpour elle Achille, et conlre elle I'armee." " You have with you all France," he replied, " d quelqii'ex- cepiion pres. Nobody goes to the Francais when Racine is played now ; or the few who go, do so to testify their disap- probation by hissing, as was the case with the Athalie the other night." I really lost my breath. " What, not go to the Francais ! hiss Racine ! Oh !*this is a mystification." " Pardon me, madame, I am serious. You may — you ROMANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS. 75 must go to the Francais, but not when Racine is played ; whose pieces are only given in the intervals of our great his^ torical dramas, and in the absence of our divine tragic muse, who is now in the provinces." " Which tragic muse ?" I asked ; " Mademoiselle George, or Duchesnoir ?" " Oh ! no, cela est pass^ comme le deluge — I mean Made- moiselle Mars, the pearl of pearls, the Melpomene of the age !" -' Mademoiselle Mars the tragic muse! — the Melpomene !'* " Certainly : would you have us go on for ever with the monotonous declamations of the Champmeles and the Clai- rons ? for the last century, handed down traditionally to their successors." Silent for a moment from doubt and surprise, I ventured at length to ask, " If Racine is out of fashion, in what trage- dies does Mademoiselle Mars play ? — In Voltaire's ?" " Voltaire ! hah ! c'est un roi detron^ que ce hon Vol- taire /"* I was now perfectly dumb-founded, and remained silent, because I had nothing to say ; and yet I v/as dying to laugh. " Tenez, ma pauvre Miladi," said my new-light friend, amused at my ignorance, and touched by my embarrassment : " When you were in France, Corneille, Racine, and Voltaire were still tolerated? — n^esl ce pas ?" " Tolerated !" I repeated petulantly and " all smarting with my wounds'' inflicted by the literary champions of an- cient orthodoxy, the authors of some ten or a dozen differ- ent " lettres a, Miladi Morgan." " Tolerated ? — pardie je le crois hien." " Well," he continued, "on a change tout cela; we still read these authors, as we do Euripides and ^Eschylus ; but we don't any longer go to see them acted ; or rather hear them declaimed or chaunted, after the manner of church choristers." " Then what do you go to hear or see ?" I asked with some hesitation. " Our great historic dramas, written not in pompous Alex, andrines, but in prose, the style of truth, the language of life and nature, and composed boldly, in defiance of Aristotle and Boileau. Their plot may run to any number of acts, and the time to any number of nights, months, or years ; or * " Voliai re ! pooh ! Le is a dethroned monarch !" 76 RO^IANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS. if the author pleases, it may take in a century, or a millenni- um : and then, lor the place, the .first scene may be laid in Paris, and the last in Kamschatka. In short, France has re- covered her literary liberty, and makes free use of it." " Oui da /" I rejoined, a little bothered, and not knowino- well what to say, but still looking very wise, " In fact, then, you take some of those liberties, that you used to laugh at, in our poor Shakspeare ?" " Your j^oor Shakspeare ! j'our divine, immortal Shak- speare, the idol of new France ! — you must see him played .iex'tuel'lement at the Francais, and not in the diffuse and fee- ble parodies of Ducis." " Shakspeare played texliieUement at the Francais /" I ex- claimed — " O, par exemple /" " Yes, certainly. Othello is now in preparation ; and Hamlet and Macbeth are stock pieces. But even your Shakspeare was far liom the truth, the great truth, that the drama should represent the progress, developement, and ac- complishment of the natural and moral world, without Fefer- cnce to time or locality. Unknown to himself, his mighty genius was mastered by the fatal prejudices and unnatural restrictions of the j)erruques of antiquity. Does nature un- fold her plots in five acts? or confine her operations to three hours by the parish clock ?" " Certainly not, Monsieur ; but still " " Mais, mats, 2m moment, chere Miladi. The drama is one great illusion of the senses, founded on facts admit- ted by the understanding, and presented in real life, past or present. When you give yourself up to believe that Talma was Nero, or Lafont Britannicus, or that the Rue Richelieu is the palace of the Caesars, you admit all that at first appears to outrage possibihty. Starting, then, from that point, I see no absurdity in the tragedy, which my friend Albert de S says he has written for the express purpose of trying how far the neglect of the unities may be carried. The title and subject of this piece is " the Creation," beginning from Chaos (and what scenery and machinery it will admit !) and ending with the French revolution ; the scene, infinite space ; and the time, according to the -Mosaic account, some 6,000 years." " And the protagonist, Monsieur ? Surely you don't mean to revive the allegorical personages in the mysteries of the middle ages ?" " Ah ca ! pour le proiagonistt, c^est le diakle. He is the ROMANTIC rSTS AND CLASSICISTS. 77 only contemporaneous person in the universe that we know of, whom in these days of cagoterie we can venture to bring on the stage, and who could be perpetually before the scene, %.s a protagonist should be. He is particularly suited, by our received ideas of his cnergj' and restlessness, for the principal character. The devil of the German patriarch's Taust is, after all, but a profligate casuist ; and the high po- etical tone of sublimity of Milton's Satan is no less to be avoided in a delineation that has truth and nature for its in- spiration. In short, the devil, the true romantic devil, must speak, as the devil would naturally speak, under the various circumstances in which his immortal ambition and ceaseless malignity may place him. In the first act, he should assume the tone of the fiUen hero, which would by no means be- come him when in corporal possession of a Jewish epileptic, and bargaining for his fis aller in a herd of swine. Then again, as a leader of the army of St. Dominick, he should have a fiercer tone of bigotry and less political finesse than as a privy coimcillor in the cabinet of the Cardinal de Richelieu. At the end of the fourth act, as a guest at the table of Baron Holbach, he may even be witty ; while as a minister of police, he should be precisely the devil of the schoolmen, leading his victim into temptation, and triumphing in all the petty artifices, and verbal sophistries of a bachelor of the Sorbonne. But as the march of intellect advances, this would by no mc; is be appropriate ; and before the play is over, he must by turns imitate the patelinage of a Jesuit d robe coitrle, the pleading of a procureur general, the splendid bile of a deputy of the cote droit, and should even talk poli- tical economy like an article in the " Globe." But the au- thor shall read you his piece — " La Cn^ation ! drame Histo- riqiie et Romantique, in six acts, allowing a thousand years to each act. C'cstChomme marquant de son siecJe." " But," said I, " I shall remain in Paris only a few weeks, and he will never get through it in so short a time.'' '" Pardonnez moi, madame, he will get through it in six nights — the time to be actually occupied by the perform, ance ; an act a night, to be distributed among the ditrr les jjetits spectacles^ which come ia with the violets and 'j}ucinths, with English muslins and spring colours. At this moment, too, they happen to be quite the rage." " I am delighted to hear it," I exclaimed with joyous sin- cerity, " for I got into all sorts of scrapes by confessing my preference for these charming little theatres, so truly nation- al, and so adapted to your old gaiete gauloise ; they used ta overflew, when I was last in Paris. La foiile se irouve tou- jour s oil I on rit davantage.'^* " Lady Morgan, what is that you say ? Of what France are you talking — the old or the modern?" A little out of humour at the pertinacity of my inquisitor^ I replied, "why, lam like NicoleirUhe Bourgeois Genlilhotn- me, ' quand je dis N, je dis N;^ and when I say France, I mean France !" ^^ Eh, Men.' But in France, such as it now is, we havet ©eased to laugh. Voild noire epigraphe." * "The multitude always flock where they laugh the most '' KOafANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS, 79 " What, not laugh in France !" " No, indeed ! — at the Francais, perhaps a Utile now and then, but at the minor theatres we do nothing but cry ; except • when we are carried out in hysterics.'' " Oh ! then you are jesting after all. But I won't be rays- tified, ril judge for myself. What do they play to-night at the Gaiete ; its very name is inspiring?" " La Gaiete — voyons ! ah ! ca — ' The Plague at Marseil- les.' " " ' The Plague at Marseilles,' and at La Gaiete- ? That certainly does not sound very gay." "No; it is the most heart-breaking piece that ever har- rowed the feelings of an audience. The plague of Boccac- cio is broad comedy to it. How I envy you your feelings in seeing ' The Plague of Marseilles,' for the first time. You will see every symptom of that terrible infliction, from the first livid look to the last stage of decomposition. Oui, ma- dame, vo^ts verrez des corps verddtres en monceaitx — les morts jetis par la fenelre sur la scme.'''^ Your hair will stand on end, your blood will run cold." " It does, it does. If this is the popular piece of the Gai^ et^, I would rather not go : but, VAmhigu comique ? Let us go there !" " Not to-night. You must go there, when they play Nos- tradamus, where you will have the martyrdom of a saint, to the very life. But, for myself, I do not like these things : I prefer the pathetic to the terrible. I like the feelings to be excited by a more legitimate source of sympathy. There is a little piece to be presented shortl}', that will delight you •. it is called the Poitrinaire. Imagine the most interesting of beings the victim of consumption. You will see the progress of that most sentimental disease in all its moral and physical characteristics." " Your authors, then, study nature in the Hotel de Dieu 7" I said, in utter amazement. " Not always," he replied seriously. " Sometimes they pfo to CharentoQ. A friend of mine brings out his long ex- pected drame, UEnrag^,] in September. He attended a course of clinical lectures, on purpose to catch the more eva- * " You will see heaps of putrescent bodies piled on the stage — the dead flung from the windows." t " L'Enrage" was brought out at the Nonveaute. The hero bites his Hii-'tress, or soEjebody else, whose death forms the catastrophe of the piece. 80 ROMANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS. nescent traits of mental alienation. He is the Broussais of the Drama. You see we no longer stud}^ nature exchisively in courts ; nor like Racine, copy, at the dictation of a Boileau, some ignorant despot, or vainglorious king. In short, we have done with the old school, not only in writing, but in act- ing and declamation ; and the monotony, which poor Talma laboured so hard to get rid of, that at last ho sunk the verses of Racine into plain prose." " But is there nothing amusing that you could recommend for this e-vening?" I asked, a little weary of this nonsense or mystification— I knew not which, " Is there nothing for Potier or Brunnet to make one die laughing ?" " Oh ! Potier knows better than to make you laugh now. He goes with his age ; and is much more successful in the deepest pathetic than he ever was in his risible. But you must wait for the new tragedy at the Port St. Martin, by one of the greatest men of the day, or indeed of any times — the Plautus, Terence, Byron, and Moliere united ; in one word, the author of Marino Faliero, Casimir Dclavigne." " I have not yet read any of Monsieur Casimir Delavigne's works." " Comment done, madame ! he is the French Byron, and he draws his inspiration from the same sources, as he tells us in his preface. But you English, I perceive, are in utter darkness as to the literature o^ modern France." "As far as concerns mere belles letf res literature, I fear we are. We have some adaptations of your lighter drama- tic pieces, though stripped of all their colouring and na- tionality ; and we devour your M&moires ; more especially all that concerns the life and times uf Napoleon." "The Life and Times of Napoleon ! perruque! Have you not, then, read the immortal products of the romantic school? our '■poesies classico-roinantiques.' and our '■Ro- mans romantiqaes V Have you not devoured ' Bug Jargal,' or ' Hans d'Iceland,' or ' Jean Sboger,' or ' Jacko,' or ' Olga,' or 'L'Ipsiboe,' or " He paused for breath, and I acknowledged my ignorance, and my surprise at names, in sound at least so little romantic,, according to my ideas of romance. " Bug Jarga)," I said, " for instance ; what does that m.ean ?" " It means the name of the hero, madame ; not an hera of the old school, with a Brutus head and a Grecian nose, but an hero with a woolly heud rnd an ebony complexion. He is an African slave, endowed with every great quality that •■ ROMANTICISTS AND Cf ASSICISTS, 81 ennobles humatjity; TmI! of the most refined sentiments of honour, friendship, and the most chivalrous gallantry." I shook my head, and observed, that " according to physi- ologists, the Afr';an organization does not lend itself to such qualities ; and Gail, who was a perfect romanticist in his way, would probably have missed the protuberances which wait upon so high a moral developement. But without insist- ing upon vVhat I do not profess .to understand, I may be al- lowed to say, that slavery is a bad school for delicacy of sentiment. The most enlightened man will, I believe, gene- rally be found the best. The rest.is all melodram.'' " How common-place !" he exclaimed. " Your idea of virtue, then, must necessarily include a fair face, and an edu- cation in the great world. Well, we have such an hero for you, in the son-in-law of Bug's master, who refuses life at the price of correcting the bad spelling of a rebel general. What do you think of that 1" " VVhy, that sometimes les gens cfesprit sont Mtes ; how- ever, it is true that we novel-writers are often terribly pushed to meet the taste of our readers for new and striking situa- {ions ; and /, in particular, have, perhaps, less right than others to criticise such con\'entional absurdities, which, by the bye, are not always incompatible with great merit."* " But have you not read any of our modern poets ? Have you seen our epics : ' La Caroleide' and the ' Ismalie,' of Viscount d'Arlincourt ; or the ' Siciliennes,' or the ' Messe- niennes,' or the ' Pariah,' of Gasimer de la Vigne ; or, above all, and beyond all, ' Les Meditations,^ of La Martine ?" " You must give me a list of these works," I said ; " and I will do the best I can : but, to speak frankly, I believe the age of all high-flown poetry, epic or elegiac, is nearly over ; - — at least, it is over with me. Nothing under a Byron could now lure me into a canto ; and as for ' Meditations," poeti- cal or prose, )fou must excuse mo. FVom Harvey's among the Tombs, to my o\vn last night, during the melancholy vi- gils produced by hot rooms and cold ices, I hold all medita- lions in absolute aversion. You look astonished ; but this is my creed. I am either too old or too young, too hlasee or too vivacious, to set down to such sentimental vapours of va- nity or indigestion. I must have the essential in all things ; * To which general remark Bug .largal is by no means an exception. It is wriiten with vivacity, and many of the scenes have a dramatic verity about them which leads to the suspicion that they were copied from the life, 82 KOMANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS. the trii^h, and nothing but the truth ; as novel, as spirited, and as startling as you ^yill, but still the truth, and not the dream, even of genius." " But, Miladi, icoutez, etpuisjugez ; let me repeat to you, for instance, a few lines from ' La Tristesse' of De la Mar- tine ;" and he began in a most lugubrious tone, and with a most displaced emphasis. " De mes joiirs palissants le flambeau se consume, II s'eteint par d^gres au souffle de malheur ; Ou, s'il jette par fois une faible lueur, C'est quand un souvenir dans mon ?ein le rallume. Je re s^als, si lesdieux me pennettroient enfin, D'achever ici bas ma terrible jonrnee ; Mon horizon se borne, et mon ceil incertain Ose I'ttendre a peine audela d'une ann§e, iViais, s'il faut perir aut matin, S'il faut sur unc terre au bonheur destin^e, Laisser cchapper de ma main, Cette coup que le destin." &c. &c. &c.* " Mais voild assez, Miladi — that is enough to convince you of the excellence of the Medications." " It at least convinces me of the misery of the author," I replied ; " poor man ! I take it for granted that he is sinking under some life-wearing disease, or that he is the most unfor- tunate of men, or the most unhealthy." " Unfortunate ! unhealthy ! he is the most fortunate, healthy, successful, and happiest of men and authors. He is the poet d la mode, the Adonis of CJiauss^e d'Antin, the apostle of the faubourg; half cfassic, half romantic, but quite the vogue ; he has the suffrages of all parties ; and the more happy he is, the more wretched ; as he himself ex- presses it, most poetically and truly — " Mais jusque dans le sein des beures fortun^es Je nes^ais quelle vols que j'entends retentir, Me poursnit, et vient m'avertir, Q,ue le bonheur s'enfuit sur I'aisle des ann6^s."t * " The taper of life consumes, and is extinguished by degrees by the breath of misfortune. Or if sometimes it casts a feeble light, it is when a fond recollection rekindles it in my breast. 1 know not whether the gods will permit me to finish the terrible day of my ex- istence — my horizon narrows, and my unce-iaio eye scarce dares to glance beyond a year. But if I must perish in the morning of my life ; if appearing on an earth destined for happiness, I must let the cup escape from my hand," &c. t " But in my happiest hours I hear an unknown and terrible Toice pronouucing — that felicity flies on the wings of time." ROMANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS. 83 "But I do not understand," I said, " how a man can be happy in prose, and wretched in verse." "Nor 1 neither, replied Mr. De , "but I believe it is so ; for it is a dogma of our religion romantique : but if you want real, deep, heart-rending wretchedness, take the story of our charming poet, the interesting and unfortunate Joseph de Lorme. Joseph De Lornie was born in the beginning of the present century, near Amiens, the only child of a widowed mother. His exquisite sensibility, his lofty genius, his high aspirations, contrasted with his lowly position, rendered him, from the cradle to the tomb, at odds with fortune. An instinc- tive desire for the military distinction which at that epoch covered France with glory ; an early and indomitable pas. sion for a young and beautiful person, whose rank was supe- rior to his own ; a vocation to a religious life, that in other times would have placed him on the lists of canonization, or of martyrdom; and above all, a longing for literary immorta- lity, nourished in the deep solitudes of the forest — were the elements of the lofty passions which assailed him. Days, weeks, years were consumed in reveries that placed him above humanity, and unfitted him for all the coarser avoca- tions of hfe, until he went to Paris to pursue his studies, where his success was brilliant beyond example. His virgin soul sufficed for every thing. He devoted himself to science with an energy that soon made him feel the vanity, the illu- sion of the imagination. He broke his lyre, and philosophy alone engaged him. It was then that he abandoned the piety of his youth for the fatal principles of Diderot and D'Holbach ; but the pure morality of D'Alembert regulated his life ; and he would have deemed it an affair of conscience to have put his foot into the precincts of a church. Joseph then adopted the principles of a stoic philosopher, combined with the ten- derest philanthropy. At this moment he might have united himself to the idol of his affections ; but he felt that he was not made for one and for one only. His somewhat savage philanthropy feared to imprison itself for ever within the circle of affections too limited for his nature — dans un egoisme en deux per sonnes* Besides, he had formed to himself an idea of marriage, in which idle forms went for nothing. He re- quired a Mademoiselle L'Espinasse, a Lescaut, or a Lodoiska. Abhorring poetry, which still assailed him like a demon, the very names of Byron and La Martine seemed hateful to him. * " lo an egotism in two persons," u e. a lawful marriage. 34 ROMANTICISTS A^'D CLASSICISTS. His struggles were terrible ! He has registered theiri in those gloomy pages which he dated from the middle of the night, like the prayers of Dr. Johnson and Kirke White. His health, too, was undermined ; and the idea of a mortal infirm mity added to all his other agonies. He never went out but to pursue his medical studies. He saw his friends only by accident. He smiled as he passed them, ' et ses amis pre- noient pour un sourire de paix et de contentement ce qui n'etait que le sourire doux et gracieux de la doideur.'* In the midst of these torments, Joseph pursued his profession. His ex- traordinary genius discovered itself to some distinguished pro- fessional men; they advised him to attend the hospitals for some years, and promised him the most brilliant success. He rallied all the forces of his nature and his'reason, and resign*, ed himself to the humiliating probation. He might have been at the head of his profession, rich, honoured, happy; but the fatality which pursued him, turned all to evil. He soon had reason to suspect the views of these nevr friends. They had been too kind, not to be interested and false ! Joseph might have submitted to be protected ; 7nais nan exploits ! His no- ble character revolted at the indignity ; and a few months of combat between feeling and pride terminated his professional career. He gave himself up, as his biographer expresses it, to the study of ' tous les romans,' while his mortal melancholy came forth in those unrivalled poems, which, since his deathj have delighted and afflicted the world ; for, while living, he would not consent to expose the wounds of his ulcerated heart. At last, he retired to a poor little village near Meu- don, where he gave himself up to the composition of works which dissolve the soul in tears, or burn it with passion. Poor, neglected, worn-out, he died last October, of a broken heart, and a complicated pulmonary consumption. You weep, ch^re miladi !" " 'Tis very foolish," I said, " but the fact is, that the life and death of this unfortunate and very foolish young man, recalls those of one who, when in infancy, was the adopted of my father's house, the unfortunate Thomas De.rmody, the poet ; but you know as little, I suppose, of our modern poets, as I do of yours." " Que voiis ites bonne /" said my good-natured friend, mingling his tears with mine. " I am very sorry to have * " And his friends mistook for a smile of peace and contentment what was only a graceful resignation to misfortune." ROMANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS. 85 called up such melancholy recollections. But, dry up your tears, et consolez voiis. In all that I have said there is not one word of truth." " No ?— K^t a word of truth, IMonsieur ?" " No, to be sure. The Life of Joseph de Lorme is a mere poetical fiction." " He was not, then, the miserable afflicted writer yoa paint him?" *' Nothing like it," said he, laughing heartily. " There never was any such person at all. His life, poems, and thoughts, so full of genius and melancholy, are written by a charming young man, who is the very reverse of all this ; by the living, lively, happy St. Beuve, a most ingenious, clever, healthy, and prosperous gentleman. But with all his poeti- cal verte, he knev/ that he could not, under such circum- stances, command success. There was not, he was aware, a single Romantic bookseller who would venture on the works of one who was in good circumstances and good health, gay, contented, and not labouring under a ' comph- Gated p;ilmonary consumption.' He acted accordingly, and placed his reputation under the aegis of this homme de circon- stance, the fanciful and fictitious Joseph de Lorme." I answered mipatiently, " you will never persuade me that such nonsense as this is the rage in witty, philosophical, en- iightpued France." " Nonsense ! how can you call that nonsense which you have not read ? But, tell me now. Lady Morgan, if you wanted to drown yourself, how would you set about it ?" " How would I drown myself? throw myself into the water, I suppose,'' " Throw yourself into the water ; that's the pont aux dnes, any one could do that ; mais ^couiez, 'tis from ' Le Creux de la ValUe: " " Pour qui veut se noyer, la place est bien choisie, On n'auiait qua venir, un jour de fantasia, A cacher ses hiibits au pied de ce bouleau, Et, coranie pour un bain, k descendre dans I'eciu. Non pas en furieux, la tele la premiere ; Mais s'asseoir; regarder; d'un rayon de lumiere, Dans le feuillage et I'eau suivre ie long reflet, Puis, quand on sentirail ses esprits au complef, Qu'on aurail froid, alors, sans plus trainer la fete, Pour ne plus la lever, plonger, avant la tete."* * " Should you wish in the waters a cold bed to find, The place where we stand is just made to your miud. Vol. i 8 86 ROMANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS. " Is this not beautiful, original, sublime ? A writer of the old school would have plunged his hero head foremost, like a vulgar suicide of the Pont Neuf. If Rousseau, your Kirke "White, or our Millevoye* were to drown themselves, would not they thus have died ? It makes one quite long to follow the example." An irrepressible fit of laughter seized me ; and my young exalte somewhat disconcerted by a merrimentwhich, if it had not been inevitable, would certainly have been very rude, took his hat, saying, after a moment's silence, " I see. Lady Morgan, that I have been mistaken. You have long been deemed in France a champion of romanticism. I was a boy when your work on this country came out; and I took my first colour of literary opinion from your ' France.' Whatever popularity you enjoy as a. writer here, you owe it to this belief. To what circumstance I may attribute your change, I know not ; but I cannot compliment you on the re- trogradation : I have the honour to offer you my respects." He was about to retire, when, with as much gravity as I could assume, I assured him that I had changed in nothing. That I thought the disputes of the Romanticists and Classi- cists in Italy a mere war of words, and that I was quite igno- rant that it had found its way into France ; but that if my old opinions on Racine, and on the inapplication of the old French drama to modern times, were romanticism, a good ro. manticist I should most probably continue to live and die. Choose your day and set oflf. Ere you sink in the billow> Paci£ your clothes in a bundle snug under yon willow. Souse not head over ears, as if conquered by wrath» But go, step by step, as you'd enter a bath : Sit down, — look aboui you, — examine the ray, Which pours in, through the trees, in a long line of day : And when you're in order, prime up to the mark, (That is half killed with cold), lake ' the leap in the dark.' Don't keep yourself waiting, but, down with your head, I And be sure you don't lift it again, till your dead." To render the peculiar beauties of this choice specimen is far beyond my powers ; but, bating the slip-shod measure, which is all my own, the translation is tolerably literal. * The Kirke White of the romantic school. He died of a consump* tioa ia 1816, having predicted the event in the following lines : " Le poet chantail, quand salyre fidele S'echappa tout-a-coup de sa debile main ; Sa Liiipe mourut ; et, comme elle, 11 s'eteignit ie lendemain." ROMANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS. 87 Somewhat softened, he hesitated on the threshold, dropped his hat, and was about to speak, when the servant announced Monsieur de . The sound seemed to act hke electrici- ty. My romanticist again seized his hat, changed colour, and, looking reproachfully, said in a whisper — " Ah ! Lady Morgan, you profess romanticism, and yet you receive Monsieur de !" " To be sure I do ; but he is one of my old acquaintancess of 1816, and a sensible, agreeable man. I am really glad to see him. Stay, and I will present you to him." "Present me ! — no, madame, God defend me from that! — Present me to one of the conscript fathers of classicism, the high-priest of the Perruques. I would cross half Paris to avoid him. Adieu, madame." Monsieur de entered ; my exalte drew up. They glanced cold looks at each other, then bowed formally, and the romanticist retired, roughing his wild locks, and panting like an hero of tragedy. " Voild un des Pleiades du romanticism !" said Monsieur de — — , with a sneer ; and taking his place : after the usu- al compliments of the morning, he entered at once upon the subject of my new acquaintance and his sect, by observing, somewhat sarcastically, " So, I find you as I left you, sur- rounded by romanticists. You are still, I see, their chieftain- ess and guide." " Why, Monsieur de , I have this moment been accus-. edof being a classicist." " You a classicist ! — ha ! ha ! And since when ? After Madame de Stael, no one has done more to mislead the lite- rary taste of our young men than yourself. Your ' France' came out at an unlucky time, when the public, like Moliere's, cried, " II nous faut de nouveau, ne fut-il plus au monde ;"* and I will not flatter you — this only produced you some ad- mirers— but it arrayed against you ail France ; at least, la France classique. But I have brought you the works of one who will put you on a better track, with respect to our litera- ture — the works of Viennet." " My dear sir," I said, " you have anticipated my wishes. I shall be delighted to read any thing of Monsieur V^iennet ; first, because his writings have been recommended me by a * " We must have something newj though it were not in the world." 88 ROMANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS. fair friend, on whose taste and judgment (if not blinded by friendship) I can depend ;'*- and next, because I admire the character and honest principles of Monsieur Viennet. One always sees him at his post, on the right side of the cliarle, if not of the chambers, always in the initiative in defence of liberty. I have not forgotten his honest efforts in favour of the Greeks, and his indignation at the affair of Parga." I fluttered over the leaves of the volume, as I spoke, and read in the title page, " CEiiores cle J. P. Viennet, E'pttres 'diverses. Dialogues des Marts, t^c." This looked awful ! and after skimming through a few lines of the Epitre a, un Des- ceww^jf I saw that it was a Dodsley's Collection sort of pro- duction, like one of the " Attend, my friend," didactics of Ceorge the Second's day ;^ and I continued carelessly turn- ing the pages till I caught a glimpse of my own name, wedged in between those of Stendhal and Schlegel. I stop- ped ; while my classicist sat chuckling beside me, and mut- tering, " Old, Old ! il vous taquine joliment, chere Miladi—' lisez, lisez." I read aloud. *' Dormez vous sur le Pinde ! e( faut il que j'expllque Ce qu'on nomine aiijonrd'hiii le genre romantique? Vous in'embarrassez fort; carje dois convenir, Glue ses plus grands fauteurs n'out pu le dcfinir. Depuis quinze ou vlngt ans que la France t'admire * Ma lame Thayer, of whom Monsieur Duval has so justly said, " Fi est peu de ^eus de leltres et d' artistes qui ne connaissent et n'appr6cient ses ta- lents nombreiix, el son aimalilc esprit.'" Madame T. is also a landscape painter, and her works are distinguished by a truth of colouring rarely attaiaed even by professional artists. t " ^ an Desceuvri de sur tes Charmes VElude. " Q,ue fais tu, cher Raymond, de tes longues j.oiiraees % Te verrai-je sans fruit consumanl tes annees, De Boulogne a Cobleiitz consumant tes loisirs, Dissiper ta jeunesse en steriles plaisirs? A tes vceux, diras tu, la fortune est propieei, Et te permet de vivre au gros de ton caprice ; Mais les bals, les concerts, les festins, ou tu cours Ton boguey, tes chevaux, tes frivules amours, Les spectacles, les jeux, remplissent ils ta vie? L'habitude en ton ^me en etouffe I'envie. Ces vains amusemenssout bien lot epuises Pareils a ces hochets par I'enfanoe brisJs. Ton cQiur, ton souvenir n'en garde pas la trace, Un moment les produit, un moment les efface," he. &e. t Monsieur Viennet has, however, produced some f.olitical satires of the highest merit. Since I wrote the text fo which this note is append- ed, I have heard that he has recently written one under ihft title of the " Dey of Algiers," which is of the most piquant causticity. ROHANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS. 89 On ne sait ce qu'il est, ni ce qu'il veut nous dire. Stendhal, Morgau, Schlcgel — ne voiis effiayez pas, Muses, ce sont des noras tameux daiis nos climats, Chefs de Propagande, ardens missionnaires, Parlant de roinantiqiie et piechant ses mysteres. II n'est pas un Anglais, mi Suisse, un Allemand, Q,ul n'eprouve a lenrs noras, nn saint fremissement. Q,uand on sait I'Esclavon, Ton comprend leiirsysteme; Et, s'ils etaient daccord, je Tentendrais moi-meme ; Mais un adepte enfin m'ayant endoctrine, Je vais dire a peu pres ce (jue j'ai devine," &c. &c. " There," he said, " there is poetry, if you will. It is Boileau redivivus." " And do you call this poetry ?" " What, then, do you call it, Lady Morgan ?" " I call it a page of criticism, written as if from a bout rime, with nothing of poetry about but ' explique' and ' roman- tiqiie,'' ' systeme^ and ' moi-m^me.^ " " Que vous Hes difficile, madame ! If this is not poetry, how do you define poetry ?" " Lord ! you put me in a twitter ! / define what poetry is ! I never thought what it was, in my life, — I have felt it. But I suppose poetry is — is passion, — passion of some sort or other — that exaltation of thought and perception, which one calls imaginatioa — combinations of strong expressions bor- rowed from strong feelings . . que sais je ?" " But there are different species of poetry, madame. There is a class of it, in which verse is made use of, to en- noble subjects, that in their own nature are neither fanciful nor imaginative. Such is the didactic, in which Boileau was supereminent and Vieunet excels. '-' " I do not see, however, wh}' Monsieur Viennet should give himself the trouble to ennoble a common place criticism, that is prosaic enough for any review, English or French. Suppose I asked you, Monsieur de , what is the defini- tion of romanticism ; would you not reply, off handy pretty much m the words of this author, ' To explain to you iu' the present day, what the romantic is, would be rather an em- barrassing task ; for its greatest advocates have not yet been able to define it ; and, though all France have admired, for the last fifteen or twenty yeirs, one neither knows what it is, nor what it means. Stendhal, Morgan, Schlegel. Oh, 5'^e muses . . . (only think of diggmg up those old ladies, in the nineteenth century) ; these are the names now famous in our climes. They are the chiefs of the Propaganda, the ardent 8* 90 KOMANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS. missionaries who praise romanticism and preach its myste- ries. There is not an English, Swiss, or German reader who does not thrill at the sacred sound of their names V Now why should you, my dear sir, take the pains to tag this sim- ple expose, this most literal answer, with ' admire^ and ' dire/ ' endoctrind' and ^fai devine V " " But, madame, Boileau himself would not stand this test j yet you will not venture to say that the author of ' The Art of Poetry,' is not a poet ?" " Oh ! God forbid ! What, get outlawed again for my fool- ish opinions on French poetry ; pardie, not I. Alt I shall say is, that Boileau was the head of the romanticists of his day, ■ to whose castigation of the classicists, servile imitators of a precedmg time, posterity stands much indebted." " Boileau a romanticist ? — that is too much — c''est a povffer de rive.'"'' And Monsieur de did "jpow^^er" to some purpose. " il/a honne 3Iiladi," said he, wiping his eyes, " Cor- neille, Racine, and Voltaire were also, I suppose, of your sect's" " To be sure, they were all romanticists ; that is, all re- formers of the classic literature of their own times." " Voltaire a reformer of ihe authors of the Cid and the the Phedre ! Voltaire, who adored the grand Corneille, and ' worshipped the divine Racine !'' " He worshipped and adored theii- ^^v'nius ; but he aban- doned their models, when he produced De Courci and Maho- met. Vo'taire was Uvjt the ibunder of romanticism, but he was a zealous apostle." Monsieur de shook his head. He said^ " Romanti- ^ cism is of a mwch more modern date ; it began in the salons of Mudau.e de Stael ; it was, I grieve to say, helped on by '* Talma, and has been assisted by the deserters of the Comedi^ Froncaise from the or!flamme of the national literature, by the mistaken cah ulations of the commissaire royal, Monsieur Taylor, and uy ihe mulnplication of vaudevilles. It has been urged on by all the servile journalists, and by the ambiti- ousvanity of the young writers in the ' Globe ;' but above all by Monsieur Scribe, who counts his productions by the hundred." " Here are a great many abettors, certainly, of the new heresy," I replied. " But, I assure you. Monsieur de , romanticism has a much remoter origin. It first shew- ed itself in the days of your Charles the Sixth, when the romanticists, called le theatre des confrere^ de la jiassion^ BOMANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS. 91 made head against the melancholy mysteries enacted at the corners of streets, by substituting, for tlie crucifixion, the acts of the apostles. They were, in their turn, superseded by other romanticists ' les clercs de la basoche,' who carried the public vvilh them, by their amusing ' farces, folies, et mora- lity's ;' which, instead of the Apostles, had the ridicules of society for their subject. A new school, however, founded by les enfans de sans souci, directed by a prince des sots, in its turn won all suffrages. The national theatre of i\\efreres de la passion was left for the precursor of Racine, Michel; and deserted for the ' mere solle,'' the great romantic drama of its day, which still maintains its place on the English stage, by the name of ' Mother Goose.' Then came Jodelle, the Corneille of the sixteenth century, whose tragedy of Cleopatre, the first of its kind, was thought to have fixed the French language ; but it did not. In spite of the support it received from the classicists of the succeeding reign, the ro- manticists of Henry the Fourth's day superseded it ; with the assistance of that Scribe of the seventeenth century, Alexander Hardi, who in the course of five hundred plays (called farces) brought a style of comedy into fashion, of which my friend PoHchinelle is, in these degenerate times, the last support. Hardi at length also became perritque ; when the Italian hovjfes (first introduced by Marie de Me- dicis) gave the French farceur his coup de grace. The drama a soggetto, as we find it in the theatre du Ghirardi, be- came a rage ; and it required an edict de par le roi to be launched by the despotic pedantry of Cardinal Richelieu, to force the French people to give up laughing at Harlequin and Mezzetin, and to yawn at the theatre in the Palais Royal, where the solemnities of the Spanish and Austrian muses made war against truth and nature ; solemnities which only began to please, through the powerful genius of Racine and Moliere." " Stop there," at length interrupted Monsieur de , who had hitherto listened to me with all the polite patience of a Frenchman : " every thing must have its solstice ; every country must have its Augustan age, its classic epoch of re- finement, when its language is fixed. That, in our country, was the age of Racine ; and France will never submit, while it has an academy to direct the public taste, to abandon the rules then laid down, for the purpose of adopting the tra- gedy of Schiller and of Shakspeare, with their dramatis pei. sonee, 92 ROMANTICISTS 'and CLASSICISTS. " ' Enfants au premier acta, et barbons au derni^re.' " It will never endure to see a Sir Macduff coming on the stage with the head of Sir Macbeth in his hand. For my part, it is now forty years, that I have admired Iphigenia, Phedra, Semiramis, Britannicus, the Cid, Merope, and Zaire ; and I cannot now learn to reject these chefs d'ceuvre of hu- man genius, at the bidding of your romanticists. I abide by the rules, by which these immortal productions were written ; and I believe that the genius of the nation will never tran- scend them with impunity." " But, Monsieur, what we call genius, depends much upon the epoch in which it appears. There are ages made for great celebrities ; which, however, are neither the happiest, nor the wisest. Homer sang to barbarians ; Corneille and Racine wrote when bigotry and despotism, and popular ignorance were at their highest ; when political science had no existence, when the useful arts were in their infancy, and when the domestic accommodations of a royal palace were inferior to those of a modern farm-house : in short, when the Descartes and the Csesalpinuses, with all their genius and learning, knew less than a student of the law-schools, or a pupil of Cuvier, in the present day. The pretension of such writers to fix a national language are wholly unfounded. A thousand terms of science, art, philosophy, social life and its ridicules, have been invented since Racine wrote, to express new facts and new feelings, new wants and new enjoyments. Words have been borrowed from foreign nations ; and the nervous and naive expressions of your exquisite annalists, and other early writers, have been revived, though they are re- jected by the frivolous fastidiousness x)f your academy, which is a fit engine of slavish literature, invented by a despotic go- vernment to set bounds to thought, and check the progress of of opinion. Time, however, sets all things right, demerit . Marot is now preferred to the ' Guirlande de Jvlie ,•' and Joinville and Brantome are in universal esteem, while the royal historiographers of Louis the Fourteenth are wholly forgotten." " Je vous enfais mon com.'pliment, madame. I abandon you this ' troupe grossidre,' as Boileau calls them, and their jargon, which has become the dictionnaire acad^mique of your ro- manticists. But I trust there is still taste enough left in France, to reduce la muse vagabonde de la Seine au r^gle dih nOMAXTICISTS AKD CLASSICISTS. 93 devoir,* and to protect us at once from the barbarism of their dialects, and from llie absurdities of your Shakspeare and the apostles of the new liglit. Our sti Te will never tolerate a lord Falstaff, a chief justice presenting a prisoner to the king, and addressing inm thus : ' Le voild, sire^ je vous le livre, et je supplie v6tre grace de faire enr(^gistrer ce fait d'armes, parmi les autres de cefle journce, ouje le ferai mettre dans une ballade avec mon portrait a la ttle.^ "f " But, Monsieur de — — , Falstaff' is not a chief justice, nor a lord ; but an old humourist, a wit, a jester, a profligate, a boasting, coward, something between the first minister of France during the classic reign of the Regent, and D'Au- bigne, the reckless friend of Henry the Fouriii." " Even so, comedy has its bounds ; and Boileau has said, * ilfaut que les adeurs hadinent noblement.'' ":{: " True, but Boileau's works, like the holy writ, afford texts for all faiths. He has elsewhere said, " Clue la nature done soil voire etude unique, Auteurs, qui prctendez aux nommes du comique."^ " In comedy, yes : but would the delicatesse francaise ever endure in a tragedy such a phrase as " the early village cock ;" or, " tell your mistress, when my posset is ready, to strike upon the bell." "French delicacy has already endured something like the latter in Corneille. When the hero asks the time of night, the reply is, "La tour de St. Marc, pr6s de cette demeure* A, comme vous passez, sonne la douxieme heure." "Ah! arretez vous la, madame ! Je vous ai attrap^. Ob- serve — Corneille says, ' la douxieme heure.^ Observe that — remark that; he does not say ^ minuit.' Your Shakspeare and our romanticists would have said ' midnight tout honne- ment.* No, no, you will never palm the monstrous farces and barbarous language of Shakspeare, (as Voltaire has call- ed them,) on the public taste, in spite of all the muHres cla- queurs,\\ of your darling romanticism." * '' To reduce the erring muse of the Seine to a sense of duty." t Falstaff 's speech on rendering Sir John Colvile. — Henry iV. Part 2d. Act 4. Scene 3d. t '• The actors should jest nobly." ^ " Let nature be your only study, if you would pretend to success in comedy." jj Hireling applauders in the theatres. 94 ROMANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS. " Nor will you, my dear sir, ever persuade the present ge.< neration to go back to 1690, and to make " ' Les elegies amoureuses, que Ton norame tragedies,' the standards of their literature." " The tragedies of Racine amatory elegies? — you do not understand our language — voild le fait, madame." " But Voltaire did, and if he did not apply this phrase ex- pressedly to Racine, he did to the school of his ill-timed imi- tators, whose godt frdaU et ef^min^, he strove to put down by such plays as Mahomet, Merope, and Adelaide de Gues- clin. He could not consent to make Caesar undertake a voy- age to Egypt, to see 'unereine adorable,' and make Anthony rhyme to the sentiment, by asseverating that ' elle est incom,' parable.' " " Ma chire Miladi, it is easier to laugh, than to reason ; but ridicule is no test of truth." " Why not ? ridentem dicere verum quid vetat ? You see I can be a classic too upon occasion, as a certain personage quotes scripture ; who, by the bye, is himself quite a roman- tic." " 11 en est bien digne, I make you a present of him with all my heart." " But you will confess he is a good dramatic subject, as Goethe has handled him. You have seen Faust?" " No, madam ; not only have I never seen that German rhapsody played, (as my friend Du Val calls it,) but I have never gone to the Francais, since its boards were polluted by the barbarisms of Henri HI., and the other extravaganzas of the romantic school, of which Goethe is the patriarch." " But why has the Francais submitted to such pollution ?" " What would you have, madam ? the French drama touch- es to its fall. Even the actors, the successors of Baron and Lekain have lent themselves to the heresy of the age, and given up the altars of Corneille and Racine to the worship of the golden calf of romanticism." " The actors are like the rest of the world, I suppose ; and are looking to their own interests. They prefer living like princes on the prose of Monsieur Dumas, to starving on the noble verse of Racine ; in this,, they do but go with their age and their public." " Their interests ! — they are destroying their interests, for a paltry vogue of a moment. In adopting a false style, they EOJIANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS. 95 give up their ancient stock pieces. When once they have abandoned the rules, they can never bring an audience back to the good taste, which centuries of their restrictions had inspired. To turn the Francais into a ' theatre du genre,' is to abandon a route which it has followed for one hundred and fifty years, with success ; and it will produce a complete downfall of the classical drama." " It has fallen, my dear sir ; the blow is struck. The empty benches when the old plays are performed, and the crowds which flock when they give Henri III., are true ba- rometers of public taste : but your theatre is still the great national theatre. When France was royal and Aristotelian, and obedient to the dictates of your academy, the Francais was filled by the representations of Athalie and Alzire ; and now that it is constitutional, and emancipated from its litera- ry, as from its political thraldom, the talent of the nation is devoted to serving the interests of the people ; and it illus- trates the evils of despotism by the representation of such characters as Henri III. and the Due de Guise. It is not that Monsieur Dumas is superior to Racine, or even equal to him ; but that he writes in coincidence with the wants, the feehngs, and opinions of his age, as Racine did by his ; the secret of the success of both. Racine was the greater geni- us ; but Dumas is the honester man. The first wrote to flatter the great, whose dependant and slave he lived and died. The latter writes to benefit the mass, and is only their fellow citi- zen. Both have laboured in their vocation ; and the error is to judge them by the same rule." " What an epigramme, Miladi, against the literature of our days !" exclaimed my classicist, triumphantly ; and taking up the " Charles II."of Du Val, which lay on the table, he read from its preface a description of the theatre immediately be- fore the revolution. " The comedie Francaise was, in 1789, an e"stablishment alto- gether royal. The superior talents of the artists who were its glory, inspired a lively mterest in the educated public to which they addressed themselves. The first appearance of an act- or, of a new piece, a stage-anecdote, or a little scandal, was sufllicient to occupy the high society of Paris, which was al- ways more or less excited to enthusiasm, about some favour- ite actress or some fashionable play. At this epoch, all the boxes were let by the year to the court and to the great finan- ciers. Among the upper classes it would have been mauvais ton in a woman of quality not to have been able to say — ' I shall expect you to-night in my box.' 96 BOMANTICISTS AND CLASSICISTS. " The pit was composed of young men, who came to Paris to follow their studies ; and who, knowing by heart the re- markable passages of Racine and Corneille, went to the play to judge the actors in pieces which they had learned to admire m their infancy. If they were sometimes noisy and severe, they more commonly carried to the representaiioQ all that enthusiasm which belongs to the national character — an enthusiasm that was rapidly communicated to the boxes, and conferred on the representations of that day a warmth which had nothing factitious about it, but was very different from the calculated applause of the hireling puffers of our times, whom the public take good care to leave to their owti operations. As I have said, the pit was occupied exclusive- ly by these educated young men, whose earliest pursuits had been the study of the helles lettres, and who were not igno- rant of any of the beauties of the national theatre. Their good taste was maintained by the literary journals at that time, edited by the La Harpes, the Champforts, and the Marmontels ; and they brought to the scene an enlightened rigour which, in the end, was of decided advantage to' good actors and good writers. Besides the pit, there was the or- chestra occupied by the older amateurs, who still entertained the same interest for the drama which had shed such a charm on their past youth. When worn out with business, and re- tired from the world, they came back to their early illusions, and the smallest theatrical event became with them a serious affair. After the play was over, they joined the men of let- ters assembled in the salon (Jes foyers int&rieurs). There, un- der the excitement of a new piece, or of an old one well re- presented, they talked with a passion not always exempt from epigram. Sometimes the actor or author received from thetn an indirect criticism, or a useful lesson ; and if in these pi- quant conversations a witticism escaped from one of .the in- terlocutors, it was carried immediately to twenty different supper tables, and was repeated the next day in all the bril- liant circles of Paris. " It was impossible, then, that an art which was the de- light of high society and of the educated youth, should not make a most rapid progress," &c. &;c. «fec. Monsieur de paused, and looked triumphantly; and I exclaimed, " What an epigram against the age and the lite- rature of 2/oiMa; Delille never reached ; and there is a freshness in his groupings, which the sickly poetasters of the Palais Royal can never rival : because the poetry of na- tare is only to be tbund where she herself presides, with all her stupendous and admirable works about her. While the style of Courier is deemed in France a model as pure as it is original, the opinions which he advanced form the code of a liberal and enlightened population ; and of the numerous writers who have occupied the political arena, no one since the days of Voltaire, has been read with more avi- dity, has produced a greater effect upon the public mind, or has been more formidable to the profitable abuses of a cor- rupt authority. Coeval with this founder of the prose of romanticism, stood a poet, whose inspiration was as national as his tempe- rament ; and whose verses resembled in their " vieille gaiete gauloise," that true French poetry, which the academy, and the pedantry of the seventeenth century, endeavoured to re- place by imitations of the classic models of antiquity. Since ♦ See his admirable letters dated from all parts of Italy, Vol. I.— 10 no MODERN LITERATURE. the days of Clemeut Marot, nothing so fresh and so French as the writings of Beranger, had appeai'ed. The poetry lay in the essence, not in the form — in the sentinnent, not in the diction. Wit, sarcasm, irony, humour, and invective, all brought in their turn to inflame the patriotism and anima^;e the courage of the nation, derive an enhanced force from the unaffected ease and simpUcity of the language. It has no inversions, no gaudy imagery, no inflated metaphor ; but as it echoes the rich melody of joy, or breathes the plaintive accents of compassion or regret, it kindles the fancy, and gqes directly to the heart. The muse of Beranger is the muse of liberalism ; and his poetry is in the mouths of all Frenchmen, who are not the slaves of the court, nor the pro- tectors of abuse. But its popularity is not dependant exclu- sively upon this cause ; there is an intense reality and truth about every thing he writes, a genume inspiration of unaf- fected passion, whose charm is beyond all fictitious and ima- ginative writing, and is in itself perfectly irresistible. By the mere English reader, the poetry of Beranger will be rarely either understood or relished. In his graver at- tacks upon the ultra government, an Englishman will want the necessary local knowledge and the personal interest, to be strongly excited ; and in his lighter and more playful skir- mishing, there is more of the levity and licence which have too uniformly distinguished " la gaie science" in France, in all ages and all regimes, than good morals or pure taste can approve. There is an occasional want of tact, or perhaps a constitutional recklessness of preserving the line of proprie- ty, such as has been so severely censured in the writings of Byron ; which, though familiar in French literature, has ne- ver been tolerated in the poetry of this country. His merits, however, are not the less those of the highest order, both as a genius and a patriot ; and he will be read by posterity, when the r\\ylrn•^gfreluqueis of contemporary insipidity, will have ceased to be known, even by name. When we left France, in the year 1818, the word " Ro- manticism" was unknown (or nearly so) in the circles of Paris. The thing itself was but an inward grace, that took no visible form. The writers a la mode, whether ultra or li- beral, were, or thought themselves to bo, suppoi'ters and prac- tisers of tlie old school of literature. The journals were all pillars of literary orthodoxy, and preaclied the infallibility of the Academy, even though they questioned the infallibility of the Pope. " Les ceuvres complettes," then deemed necessary MODERN LITERATURE. Ill to complete a fashionable library, were those of the Mriters most severe in the observance of the Aristotelian canons. Even the jrenius of Monsieur Chateaubriant lay comparative- ly in abeyance, with his reputation ; and the last names I had heard re-echoed by the voice of fame, were those of Messieurs Le Mercier, Jouy, Du Val, Dupaty, Arnault, Etienne, An- drieux, Pastoret, Levis, Smmet, Baour-Lormian, and others of the same creed and doctrines. On my return, iu IS29, 1 found this album sanctorum converted into tlie muster-i'oU of an army of martyrs.* Other lists of celebrity were now cur- rent, and Victor Hugo, De La Martine, Alfred de Vigny, Merimee, Vitet, Dumas, Beyle, Barante, Tierry, Mignet, &c. &c. had taken the place of those whom we had left in pos- session of the public favour. In the interval of less than ten years, a change has taken place in the literature of France beyond the scope of probability to have anticipated. The spirit of liberty which was developed in tlie political writings of 1816, has, in 1829, got possession of the whole range of literature. The litterateur and the politician are no longer * Not that these distinguished authors have ceased to merit or to ob- tain the applause of a large portion of their countrymen ; but the war of romanticism, and the prevalent admiration of the priidiicts of the new school, have given an additional vogue to the younger writers beyond what their vigour, freshness, and novelly would otherwise have obtain- ed ; and this vogue inevitably throws the seniors somewhat into shade. To many of them we had the pleasure of being personally known ; and I have already given some account of them in my first work on France. I was happy to find them, on my return in 1829, (w ith very few- excep-: tions,) in the same enjoyment of life, and its intellectual pursuits, as I bad left them : Monsieur Jouy busy in bringing out his William TpII; — • Monsieur Duval enjoying the triumphs of his last comedy, " Charles II.," (as well as of his early one, " Henry V,") in' equal possession of public favour after a lapse of twenty-five years ; — Monsieur Le Mercier reposing in the glory of his political consistency, and literary indepen- dence ; — Monsieur Charles Pougens, in spite of blindness and advancing years, still occupied in works of playful imagination and of philosophi- cal utility; — Monsieur Arnault occupied in his new trae;edy of " Pertir nas," and en-joying the well merited success of his delightful fables, a collection of epigrams under the form of Apologues, in whicli is to be found that delicious mor^eau so long falsely attributed to Madame de la Sabliere — " De la tige dttachee, Pauvre feiiille dosechee, Ou va tu, Sic. Sic. ;" — and IMonsieur Dupaty occupied on an original di'amaof Mezzo Cnral- tere, of great interest ai.d merit; wiiile we found its author the same ia friendship and in spirits as when he read his excellent and courageous poem, " Le Delateur," to en admiring auditory, in our salon, some twelve years back. 12 MODERN LITEEATUKE. distinct personages. The time and the talent which formerfy were given by the French poets and dramatists to enervate and degrade (or, at best, merely to amuse) the people, and to homage their vain and heartless rulers, are now devoted to instruct the nation, and to combat the aggressions of the pri- vileged classes. The tld race o^ homines de lettres, who for- merly filled the salons of Paris with their common places, and ihexr Jlagi->rnerie., has disappeared ; or, if the ghost of an ex-Abbe still haunts the cafe, or frights the circles of litera- ture from their propriety, — though pity may procure respect for the apparition, patience itself will not afibrd it attention. Reading, thinking,, scrutinizing France has not leisure to be- stow upon the dethroned oracles of a by-gone generation, nor to give to the conventional judgments of a defunct criticism. The most popular writers of the present da)', whose works are seen in every hand, and are found on every tabFe, whose dramas are always accepted, and always heard with delight, are in the spring and prime of life, (the season of genuine en- thusiasm, and incorruptible honesty). Placed by a compe- tency, now so widely diffused in France, beyond the cares and the temptations of sordid poverty, — born and bred in times when personal distinctions are alone admitted as claims to public esteem, — they evince, in their pursuit of fame, ari uprightness of conduct beyond all the inspiration of court favour or aristocratic protection. The ardent desir^e to bene- fit their country, (while they amuse and instruct it,) by repre- sentations of its past absurdities or misrule, has led them to> open the long-closed volume of national history, which, in furnishing them v.'ith the soundest data for philesophical in- quiry, supplies tlxem with the most romantic materials for imaginative composition. If ever there was a country rich- er than all olhergin those records of past times which reflsct the lights and shadows of successive ages with graphic fide- lity, and preserve every hue in unfading freshness, that coun- try is France. Monstrelet, Le Moine de St. Denis, Feli- bien, Sauval, Froissart, Ducage, Brantome, L'Estoile, with the most amusing and vivacious productions of the Daubig. neys, De Mottevilles, Montpensiers, Lafayettes, Nemours, Bussi-Rabutins,, the Sevignes, La Rochefoucaulds, De Retz, De Contis, e turpitude of Charles the Second as the social errors of an accomplished gentleman, and the hor- rible crimes of Louis the Eleventh as the eccentricities of a royal humourist ; but in the honest, manly works of the no- velists and dramatists of modern France, the truth, and no- thing but the truth, with the '■'■quand minie" of the ultra royal zealots, is the object and end of all their labours. It is urged by the opponents of the romantic school, that amongst its numerous authors there is none whose reputation and merit approach those of the writers of the Augustan age; and " la mddiocrite imwersdle'^ is the theme of incessant la- mentation. But the age of " Jes grandes celtbrites" is pass- ed. The light of literature is too widely diffused, to suffer the lustre of any " one bright particular star" to shine pre- eminently conspicuous. Measures, not men — things, not theories — the public good, and not the public amusement — prose, not poetry — pre-occupy attention, and modify the manifestations of individual genius. The abnegation of selt^, the abandonment of the paltry gloriole d^auleur, is a necessary sacrifice cheerfully encoun- tered by the young literati of the present dav ; and the am- bition to be useful to the many, has superseded the desire of writing only for the refined and fastidious few. But if in this objection there were any validity as p.gainet the romanticists, it lies equally heavy in its application to the rigid imitators of classical models. Amongst the most dis- tinguished observers of the unities there is no single writer approaching nearer to the splendour and reputation of the Racines and the Deapreaux, thpn among those who are la- bouring by other means. The truth is, that when the litera- ture of a nation has been long worked, and the first places are all pre-occupied, there is no roozn for a second crop of chefs- d^ceuvre on the same soil. There is something inhe- rent in the task of imitation, which is in itself inimical to r«x- cellence and repulsive to genius. The only hope of a later age lies in the breaking of new ground ; and there is more auroient bien une autre force, et stirtoul vorleraient bien w.e autre clairtS d V esprit^' IIG MODERN LITERATURE. intellect shewn even in the abortive attempts to attain to new sources of pleasure and information, than in the happiesi; perseverance in cultivating the old. Romanticism is at pre- sent only in its infancy ; and it is the common weakness of humanity in forsaking error, to run into a contrary extreme. The system likewise suffers under the exaggerations of the ignorant and the mistakes of the inexperienced. It has not yet been sufficiently demonstrated, that, not to be classical is not necessarily to be romantic ; and that, in breaking through the restraints of a too rigid rule, there is no warranty for the total abandonment gf common sense. With all its imper- fections on its head, romanticism is, in the order of nature, a necessary consequence of necessary causes ; and, whether or no, in the fulness of time, it shall rear its own subjects for immortality, it has appeared opportunely to relieve the pre- sent age from the decrepitude and- mediocrity which imme- diately preceded it : " It rises to us like a new-found world To mariners long time distressed at sea, Sore from a storm, and all tlie'r viands spent: Or like the snn, new rising out of chaos. Some dregs of ancient nip-lit npt quite purged off." FRENCH PHILOSOPHY. At the period when we first visited France, the nation was still under the influence of the*revolutioaary excitement, and governed by the one leading idea, which the recent struggles had brought into question. Both the opponents and the ad- vocates of the revolution rtill continued to regard all things that had reference to that event, in a f imple and single point of view, either a? purely evil, or immeasurably good. Opi- nions stood front to front ; and no cold medium in politics, religion, or philosophy, was known or admitted. The philosophy of this epoch wns that which had been left by the writers who had immediatel}' preceded the revolution ; for though Napoleon, with the nattiral instincts of his calling, had endeavoured to decry and ridicule all general and ab- stract inquiry,* and had interrupted the education of the rising * Napoleon disfigured and cu"tailed the admirable arrangement of courses m the Normal schools, and changed tht; plan of the Instuut, ia, FRENCH PHiLOSOPHY. 117 generation by his premature levies of troop?, jet still a tradi- tion remained of the opinions uhicii had prevailed ; and if they were not embraced in the fubiess of k'io%vled. ciples of the one and the graces of the otlier, hke their ilius- trious name, beyond all change of circumstance or touch, of time) ; and tlie honest and gifted Italian brothers Ugoni ; and " son oblig^xmce,'' Monsieur JulHen de Paris ; and the two first amateurs of the musical world, even of that musical world from whence they came. Signer Barberi and Signor Dottore Benati, with many others, who came in and went out successively, — each leaving behind them the votive offer- ing of an agreeable impression. Meantime, David, not in the least disturbed by the comings and goings of my miscel- laneous guests, sat in full light near the window, moulding away ; shewing the progress of his work without mystery, and taking a hint from one and a suggestion from another, in all the humility of true genius, and all its carelessness ; without any of that amour propre, and self-satisfaction, and mystery of craft, which belong to uncertain reputations, and certain mediocrity. Every now and then, he threw in his wordy and made his remark, with the enthusiasm which so strongly characterizes both his conversation and his works ; and which amounted almost to inspiration, as the music of Ros. sini, from time to time, was sung and played by one, whose young, fresh tones, and sweet expressionj Rossini himself had deigned to approve. I wish I could remember all that was said, in seriousness and in pleasantry, in wisdom or in gaiety, in all sorts of ways, and upon all sorts of subjects, by these gifted repre- sentatives of the civilization of Europe ; or could depict their uncalculating simplicity, and noble confidence, risking on any, or on .every thing, those airy nothings to which ge- nius lends a charm, and on which genius only will venture. What a lesson to solemn dulnes3 and cautipus mediocrity ?- Unfortunately, I rather recollect the impression made by- each than the words that engraved them. The author of " Clara Gazul," without being our " rneil^ leur causeurt" (as. Madame de Vilette said of Champfort,) was certainly one of the most delightful. Not that he is,, perhaps, as vivacious as Beyle, nor as profound (I had al- most said sublime) as Mignet ; but that his society has pre- cisely that charm which makes one desire his arrival, and fear his departure. Easy, simple, gay, humourous, and na- tural, indifferent to, or unconscious of, his superior talent, speaking many modern languages, and knowing al! well — Merimee is an epitome of the European youth of the pre- sroKNns'Gs at paris. 137 sent day — the reverse of all our received opinions of the " homme de lettres" of the old times, in France. Authorship, in him, is a vocation, not a , profession ; and the careless but vigorous manner in which so.ne of his dramatic sketches are thrown off, is a proof that he writes less for the fame he has acquired, than to fill a duty to society, by exposing the abu- ses and revealing the vices of those pernicious institutions, Avhich so many are caballing to restore. His " Clara Ga- zul," " La Jacquerie," and the "Scenes Feodales," are evi- dently composed in this spirit. Like the young men in ge- neral of his country, Merimee is so liberal, that he is not aware that he is liberal : it seems to him that liberalism is the natural state of man. Talking on the subject upon the morning alluded to, Beyle observed, that even the term was passing away, for the quality was ceasing to be a distinc- tion, or liberalism a sect. "The young men, even of the faubourg," he said, "the sons of the emigration, if they are a shade less liberal, a degree more enamoured with heredi- tary prejudices than the ' children of the revolution,' are in- finitely less ultra than their fathers, who are, also, much less so than they were in 1815. They repeat the opinions of their parents, but they laugh with us at the ignorance of their feudal ancestors, and they blush for the degradation of their class in the reign of Louis the Fourteenth. They are no- longer brought up in their childhood by sycophant Abbes, to be transferred to the hareuns of Versailles, or to waste their prime in the ruelles of les grandes dames, or behind the scenes of the opera." Somebody else observed, that the young noblesse seem half ashamed of their titles, which are no longer in harmony with public opinion ; and they very commonly drop them on their visiting tickets. Having caught the spirit of their age, their aspirations are towards public life, politics, literature, or science ; and if, in this respect, they are less enegetic, and, therefore, less successful, than their cotemporaries, there are none of them who are not far in advance of their noble fathers. In general, they read the various journals of the day, and do not wait to become acquainted with events, (as their predecessors did,) for the king's announcement of them, while he is changing bis shirt. They read the " Ga- zette," and the " Drapeau blanc," to please their noble rela- tions, and they read the liberal papers to please themselves. It is not unusual to see them poring over the " Globe" or ihfi " Constitutionnel," in the Tuileries' gardens, while thev 12* ]38 MORNIKOfS AT rART3. hold before it one of the accredited ultra papers, to make a shew, and advertise their loyalty. "But," I asked, " is there none of the old leaven left in these successors of the Richelieus, nothing of the old school of gallantry, (for instance,) as it flourished with the Lavri- gais and the BouiUons?" " Nothing," was the reply : " nothing certainly of the old school of libertinism, professedly cold, heartless, and profligate. The heroes of that school sought not the love,, but the ruin and exposure either of iheir victims or them- selves ; for to be deceived and ruined by a nymph of the opera, was once a patent of hon ton* The young ultras of the present day make love indeed as they read the ' Gazette,' to pay their tribute to the hiensrance of their grade, and to keep up the old forms. The young man in Paris, who is now the most aux honne-i fortunes, is assuredly not of the old stock. 'l"he old gallantry, like the old politics, is quite out of fashion : even love is at a discount ; and grace and beau- ty are r^ometimes too much neglected for la cliarfe." " Well," I said, laughing, " I saw something of this the other night, fc'ome of you were present, where politics and philosophy held supreme sway, while youth and beauty went for nothing, f could not help saying to our young host, vans n''ai?nez plus les fem7n.es 1 and he answered, nous aimons nos^ ferimes." " Oh, } es, the Globists are devotedly in love with their own wives; and not with the wives of others, as in the old school, when every literary lady had her authorical amant iitrc, like the Da (Jhatelets, the D'Epinays, and theD'Hude- tots. We make love, in (he present day, morally, and in a constitutional manner. This is the time for agreeable Wo- men, who only aim at captivating our opinions; and the most agreeable woman is the one, who best adapts herself to the man she converses with, and the subject that most occu- pies him. So, vive le budget /" " liut, have 3'ou none of les grandes passions, such as sent the Duchesse de Polignac and the Duchesse de Nesle to fight a duel in the Bois de Boulogne for the Due de Richelieu ; or that set two rivals ' d s'arracher les cheveux pour une injide- liie,^ in a room full of company, as described by Madame de- Prie, in a letter to the same duke ?" * The Due de Bouillon is said lo have expended fonr millions of' francs on tlie sultanas of the opera and the Frangais. Mademoiselle' Rau(-ourt was wont to say. in her old age, "that the cause of the ruin* of the nobility was the opera." JrORIVINGS AT PAKIS. 139 '•' Oh ! nothing," replied all the French present. " Que les gens cVes'pril sont bltes,^^ whispered a young Englishman, who had just dropped in, and sat beside nne ; " remind me to tell you of a dcmtle between two pretty duchesses in an opera box, the other night, about a young English Richelieu." (I must observe, in a parenthesis, that all the scandal in Paris is fresh, if not authentic, among the English, particu- larly those who do not go into French society.) Some one who overheard Mr. , replied, " You must not judge, sir, of the morals of the nation, [>y those of a little coterie, who affect to imitate the manners and morals of the higher class of British fashionables ; some of whom have brought the worst examples here, after having atforded them in their own countr)'." " ^Vhat a turning of the tables ! but," I added, " some one has said that French wit has gone out of fashion with French gallantry." "That is not precisely the case ; but still there is some- thing in the remark : not that there is less wit in France, than formerly — perhaps there is more ; and, therefore, it is less conspicuous, less a distinction. 'J'here is too much bus- tle of intellect, to permit the world to pause on a hon-mot, or to re-echo & jeud' esprit.'''' " By the bye," said M. , " LaAiyette, who grow.- of his being a handsome one. ' Celui la vauf bien Vautre ;' — meaning Pius the Sixth, of whom I had heard anecdotes at Rome, that would have made a volume.'' " 1 knev/ him too," said Monsieur Marron, " He was any thing but a bigot, and had many amiable qualities. When he was a prisoner at Valence, orders were given to the mili- tary commander. Colonel M., of the most rigorous character. The Colonel softened them down to the utmost of his power, short of positive neglect of duty and disobedience. Of this generous conduct the Pope was duly sensible ; -but almost afraid of noticing it, lest he should commit his benefactor. The night before he died, however, he sent for this officer, and presenting him with a superb silver gilt cup, (rescued from the papal treasury,) he begged of him to accept it, as a memorial of the donor's gratitude and esteem. Col. M., from whom I had the anecdote, felt a conscientious hesitation at accepting so valuable a present from his illustrious prison- er ; and after expressing his thanks, declined it, on the plea of religion. ' Perhaps your Holiness,' he said, 'is not aware that you are making this valuable and almost consecrated present to an heretic. I am of the church of Geneva.' ' What has that to do with it?' said the Pope, with a flash of anima- tion. Then after closing his heavy eyes, he added, in a tone of exhaustion, but with solemnity, ' are we not all children of the same Father V " Oh, ye catholic and protestant bigots, ye mystic metho- dists and intriguing Jesuits, why did you not hear my Pope tell this anecdote of the Roman Pope, and see his fine vene- rable countenance light up in the utterance of a sentiment in such strict accordance with his own faith and feelings ! But M there is no making Christians of sectarians. You may make ■ proselytes, and convert to and from every sect on earth, but ^ you will not bring your convertites one step nearer to the re^ " Vertuetix protestant, que je soufiFre a vous voir? Tirer Marron du (eu, nest pas en mon pouvolr." The poLut is untraaslateable. THE PKOTESTANT POPE. 153 ligion whose doctrine is love ; for exclusion is in their mouths and supremacy in their hearts ; and these are the essence ot" sectarianism, call it by what denomination you will. But, to go back to my Turkish ottoman and Protestant Pope : we talked much and long of our celebrated friend, Miss Williams ; and it was painful to learn, that she had fall- en into absolute indigence some time before her death, a cir- cumstance which, in her independent spirit she endeavoured to conceal till all further concealment was impossible. Her excellent nephew, Mr. C , a respected member of the Dutch church, and one of the most celebrated preachers of Amsterdam, having at last learned the state of her affairs, came for her to Paris, and took her home to Amsterdam ; but the translation from her own delightful circle in the French capital, and the different order of society in Holland, were too much for her spirits, and she fell into such melancholy and ill-health, that her constitution sunk under the change. Her devoted relation, solicitous even for her pleasures, placed an annuity on her head, out of his own limited means, and brought her back to Paris. He brought her back, however, only to convey her to her modest tomb, amidst the cypresses of the cimetiere de la Chaise. Thus terminated the life of Johnson's " elegant muse, in sadness and poverty." Her faults were attributable to the singular times in which her ardent feelings and brifliant talents developed themselves. Born and bred in another era, she would have directed her original talents to other purposes, and, in all probability, with a happier result. Monsieur Marron agreed with me in this opinion. " It is," Isaid, " the greatest want of philosophy to judge of people otherwise than by the times and circumstances in which they are called to act." " And the greatest want of Christian charity too," he added. The charming old man ! oh ! how I wished we had a dozen such Protestant Popes in Ireland ! As a circle was now gathering round us, we broke off our intimate conversation, and taking His Infallibility's arm, I went with him to join the dancers. [ 154] MADAME JACOTOT. On my return to Paris from Italy, in 1820, as I was seat- ed, one fine morning, making up a dress, while the well- known Dr. Gall sat laughing and chatting beside me, in that pleasant tone of conversation, which none but those who have the requisite organ, possess ; he suddenly proposed that I should exchange my needle for my parasol, and pay a visit to Madame Jacotot, the celebrated artist and enameller. As I have always preferred walking to needle-work, and would walk to Mecca, if accompanied by such an agreeable com- panion, I did not hesitate, and the next moment I was under weigh, tottering over the rough pavement of the fauhourg^ with my arm in Dr. Gall's, though, strange to say, my head had never been in his hands. Dr. Gall was one of those per- sons who excite an interest for themselves, independently of their especial claims to notoriety and distinction ; and while the man conversed, his doctrines were forgotten. This is the highest social triumph which can be accorded to genius; with mediocrity and pretension, the author and the work are ever uppermost in the mind. Laughing and chatting, we arrived at Madame Jacotot's ; and laughing and chatting of the arts, and looking over the splendid works of our hostess, we passed two such delightful hours, that my impressions of this eminent lady were fresh in my memory, on my return to France in 1829; but, alas! there was now no longer a Gall to re-knit the chain so plea- santly formed, and so abruptly broken. Other links of asso- ciation were, however, not wanting, and we set forth With Monsieur Bouchon,* a very talented acquaintance, of old date, and a friend of Madame Jacotot, to re-visit the first fe- male artist of Europe, and to feast our eyes and intellects with her works. She was no longer resident in the locale, where I had last seen her, but on the Quai Voltaire, and in the apartments of — Denon ! It was some minutes before I could recover the shock and the gloom, which association, thus suddenly awa- kened, cast over me. Every thing, too, was changed ; the walls, once embellished by monuments of the arts of all ages * Now engaged in editing tiie old chronicles of France. MADAME JACOTOT. 155 a^id nations, were now nearly bare. Where were my old acquaintances, where was La Bruyere's magnificent portrait ! and the well-remembered Riiydesdale, and the beautiful Bonaparte dynasty, which the late gifted master of these apartments had the moral courage to exhibit, when the fol- lowers and flatterers of that family hid these once well-wor- shipped lares and penates of their domestic altars, in fear and servility ? Where, too, were the superb Egyptian monu- ments, the precious stones and gems, made doubly precious by the touch of genius ! The Greek antiquities, the Roman relics, fragments of the middle ages, and the splendid speci- mens of modern embellishments ; the consoles, the com- modes, and gueridons of the time of Louis the Fourteenth ; and the Jupiter Tonans ; the hand of one Venus, and the foot of another? And where was he whose pleasant eloquence had described all these precious objects ; where were his gracious courtesies, his witty repartee, his lively anecdote, and sparkling bon-mot, with all the learning of the profound antiquarian, the illumination of modern philosophy, and the gallantry of the old manners? We found Madame Jacotot as we had left her, like one of her own enamels, apparently beyond the reach of time ; and it is always pleasant to find genius giving a promise of its own durability. The perfection to which she has brought her art, and the advantages she has thereby conferred upon the porcelain manufacture, fairly entitle her to the eminent reputation she enjoys among the artists of her country. En- amelling, since the days of Petitot, had fallen in France, with one or two eminent exceptions ; and it had degenerated into mere cup and saucer painting ; but it is now superior to what it ever had been, in any age or nation. Adopting, as the material which forms the base of her pictures, thick slabs of porcelain, whose hardness is some guarantee against casual destruction, Madame Jacotot has been able to give them dimensions far exceeding the productions of her pre- decessors. Her " Holy Family" and " Belle Jardiniere,'" from Raphael ; her " Hope" and " Corinne" from the well- known and beautiful pictures of Gerard, may preserve these trophies and triumphs of art, when the canvas and colours of the sixteenth and of the nineteenth centuries shall alike have yielded to that fiat, from which the escape, even for a centu- ry, is nothing less than a miracle : time carries with it so many modes of destruction ! But to mo, the most interesting oi her works is that unique collection of enamels, from the 156 PUHNITTTRE. portraits of all that was eminent and historical in France--* the Sevignes and the Condes, the Ninons and the Turennes — which was begun for the cabinet of Louis the Eighteenth, and is now finishing, by the command of Charles Dix : an order that reflects equal credit on the patron and the protegee. Madame Jacotot shewed us some fine pictures by Bour- don and other eminent artists. There were portraits of Christine, Queen of Sweden, and of her victim, Monaldes- chi ; and of Anne of Austria, in the decline of her beauty and power, both, however, still visible in her face and air ; — of Madame de Maintenon, j'eMwe et belle, and of the terri- ble Richelieu, with that tigerish mildness of countenance so remarkable in the cold and cruel, — the impassibility of the insensible. There was a portrait also of the Regent, upon whose handsome and good-humoured face there is nothing of the " light, revelling, and protesting" look, a roue should possess. Madame Jacotot, besides being one of the .first artists of her day, is a most agreeable and intelligent woman of the world ; such as France, of all countries, is most capable of producing. Her manner, like her pencil, is full of that life and vivacity which is so much more durable than the forms it animates. [ could not help telhng her, she would take a long time to grow old ; an'd she returned the compliment with much more grace than it was made. — I trust we were both true prophets. FURNITURE. On paying our first visit to the Count de Segur, I was greatly struck by finding the stairs of his hotel carpetted ! — The stairs of a Parisian hotel carpetted ! ! — Our carriage was shortly afterwards stopped by a crowd of vehicles at the corner of the Rue St. Marc ; so I amused my enntd by read- ing the shop-boards about me (an amusement, to which I am much given). The first that met my eye was " Grand de- pdt de Tapis." I asked the shopman (who came to the car- riage window to know if I wanted any thing,) if he had any English carpets. He answered rather evasively, after the Irish fashion ; "We have the most beautiful varieties of woollen goods recently introduced for furniture ; and as for carpeting, we hav^ les phis superbs tapis d'Aubisso?i, etles mO' queues Ics plus nouvelles ; les tapis jaspers, les tapis a la Ve- nelienne, et les tapis de drop imprime de Ternaux.^' In short, I found that the looms of NVilton and Kiddermin- ster were at work in France ; and that the new wants of ci- vilization, felt by all the other grades of society, as well as by the highest, were originating new branches of industry and ingenuity, and multiplying that best of all classes, la classe industrielle. What would Madame de Sevigne, or Madame Lafayette, say to these rarpets of many names and textures ? or la Grande Mademoiselle, who carried about her scrap of foot-cloth, as a royal privilege, destined only to be placed before the fauteuil, — that bone of contention to all the potentates of Europe ? What would Cardinal de Riche^ lieu say to a shopkeeper of the Rue St. Denis, with his feet on a rug, and his body reposing on piles of cushions ; while his Eminence, the real king of France, and the dictator of Europe, was obliged, amidst all his power, to strew his room with rushes, and was compelled to forego the use of foot- cloth and carpet, in the presence of the royal puppet whom he governed and despised ? These were not the proposed ends of the miserable, laborious intrigues, and atrocious crimes, which he mistook for government. They have how- ever been attained, in spite of all the efforts of him, and of his class to maintain the people in ignorance and in slavery; and could he look forth from the tomb, (that truth-telling le- veller,) the memory of his tortuous and blood-thirsty policy would be still further embittered by the spectacle of all th© good, he had in vain faboured to prevent, and by the light it casts on the mean and paltry ambition which governed his po- litical existence. On every side, and in every street, I found new marts open- ed for the comfort and accommodation of the people, whose diffused wealth and wide-spread ease are the fruits of the re- volution, which, with all its obstacles and all its errors, has ad- vanced, and will still further advance, the civilization and the happiness of Europe. Qf these new adaptations to the improved condition of man, the bazaars are the most re- markable. There, in a purer air, and under good shelter, the purchaser may suit his taste and his purse, from one franc to a million ; and there, the prince or the pauper may furnish his palace or his cabin, witli all that luxury demands, or the most restricted want may require. Vol. I.— 14 i58 AtJ GRAND VOLTAIRE. But though improvement may be traced through all classes of society, from the highest to the lowest, there is more of English comfort and of Italian taste, more of the real accom- modations of life, and of the arts which embellish and adorn it, in the residences of that class, now distinguished by the epi- thet " industrielle," than among the remaining fragments of the ancient noblesse, or the professional and agricultural popu- lation. France certainly was the most conventional country in the world ; and even now, from the salle de Grace, (the reception-room of the Dauphiness,) down to the taudis of the Swiss, or up to the cinquieme etage of the sempstress, the same model of furniture still prevails, differing only in the value of the material, or the art with which it is constructed. The furniture, de rigueur, is every where the same. The pendule on the chimney-piece, with its attendant supporters, two flambeaux, flanked by as many vases. A canap^ at the head of the room, a set of chairs regimented against the walls, a table in the centre, a gueridon in the corner, while the eternal alcove contains every where the same formed bed, decked as tastefully with calico at a franc a yard, as with embroidered muslin at a louis. Such is the salon of a princess, and the lodge of the porter de la vieille roche, — the last classes where innovation or improvement ever make their approach. AU GRAND VOLTAIRE. 1 REALLY believe that nothing remains in France precisely as we left it. To us, at least, it appears that every thing is changed. Returning from the faubourg, by the Rue de Bac, I looked up, asT passed the Quai Voltaire, to recognize the old and gloomy facade and the closed shutters of the apart- ment, in which Voltaire died, and about which there was such a mystery, and so many stories in circulation. But the por- trait of the literary monarch over the door of the bookseller's shop on the Rez de Chaussee, excepted, (and even that was fresh painted,) nothing now existed in statu quo. The mysterious shutters were removed, the windows were widely open, the front of the house spick and span refreshed, AU GRAND VOLTAIRE. 159 and every thing about it as smart and as clean as the prettiest hotel in the Chaussie d'Antin. The trick played upon the Freres TMatins, by the Marquis de Viliette, respecting this now celebrated edifice, is plea- santly told by Grimm. The building had originally formed a part of the vast Convent of the Thealins, and stood next to the hotel of Viliette, who, either through necessity or ca- price, was induced to rent it from the monks, at an enormous price, and he united it to his own house by opening a door of communication. The lower part, which looked on the Quai Voltaire, he re-let to a print and bookseller, and he made it a condition of the agreement, that a sign should be placed over the door, with an inscription, in large gold letx ters, " AU GRAND VOLTAIRE." The Thcatins were in despair ; that this rigid order shoul(| live at the sign of the " The Great Voltaire," the arch-enemy of the church, and, therefore, in their eyes, the patriarch of infidelity, was perfectly monstrous ! Yet remonstrance was vain, they could not " rail the seal from off the bond ;" and, what was worse, a process would have converted a ridicule into a scandal. So the sign remained undisturbed, and it held its place when the Th^ativs had lost theirs, and had passed away, and were swept from the recollections of a people, who still sing, " et Voltaire est immortel.^^* At this hotel Voltaire arrived in 1778, accompanied by his niece, Madame Denis, where he was received by his beloved "jBeZ/e and Bonne," the then lovely Marquise de Viliette. " He occupies," says Grimm, (writing at the moment,) " a cabinet, which rather resembles the &OMr/o«r of voluptuousness, than the sanctuary of the Muses ; and it is there, they say, that Monsieur de Voltaire intends to pass his Easter, [fairc ses Paqiies)." In this house, at eighty-four years of age, he received, not only the homage of all France, but nearly of all Europe, to which he replied, " with all that wit, agreeabi. lity, and politeness, of which he alone had preserved the tone." Here, the night after his arrival, he recited, rather than he read, the whole of his tragedy of " Irene," to a select society, and sat up till the following morning, correcting the last tv/o acts ! Here, too, he died, exhausted by the bustle * Finale of the " Mariage de Figaro." 160 READERS AND AUTHORS. and fatigue of a Parisian life, to which he had so long been unaccustomed, and by the anxiety of all classes to behold and admire him, rather than from an absolute decay of his forces, even at that advanced age. What was the fate of this historical edifice during the re- volution, 1 know not ; but, in 1820, when we passed through Paris, the shutters and doors of Voltaire's " voluptuous cabi- net," and bed-room, remained constantly closed ; there was even a tradition that I hey were not to be opened till fifty years after his death, according to his own express and specific in- junction. Many hopes and surmises were indulged by lite- rary credulity on this subject, which were all dissipated in 1829, (a few months ago,) by the opening of the apartments, on the death of the proprietor, a very old and singular lady, of the family of Moninu.rency. The mysterious apartment ^yas then found in just such a state as might have been ex- pected, after the lapse of so long a time, all dust and decay. The seci'et of its cloture lay sim[)ly in the oddity and indo- lence of the old lady, to whom it belonged. The house, with some others in her possession, had fallen out of repair many years back, and as she would neither take the trouble, nor ga to the expense of refitting them, she had kept them closed,, and left to her heirs the pleasure and the trouble of solving a mystery, which turned out, like so many others of the world's making, to be no mystery at all. No manuscript satires, too horrible for cotemporary eyesight : no secret m^mcires, toa dangerous for cotemporary publication : nothing to fight ovei:, nothing to burn : not a scrap, even of a letter, rewarded the patient expectation of the badauds of Paris ; and all the sec- taries of all the academies cried out, with him, in Voltaire'& own " Micromegas," " Ah,je in'en etais bien doufeJ''* READERS AND AUTHORS. Talking the other da)^ of the strange state of society, wheit such men as De Grammont and Pomenars, (botlt convicted cheats,) were considered the grace and ornament of la cour: et la ville, it was mentioned that the present representative! * " 1 thought as much." KEADEES AND AUTHORS. 161 of the ancient house of De Grammont, the Due de Guiche. was occupied in writing a work upon the amehoration of the breed of horses, in France. When the witty Laurigais, in reply to Louis the Sixteentli's question of " what he had learned in England," had told the king that " he had learned d penser, sire T^ Louis sneeringly rejoined, "d panser les chevaux .'" But notwithstanding this royal bon-mot, I will venture to say ihatif the Due de Guiche learned thus much in England, and no more, he still had a decided advantage over his celebrated ancestor ; and I hope he may succeed as well in riding down to posterity on his chivalresque production, as the other has done by. his inspiration of that brilliant work, which so amusingly records the fatuity, insensibility, cowai*- dice, fraud, and accumulated vice of the court of Charles the Second. The subject chosen may not be quite as entertain- ing ; but as it involves tacts requiring research, observation, reflection, and some practice, it shews that the noble author must have done something m ire than daudle out his days as his forefathers did, in the oed de hmuf, or disgrace them at the gaming table : and in writing on the improved breed of hor- ses, he will in all 'likelihood contribute in his own person to the improvement of the " order" to which he belongs. " What is the use of so much reading ?"* said Louis the Fourteenth, to his too faithful journalist, Dangeau. It is an historical fact, that this much-lauded monarch never read Pascal ; and that though he called the Telemachus of Fe- nelon, " a foolish book," he never perused it. To the Due de M-arsillac,f he once replied, " I hate persons who reason," and the Abbe Longuerue declared of him, that he never read a book in the world, save his prayer book, [&es Hcures) but that he was very learned in ceremonies : "that," (says the Abbe) " is his sphere." All that had gone before him, ^vas lost to him ; for he never opened a work of history ; and of his own times, he was himself, in his own eyes, the begin- ning and the end. It was this profundity of ignorance, (stu- diously maintained by Anne of Austria, and by Mazarin, for the express purpose of their policy and power) that placed him so abjectly under the control of his priestly directors. When his Jesuit confessor, Le Tellier, (to quiet those perio- dical scruples, which came with indigestion after his full-fed * " A quoi bon tant lire?" was his question to tbe most obsequious of courtiers, and most indefatigable of journalists. t Son of the celebrated Due de la Rochefoucauld, whom the king: thus cut abort in the middle of a very clever and ingenious definition^. 14* 162 KEADERS A3JD AUTHORS^ media nocJie,) assured him, " that all the goods of his subjects were his own private property ; and that, in takinjj them to his personal u&e, he only took what belonged to him," — he believed the dictum, and acted upon it. Alternately the dupe of his confessors and his mistresses, he Jioped to expiate by a timid submission to the former, the irregularities which he committed with the latter ; and supposing that he had secur- ed salvation by the dragonades, he reproached heaven with neglrct of his worldly affairs, during ihe reverses of his lat- tf'r life ; and was heard to exclaim, " how then, has God for- gotten all that I have done for him !"* There is now scai'cely a porter, a water carrier, or a com- missioner, running the streets of Paris, who is not more learn- ed and more enlightened, than this royal patron of letters of the Augustan age of France. In every hand there is now to be found a book ! Enter into the rudest porter's lodge of the simplest hotel, in the remotest quarter, and you will dis- cover cheap editions of the best authors, which are beyond the means only of the very lowest indigence ; there, too, are to be seen lithographic copies of the historical pictures of Gerard, Gros, and otlier eminent artis!^, whose works arai instruction under the most obvious torm ; while the humr blest mechanic finds a leisure hour for the acquirement of knov/ledge, if it be only in following the amusing experi- ments of the itinerant professors of physics, in the Champs Elysees. Talking on this subject to the obliging editor of the Revue Encyclopcdiqiie, he said, " vol. must come with me to see an illustration of your remark, in the person of a self-educated boot-maker, who has constructed an astrono- mical toy of great ingenuity. " I desire no better," I replied ; and accordingly the next morning we paid a visit to this Newton of the awl and last. The humble dwelling of the self-taught astronomer lay in the old quarter of the Louvre, in the Rue des PrHres, be- hind one of the most ancient and historical churches of Pa- ris (that of St. Germain L'Auxerrois). In passing through this royal parish, church, to make our egress through a late- ral door, we lingered for a moment in the choir and aisles-^ what a scene ! and what recollections ! The tapestry hang- ings, used for the J'He.dieu, were not yet taken down. The dingy obscurity of its dim religious light, its rude architec- lural forms, and tinsel ornaments, recalled the barbarism of * " Dieu done a oublie tout ce que j'ai fait pour lui I" READERS AT^D AtJTHOKS. 163 those times, when its bell tolled for the massacre of St. Bar- tholomew, while the work of murder was going on. What a contrast between the people of Paris at that epoch, and daring the barricades which followed, and the present population, when one of their lowest class is drawing the at- tention of foreigners by his scientific la"ljours and ingenious inventions ! Our astronomer was lodged on the second floor in one of those dreary edifices so common in the old quarters of Paris, in which a narrow entry and steep flight of stairs lead to ma- ny separate apartments, like the flats of Edinburgh. I was struck by the neatness of his little room and by the ornaments on his chimney : the never-failing penduJe, the candlesticks and vases of flowers. His " systeme du ?nonde, mis en action" occupied the centre. As I do not profess to be blessed with a very mechanical head, I shall not attempt to describe this instrument,* or to criticise its utility. But even to me it gave evidence of intelligence, industry, patience, and an inquir- ing mind, which, under happier circumstances, might have placed its owner on the arm-chairs of the. Insiititt. Where such are the amusements of the laborious classes, how vain and futile must be the hope of duping and misgoverning them ! " Tlie following is tbe account given of tliis plebeian orrery in a pro- gramme on flashy yellow paper, presented to us on entrance: — " Systeme du Monde, mis en Action, " Demonstration du mouvement de rotation de laTerre au centre da Globe Celeste, systeme de Ptok'mee avec modification. La terre, par son mouvement d'ascension et declinaison, tournant toujours a gauche, devant la lumiere qui reprt'sente le Soleil, les Villes qui passent de- yant cet astre, prennent tour-alour I'heure de midi. Ce Systeme de- montre le croissant et decroissant des jours, les Eclipses de Lune et de Soleil; dontie I'heure qu'il est dans les principales villes du monde et des quatre Saisons ; il demontre la longitude et les degres du Meridien, sans avoir recours a une Eclipse de Lune ni autres signes vus dans le Giel. " II fait connaltre aussi le nombre de lieues que la terre fait par heure et par minute. " Le globe celeste, dans lequel est le globe terrestre, a dix pieds de diametre, monte surson mecanisrae qui fait tout mouvoir, sans y tou- cher. L'on peut par ce moycn, qui n'a pas encore paru, apprendre la Geographie en eu de lemons. " Rue des PrStres Saint- GemiainV Auxerrois^, No. 13, au detiziime pr6s du Louvre." [ 164 ] FRENCH DANDIES. We attended a very splendid public charity ball, given for the benefit of the families, whose property had recently been destroyed by a fire on the Boulevards. Where chari- ty and dancing go together, the French may always be count- ed on ; for they include the happiest of the national virtues, and the most prevalent of the national tastes. The hal de Vincendie was magnificent in all its arrangements. The suite of rooms of a fine hotel in the Rue de Rivoli, was dra- ped from the garde meuhle by the permission of the king, who, by an inconsistency not uncommon in the most despo- tically mclined sovereigns, is the first to come forward where charity is to be encouraged by royal example, however slack when justice is to be done to all, by royal abnegation. The hangings were of scarlet cloth, bordered with gold and in- termingled with garlands of flowers and variegated lamps. The stairs and corridors resembled the Socages of old French vignettes. The dresses of the women were as fresh as the flowers ; and their fashions as uniform as the laws of vegeta- tion itself. The men were evidently thinking much more of the women, than of themselves ; every woman was a petite souzeraine ; and every man their lige for the night. The handsomest man perhaps of Europe was present, dark and dazzling, and moving through the intricacies of the quadrille with a Spanish gravity, that recalled to me a picture of the ball, given at the Escurial to Charles the First, when Prince of Wales.* It was the Count de Lulli ; — his vis-a-vis, in the dance, was his royal wife ; and if the sister of Don Mi- guel might be supposed to share the temperament which has led her brother to the commission of crimes that have mark- ed him for universal execration, her gentle melancholy and sweet countenance at on.ce refute the supposition, and bear testimony to the amiability and goodness, which are assigned as her characteristics by all who know her. It was upon this, and on other similar occasions that I had * This admirable picture, by a cotemporary painter, is at the castle of Malahide, the seat of my old and valued friend,. Colonel Talbot, the: Member for Dublin. FRENCH DAKDIES. 165 the opportunity to remark how much less the dandy species is prevalent in France than in England. Coxcomhry be- longs so little to the tastes and habits of the intellectual and studious youth of that country or to the popular notions of equality, that the " t7ierveilleux," (as the Parisian dandy is called) is regarded ahnost universally as a ridicule, rather than as a model. " His honours cleave not to him," even " by the aid of use ;" and however daily and punctual he may be in his attentions to the toilet, he has always the air of being encUmancJie ;* for he is sure of being exaggerat- ed in every ilem of the mode, from the feshiori of his cravat, to the tie of his shoestring. The English, however, among the other sttperiorites which they have generously endeavour, ed to impart to their French neighbours (such as the theory and practice of the law of libel, aristocratic influence, and the art of managing elections) have very much Anglified the notions of the youth of that class, with which they come into frequent contact, on the subject of dress. There are French- men even of sense and spirit, who have not studied Horace on the dangers of imitation ; and who in adopting the neat- ness, have also appropriated the absurdities of English fash- ion. A merveiUevx of no inferior grade in the muster roll of Parisian mode, did me the honour to give me his arm the other day, to the Bibliolheqne du Roi, for the purpose of de=. ciding a dispute on the dress of Louis the Fourteenth in his young days, by consulting the treasury of costumes, in its ca- binet of engravings. As we passed along the Rue Richelieu, I saw. a very pretty saut de lit a la giraffe,^ suspended at a shop door, and labelled at a very reasonable price. I stopped, and said that I should like to buy that article, if I could but smuggle it over to Ireland. " Quelle horreur /" exclaimed my dandy, dragging me on. " Such a thing in your maison-bijou, (as M — t — llo tells me it is) would give it a mauvais ion, from which it would never recover." " As how V I asked. ^' In the first place, because the giraffe has gone complete- ly out of mode, particularly sinccMhe arrival of {he haleine royale ; and, secondly, because it is definitively fixed, that sauis de lit of carpet are to be replaced by tigers' skins." * 111 Etonian English, " a Sunday buck." t " Saut de lit''' a bedside carpet. 166 FRENCH DANDIES. " Is it possible," I askpd, laughing, " that your idol, fash, ion, has such an universal worship, ihat even furniture must submit to its ephemeral caprices and tyranny .'" " Caprices !— call them laws, madam, for in general they have all the wisdom and expediency of the best laws ; and every thing that is personal should benefit by their operation. A friend of mine lately lost the chance of getting into the coterie du pelil chateau, merely by having -a jardiniere in her salon filled with all sorts and kinds of finwers, when visited by the Duchesse de F ; for, after all, the Chavssee d^Antin is always some days behind hand in fashion with the faubourg." " You really do not mean that ?'' I said, with a mental re- ference to that banished article of furniture, still standing in my own house, the useful and elegant jardiniere / " Indeed I do : the jardiniere is out of date, these three weeks ; and it is now only fit to figure at the door of an ebeniste as a piece of shop furniture, or at a second-hand ba- zsLSLr on the Boulevards. This spring, the corheille only is seen, in every elegant salon x—sans la corheille, point de salut." " But the corheille holds so much less." " To be sure. That is the reason of its superiority. A single plant of the Bengal rose, or Camellia, is as much as civilized organs can bear, or the 7node dujour will authorise. All beyond that, sente le marcM des Jleurs, or a fHe de noce at the Grande Chaumiere." " Well," I said, " I have a great deference for the mode, because I know its omnipotence ; but on the chapter of flow- ers I withdraw my allegiance. It is impossible to have too many either of their hues or odours." " That is so English ! You British have organs for which no odour is too strong, no colour too glaring. Lavender is the basis of all your perfumes, and you have no idea of a co- lour that' is not prismatic." " But what others are there than those of the rainbow ? There may be shades, if you will, but not colours, surely." *' Oh, qu'elle est charmante avec son arc-en-ciel /" said my merveilleux, stopping to laugh. " Why what colour is this ?" pointing to his waistcoat. " That ?" I said, sorely puzzled at the equivocal hue : but willing to shew my little science, I added, " that is no colour, 'Us a nuance, — what you call couleur d'un soupir 6touffe.^^* * " T'te colour of a suppressed sigh." TORtO^sl's. 167 " Pas mal,^^ he said, conceitedly. " though it is not precise- ly that. The soupir ^toiiffe, which is as old as the time of the good Louis XVIII., of beatific memory, was a vaporeux orien- ial, formed by the blending of orange, white, and blue. This, however, is the last invented colour of the season." " Why that is the old boue de Nile, that was the rage when I left Paris in 1820." " Oh ! ma chere dame,^' replied the merveilleiix, piqued and mortified by the remark ; " there is no contending with peo- ple who go back to the year — 20. I agree with you and Solomon that there is nothing positively new under the sun. I don't, however, study the chronicles ; and I assure you that the most original colour which the mode has invented or adopted is this, which I have the honour of signalizing to you. The waistcoat itself, which was first seen yesterday in the Tuileries, and which to-morrow will be seen every where, will, next week, be seen no where, except in the quarter of the Marais, the grand repository of all forgotten things, and the antipodes of the mode." " And what is the stuff?" I asked. " It is very odd." " Je le crois bien," he replied, triumphantly. " The stuff is a Zin. zoline, the cut is a la Marino Faliero, and the whole is con- fectionn^ by De Lisle of the Rue St. Anne." I thought I should never get home to write all this down ;— but there it is. TORTONI'S. Having refused all invitations, we gave ourselves up one Sunday evening to the chances of the Boulevards, without rudder or compass. — " Aux Boidevards^^ was the mot d'ordre. *' Des Invalides V asked our coachman, with an ironical smile. " Comme vans voidez" we replied, and his volition took us to the Boulevards ItuUens, which he crept through as if by stealth, as far as the site of the once-fantastic gardens of the author of Figaro,* in the Faubourg St. Antoine, and * Among other changes, the curious hotel and beautiful gardens of Beaumaichais, to which I devoted a page in my '' France" in 1816,have now wholly disappeared. Not aveslige remains. ] 68 ioRTONi'g. then back again. It was in retracing our steps that we paused to make various stations, as the splendid moving spec- tacle before us induced. We observed that many of the cheap spectacles that amused us so much when we were last in France, had disappeared. Even Bobeche and his friend Paillase, the movmg theatre of PoHchinelle, the religious mysteries dramatized, and the shews and temples of vulgar amusement, more fitted for the trctaux of the times of the house of Valois, than for the present age, were no longer to be seen. The whole bourgeoisie of Paris, in their Sun- day toilet, were recreating on the Boulevards. Friends, lo- vers, and families of many generations, were gathered round bands of ambulatory musicians, and listened to the composi- tions of Rossini, Caraffa, Pacini, and Auber. Hundreds and thousands were seated on chairs and benches, in front of the countless and always brilliantly lighted coffee-houses, whose splendid mirrors reflect back the light, almost as refulgent as the setting sun, which was throwing its last tints on the tops of the lofty trees above us. Many were reading the jour* nals, either to themselves or to their wives and friends ; others were conversing with great earnestness. There was over all an air of sobriety (I had almost said of gravityj) but still of great social enjoyment : nor was there one instance of the scandalous and brawling inebriety that must always at- tend a Pharisaical observance of the sabbath, such as in Eng* land* closes against the lower classes all the means of inno- cent and wholesome amusement. The narrow and odious view of the divine attributes, which leads to our false and il- liberal policy of interfering with men's private judgments in matters of religion, and which clothes our conceptions of duty with a cloud of gloom and moroseness, are not alone to blame on this point. Much as the upper classes are given to this semi-civilized seriousness, they are still more aristocratical ; and the legislative gauging of the pleasures of the people^ and the hypocritical cry of scandal at their noisy cheerful- * Tliroughout Catholic Europe, Sunday evening is especially devot- ed to the recreation of the lower and inborious orders; wliose weekly and arduous avocations render occasional «^njoyment of air and exer- cise indispensable to the maintenance of health and spirits. In Rome^ the theatres, whicii are always closed on Friday, are open on Sundays; and the palaces of the Pope, with all their precious and splendid mo- numents of the arts, are thrown open to the inspection of the lower classes. How often in the Btlindere at the Vatican has a group of pea- sants from the Campagnia shared my attention with that unrivalled sta- tue, before which I have seen them stand in mute wonder and in- stinctive admiration^ TORTONl's. 169 tiess aiicl amusements, are more to be attributed to a prevalent disdain of the mob, and a total want of sympathy with huma- nity, (when placed without the limited circle of hmuton, and of what is called respectability,) than to zeal for religion. At the moment while I am cop3ang this page for the press, a new work has appeared, attributed to the Bishop of London, which endeavours to silence the popular outcry against the riches of the clergy, by a demonstration of earnestness for the " holy observance of the Lord's day," and by indirectly inciting the influential classes to new crusades against the Sunday recreation and fresh-air indulgences of the Londou mechanics. Whoever may be the author of this pamphlet, he is woefully mistaken in his calculation. If the dignified and highly-endowed beneficiaries of the state religion wish to remain in undisturbed enjoyment of that wealth and rank which the gospel of Christ, no less than political v.isdom and common moral sense, repudiates, they must leave the lov/er and middling classes, in their turn, in the undisturbed en- joyment of their humbler pleasures. The age of deceptions is fast passing away ; the church, as by law established, is no longer confounded wit]s the church established by the di- vine founder of Christianity ; and a selfish disregard of the feelings of the people, and avidity for domination, will no longer pass current either fur piety or morals. At the close of our drive, we drew up before Tortoni's, and with difficulty procured a seat at one of the windows of its front salon, where the usual collation of ices, d:c., was served to us, in a style that is only to be found in the " Capi- tale de Paris," whose frontiers are the Palais Royale and the Chausste dWntin. Tortoni's was occupied, not as on the week days, exclusively by the English, but by groups of 3'ouag men, conversing in small parties, with great energy of gesticulation, and a sort of earnest muttering, as if what they said was not intended for the public ear. Some took ice or iced-water, but many took nothing. I remarked this instance of sobriety to a young friend, who had quitted one of these knots to join us. He replied : " We are all habitues here ; this is our night of rendez- omis." " And who are your we ?" I asked laughingly. " Nous autres jeunes gens," he replied, (to use the Ian- guage of French stage directions,) avec intention. " And what do you come here for 1" " To converse ! Separated as we are, through the week, Vol. L— 15 170 TOETONl's. by our respective studies or pursuits, we come together, here, to learn each other's opinions and sentiments on all sorts of subjects, but especially on pohtics. Here, over our ' ices, we planned our resis'tance to the attempted restoration of the rights of primogeniture." " But," I observed, " you are an elder brother?" " That is nothing to the purpose ; there is but one opinion .among brothers, elder or younger, on this subject, except among les pelits grandeurs du faubourg, which represent the old times corveables and taillables, and who have little left to inherit, except prejudices and opinions, of which, even they are becoming ashamed." " When such subjects are discussed over ice, adieu to the counter-revolution. But what is become of my friends Bo- leche and Paillasse, and the Cafe des Mu^es, where one got refreshment and a play for half a franc ?" " They have disappeared with the police, which was their especial manager, as it was the supreme director of all such amusements. The Boheches and Paillasses were but the lingering fragments of the policy de circonstance of Napole- on, adopted by the Bourbons in the first instance, as smack- ing of their own order of things, but since abohshed by the influence of the charte. The people now amuse themselves; they are grown more sociable, and less dissipated, and they prefer the positive gratification of the senses and the mind to any mere delusions got up to distract tiiem. They are fonder of music than ever, and listen to none but the best. But it is the cheapness of books and newspapers that chiefly supplies the place of the Bobeches." We remarked that there were fewer women, too, at Tor- toni's, than we had been formerly accustomed to see. " No women of fashion," he said, " now go to the cafes but the English, who frequent them more than ever." " But when I was last in Paris, I assure you " " Oh, that is a century back," he said, laughing ; " but, even then, if French women went to such places, it was only a remnant of our revolutionary manners. Now, no woman, comme il faut, would compromise herself, by entering an arena open to all classes and sorts of persons. They draw up their equipages at the door of Tortoni's, on their return from the opera or les Bouffes, or in the intervals of their as- semblies, at this late season ; they do not come in, you see :" nnd he pointed to the equipage of the accomplished Madame JH , (the Pasta of amateurs,) which had just arrived, and PUBLIC OPIMON IN 1829. 171 ■viras attended by the garcons, with silver plates piled with ices and sweetmeats. " With us young men of fashion, or no fashion," he con- tiued, " it is different ; whatever belongs to the life of our class, to the world, its interests, and its pleasures, all comes within the competence of this our ti'ibunal. But where are you going this evening ?" " To Monsieur de Tracy's. Can I take you there ?" "The ladies of the family will not be returned from their promenade yet, it is too early. Have you no visits to pay '/" " Oh, I have always visits to pay ; I want to leave cards on Madame Montgoifier, of air-balloon celebrity,* and to call in the Rue de Seine." " You want to visit les bords uUrapontains, then ?" " Exactly ; will you go with us ?" " De tout mon cceur," was the reply, and so we stepped into the carriage, and drove accordingly au-delu la Seine. What a different region presented itself, sombre, sober, and tranquil ! It was another city, inhabited by another people ; the old concurges seated in front of their portcs cocheros, carrying on their chat from house to house ; all else silent and solemn. Every body was abroad ; so we dropped our cards and returned in time for the Count de Tracy's. PUBLIC OPINION IN 1829. S/>'CE the year 1816, when we first visited France, a new generation has come into action ; and a new train of feelings and interests has been brought to bear upon public affairs. la the year ISIG, a sweeping revolution had just been effect- ed, which had dislocated all the influential classes of society, and thwarted their most confirmed prejudices- A series of calamities, not less moriifying than destructive, had fallen on the nation. Its soil bad been occupied by foreign armies ; murderous and ravaging campaign had been fought within its territory. The sovereigns of Europe had assembled i«n its capital, to dictate a government, and to reimpose a twice re- jected dynasty. The imperial rigime, which a few years' * The amiable widow of the far famed aeronaut. 1T2 PUBLIC OPINION IN 1829. duration had surrounded with congenial interests and affee- tions, had heen overthrown. The emigrant noblesse had re- turned in triumph, importing with them exploded doctrines and forgotten watchwords. Public opinion was broken up, and questions in morals and government, long set at rest^ were again brought into angry discussion. The nation, maddened by the past, discontented with the present, and de- spairing of the future, lived only in the prospect of some impending catastrophe, that might dissipate the night-mare dream, in which they were plunged, and relieve them from a condition alike unintelligible and intolerable. Fragments of the many factions, which the revolution had produced — libe- rals, republicans, jacobins, royalists, and Napoleonites, float- ed on the surface of society, and strove to give their own direction to the future government ; but the living mass, in- stinctively conscious that their best interests were endangered,, yet ignorant of the means of escape, struggled in a state of un- directed agitation ; and waited with impatience for an impulse^ from the comtng-on of events. That impulse events soon, afforded. The Bourbons, though deriving their throne " from the prince regent of England," and backed by nearly a million of foreign bayonets, found themselves too weak to re-establish the despotism of Louis the Fourteenth, in all its purity and wholeness ; and perceived that large concessions- were necessary to reconcile P'ranee to its novel situation. The dominion, which Napoleon had obtained, was no example for them to rely upon. Force and a strong hand may answer for an usurper ; but manag^ement and fraud are the proper in- struments of legitimate despotism. The love of libertVj though controlled by an urgent necessity for reconstituting a nation sunk into anarchy, and afterwards superseded for a while by the pursuit of military glory, was not extinct. The people had gained too much by the revolution, and had paid too dearly for the purchase, to abandon lightly the resuhs it had achieved. The traditions of its brightest days still lived in the public memory ; and the moment that power began to slip from the grasp of Napoleon, they were invoked as guide* by the legislature and the nation. Thirteen years, it is true, of a brilliant and popular despotism had withdrawn the people from the study of the philosophy of social rights. The theory of constitutional freedom had been stigmatized as ideology ;* but though men had ceased to reason, they still • This term of vituperation reminds one of Falstaff's calling Mr*. Qttiokl^, reproachfully, " a thing to thank God of." PUBLIC OPINION IN 1829. 173 felt; and with all the ardour and recklessness of their mili- tary education, they were ready to embark into any enter- prize that might restore their independence, and by dismiss- ing the Bourbons, revenge the insult inflicted on the national flag. Under these circumstances, the grant of a charter was adopted as a necessary expedient by the king, and sanctioned by his allies. The forms of a popular government, however odious to the banded congress, and distasteful to the restored family, were found necessary to console France for its de- feats, to reconcile it to the foreign imposition of the reigning dynasty, and above all, to afford a debatable subject, which would occupy the stirring spirit of the times, without bring- ing the king and the people into too close collision. As a measure of wisdom and justice, this policy would have been excellent ; but, as the expedient of a Machiave- lian cunning, it was delusive. To have established a free constitution, guaranteeing all the just rights of the people, and to have administered it with fairness and good faith, would have brought the revolution to its close, would have re- conciled the nation to its sovereigns, would have satisfied France, and tranquillized Europe. • But to grant a national compact, for the purpose of its im- mediate violation, to " keep the word of promise to the ear, and break it to the sense," was at once to rekindle all the angry passions, and to put them into possession of the only arms which experience has proved to be irresistible. The forms of a popular government cannot be observed, without the tolerance of such open channels for the emission of in- dividual sentiment, as must hasten political education. A force of public opinion is thus developed, which sets all other power at defiance. In these forms, too, the people find a strong entrenchment ; while to the despot they are em- barrassing obstacles ; and he cannot stir a step to extend his power, or to punish the sturdy opponent of his will, without crushing them to the earth. The granting a charter was therefore a virtual surrender of arbitrary power ; and any mental reservation of the sovereign could only tend to place the throne between the dangers of revolution, or the morti- fication of defeat.* • From the starting post, the freedom of the press was attacked, aj inconipatiblfi with the interests of despotism. It was crippled by tha complaisant legislatuie,. slandered liy the law officers of the crowo, ana- 15* 174 PUBtlC OPINION IN 1829. From the moment, accordingly, in which the charter Was granted, a new spirit was infused into the public. The free- dom of the press, however clogged and limited, was suffi- cient to admit the development of sound political doctrines : and the discussions of the chambers gave a practical value to them, that interested all classes in their study, and brought all the genius of the land to bear upon the problem of con- stitutional forces. The doctrines of 1789 were boldly ad- vanced, and opposition took the place of conspiracy. The re-appearance on the scene of some of the best members of the national and constituent assembles, the Lafayettes, the Lanjuinais, d:;c. &;c. &c. whom time and the revolutionary hatchet had spared, rekindled the spirit and the intelligence of the people, and brought them back to the path, from which they had been so fatally forced, by the insane conspirators of Pilnitz. Respectable alike for their years, their undeviating probi- ty, and their intrepidity, these veteran patriots rallied round their person the rising generation, which, released from the yoke of military discipline, plunged into study, with all the eagerness of novelty, and all the ardour of ambition. Under their guidance, the young men gradually formed themselves to the habits of reflection and action, necessa- ry to a constitutional citizen. The rough manners and impulsive energies of the children of the empire were exchanged for a compassed gravity, and a calculated con- duct. The habit of military obedience was superseded by a spirit of philosophic inquir}''. Literature, in all its branches, entered into the .domain of politics, and was made subservient to the dissemination of sound ideas, and free principles of government. The machinery of the new constitution was analysed, its forces were estimated, and clubs and coteries were eventually formed for the purpose of wielding them with efficacy. The spirit of liberty, former- ly concentrated on the capital, now began to spread through all France : and as men conceived with intelligence, so they learned to act with promptitude and uniformity. A more weak and impossible combination than that of rul- ing despotically by means of a charter, could not be conceiv- ed ; and every day that elapses serves only to prove the ab- thematized by the clergy, and denounced by the missionaries ; but public opinion, snpporled by the minority in the chambers, was too much forlhis com'jiiiii!ii)n of enemies; tiie censorship was abolished ; aiul the very judges appointed by the king interfered, to protect the ac- f.used from tiie malice of llic govcrumont. l?tJBLic oriNioM IN 1 820. 175 surdity of the attempt. That Louis XVIII. was, to a certaia extent, sincere in his grant of public liberties, is more than probable. He had too much ability not to have seen the dangers and difficulties of an illiberal course of policy ; and his years and his vohiptunus epicurism, must alike have urg- ed him to avoid them. He hud personally experienced too severely the miseries of exile, not to feel how desperate was the gambling that would staK:e the throne against prero- gatives that are useless for all h jnest purposes. Not so the emigrants. The events which had restored to the king his sceptre, had done Utile for them. The restoration had not put them in possession of their forfeited estates, nor givem them a privileged share in the management of affairs. In returning to France, tiiey were not placed at their ease, nor reconciled to the chano-es effected during their absence. Their poverty contrasted painfully with the wealth of the re- volutionary upstarts; .and their family consequence was mortified by the concurrence of the new nobility. With this mass of discontent, they brought a no less portentous igno- rance of the temper of the times, and of the people with whom they had to deal. Feeble in numbers, but confident in their rank and their influence, they mistook the suggestions of vanity for the dictates of reason. Proud of the imagina- ry superiority of their conventional refinement, they conceiv- ed that their good taste gave them a right to political supre- macy ; and while it separated them from all intercourse with the body of the nation, it "prevented them from bocom- ing acquainted with its wants, its d(!sires, its intelligence, or its means of resistance to oppression. To this class in so- ciety the concession of the charter appeared a derogation from royal dignity, an odious abandonment of principle ; and, above everything, a stumbling-block in their own way to the recovery of their antiquated privileges. Before the ink was dry, with which the instrument was signed, it became the ob- ject of their open ridicule and their secret hostihty ; and all the energy of their intrigue was at once put forth to lead or drive the king to annul or to elude its most important enact- ments.* The revolution, which has usually been seen as an attack upon monarchy, was in reality as much an insurrection * " Dcs le premier jour de la mise en execution du nouveau pact, il y eut des vermes trop visiblus de defiance, et de division." — B. da Con- tt«nt. Let Cent Jours. 176 PUBLIC OPINION IN 1829. against the feudal aristocracy. The privileged classes, though their political consequence was extinguished by Lou- is XIV., remained in possession of all that portion of their power, which was felt only hy the people ; and to preserve this power, they, from the very beginning, had placed them- selves between the king and the nation, to avert those peace- able reforms which would have rendered a revolution un- necessary and uncalled for. It was for the sake of their pri- vileges, and not for any real benefit to monarchy, that the court was precipitated into measures Mhich eventually brought the royal family to the scaffold. It was this faction that struggled against Louis XVI. ; that overturned Turgot, Ma- lesherbes, Neckei", and all the ministers, who had either the benevolence to desire ameliorations, or the wisdom to foresee their necessity. In such statesmen monarchical power had no losses to fear : or at worst it was but the loss of a mere abstract right, whose exercise was hourly becoming less and less politic or desirable. But the nobility and the church had much to part with. Feudal privileges, exemptions from taxa- tion, leiires de cachet, and a thousand arbitrary abuses, were all at stake ; and of these, if the nobility were sometimes themselves the victims, they were habitually the solicitors and gainers. 1'he feudal aristocracy and the people of France, from the beginning of the monarchy, were, in truth, two nations ; — and they were, in 1789, as different in their sympathies and affections, as at the first moment' of the in- vasion of the Franks. This division was manifested at the breaking out of the revolution, in the almost universal emi- gration of the nobility, and their alliance with foreigners against the cbildren of the soil ; — events which prove to de- monstration that the feudal families were rather encamped, than domiciliated in the land. Among the people, aristocracy was never popular. It has been a favourite misrepresentation in novels and romances, to paint the seigneur de village of old times as living on most patriarchal terms with his serfs, a model of goodnesjs, and a type of paternity ; but where the power to do evil exists, experience too amply proves that human nature is not slow to take advantage of it. Instances, undoubtedly, there must have been, in which personal benevolence counteracted the evils of institutions, and where gratitude was proportioned to the magnitude and rarity of the benefits conferred. But such exceptions are of no value in a general estimate of na- tional opinion. Allowing, to the utmost, for the kindliness of PUBLIC OPINION IN 1829. 1T7 the French temperament, and for that friendly, and even familiar intercourse with dependants, which a well-defined and undisputed superiority can afford to exhibit, such condescen- sion would win but little affection, when unaccompanied by substantial justice, and the interest of esteem. The greater proprietors were usually, indeed, absentees from their es- tates, and were known to their tenants chiefly by pressing de- mands for money ; while the petit, provincial noblesse were more infatuated with the honours and privileges of feudality, than the grand seigneurs of the capital. At best, the protec tion they might now and then bestow on their immediate and personal dependants, was that of confident superiority to ut- ter helplessness, and their very courtesy was founded in dis- dain. The portrait of national feelings, exhibited in the " Figaro" of Beauniarchais, accords with the known antece- dents, and may be relied upon as faithful and correct. It is not, however, amongst the class of mere peasants that pub- lic opinion is formed ; it was in the towns, and amongst the professional classes, and the men of chattel property, that the hatred of feudality was propagated, by the insolence and oppression of the noblesse. In that quarter there was a manifest collision of vanities and interests, that could not fail to nourish sentiments of hatred and distrust between the parties so opposed. On the breaking out of the revolution, dislike to aristocracy became the ruling principle of French- men, and has predominated through all the subsequent changes of government. A love of equality is, as it were, burnt into the national character ; and all the efforts of Na- poleon to revive a taste for personal distinctions, could not reconcile the people to a privileged nobility. On these sentiments, the sale of the forfeited estates, and the law which regulates the descent of property, have super- induced a pecuniary interest. The revival of tithes, and the restoration of forfeitures, are the true and real sources of contention — the body of Patroclus, around which the several parties are actually contending.* They are the ends of all the intrigues of the faubourg, and the motives of all the stur- diness manifested by the people, and the jealousy of tiltra administrations. English travellers, who are but superficial observers of the political scene which France lays open to them, and who are apt to take up the second-hand opinions * The indemnifications granted by the chambers are accepted as part payment, but with a tacit reserve of the right to scramble for what paore can be got hereafter, 178 PUBLIC OPINION IN 1829. of the emigrant salons, to which they chiefly have accesi3, are constantly asking, " what the French would have ?" They comment on the plenty and tranquillity hy which the people are surrounded ; they note that the courts of justice are tolerably well administered ; that the property of indivi duals is respected in Paris ; that coffee-houses are open theatres crowded, and the public walks resounding with mu sic and dancing; and if they happen to be high-born, and in clined to Tory politics, they are vehement against the press and against the liberal agitators, for their hostility to so mild and amiable (!) a government. The people of France desire, and justly and reasonably de- sire, a sufficient guarantee for their rights against the inva- sion of ultra pretensions. Fourteen millions of purchasers of national domains require to have their destinies assured, and twenty-eight millions of Frenchmen demand to be re- lieved for ever from the claims of the church to tithe, and from the petty tyranny of priests and missionaries, who, thirsting after the old ecclesiastical abuses, seek to restore them through "the prostration of the public mind. It is the uneasiness thus excited, which alone prevents France from accepting with joy a constitution which, however theoretically imperfect, has, during fourteen years, conferred on the people a comparative tranquillity, and admitted a greater development of industrial power, than was before known within the memory of the existing generation. Could the Bourbons have consented to join frankly with the nation, in passing such laws as would have for ever disarmed the emigration, their own sway might perhaps have been as arbi- trary as they could desire. For, jealous and touchy as the great mass of Frenchmen are at the approach of political in- equality, they had been long accustomed to the prefectorial government of Napoleon, and they might have been slow to stickle for the details of civil liberty, if their importance had not been impressed on all by the false direction which the government has taken. Unfortunately for the cause of royalty in France, it has overlooked this ilem of public opinion ; and, misled by the long. prevalent sophism, that a powerful aristocracy is a ne- cessary support to the crown, it has, from the moment of the restoration, more or less, made common cause with the no- blesse. In the existing state of feeling and property, and with the rapid development of commercial industry, the revival of PUBLIC OPINION IN 1829. 179 feudality is impossible. All the substantial force is with the people, and the court, in leaning upon the emigrants, allies itself to a power which may overturn the throne, but cannot be made an effectual instrument of arbitrary sway.* There is a small party among the richer classes, and among the speculative politicians, who, deceived by the example of Eng- land, imagine that an aristocracy may be gradually built up, which would satisfy the old noblesse, strengthen the king, and form a barrier against the excesses of popular violence. Were there no other reason for doubling the applicability of this proposal, it would be a sufficient objection that circum- stance, and not human will, can alone create the several or- ders in society, and determine their relative value. In the political world, as in the natural, the creative forces are not to bo superseded by an absolute volition, nor can any law prevail against the influence of opinion and of things. Be- tvveen France and England, in this particular, no political analogy can hold. France is essentially democratic in its feelings and in the existing division of its soil, as England is essentially aristocratic. In England the law of primogeni- ture, which from its long duration is taken almost for a laAV of nature, has invested the landed aristocracy with an im- mense force, concentrated in a few hands ; and this force has been employed with ability, to obtain for its possessors a po- litical influence still more formidable. For a long scries of years, all laws have been made with reference to this inter- est ; and all the customs and habits of society have moulded themselves to its supremacy. To argue from what is effect- ed in England, through such an agency, to what may be hoped from it in France, where the properties are small, and the law of primogeniture is abhorred, is a gross and palpable error. In the premises, there is not merely no similarity, but an absolute contrast and contradiction. Even the char- ter itself, impregnated as it is with the ideas and pretensions of the old regime, is less exclusive and aristocratic in its dis- positions, than the British constitution, as it exists in practice. * " Avec notre disposition nationale, notre amour pour I'egalite pres- «jue absolue, la division de nos proprietes, leur mobilite perpetuelle, Tinfluence toujours croissante du commerce, de I'industrie, et des capi- taux en portefeuille, devenns des elemens au moins aussi necessaires a Pordre social actual, et sflrement des a{)puis plus itidispensables am gouverneraens, que la propricte fonciere elle-meme ; une puissance n6reditaire, qui ne represente que le sol, qui repose sur la concentra- tion du territoire dans les mains d'un petit nombre a quelque chose qui «tt coatre nature." — Di CQnstanl. 180 prBLic OPINION IN 1829. The French nation, allied with the United States, and the witness and participator of their triumphs, naturally adopted American ideas, and borrowed American institutions, in their own attempts to constitute a free government. Whatever of good and popular remains in the charle, is derived from these sources, and is therefore, like its primitive type, repub- lican. T\\e juges de paix, ioY example, were originally ap- pointed by popular election, and though they have subsequent- ly become the nommees of the government, they still are ta- ken from the bosom of the people ; and as they are exempt from the prejudices, leanings, and sympathies, which influ- ence the haughty confederacy of the English " unpaid," so they ai'e better distributors of justice, and are less decided and uncompromising props of arbitrarj^ government. Again, the elective body, notwithstanding its frequent epu- rations, is infinitely less aristocratic than the san\e class in England. By restricting the franchise to such citizens as pay, at least, three hundred francs of direct taxes, the total number of electors, for all France, has been reduced below an hundred thousand. But lo add to the weight of property, one quarter of these, who pay the highest taxes, have the right to vote a second time, in what are called the deparment- al colleges ; and thus the richer classes exert a preponder- ant influence over the general returns. Yet, such is the salutary effect of the division of property on politics, that even this fourth of the richest citizens is not separated from the body of the nation, nor corrupted by aristocratic preten- sions ; and France, with a number of electors less than those of an Irish province, has witnessed a chamber which influence could not persuade, nor bribery purchase. In the communal and departmental municipalities, (not- withstanding all that Napoleon and the cJiarte have done to root out of them the democratic principle,) the popular in- fluence is belter felt than in our grand juries, select vestries, and parochial commissions, which, in practice, are almost uniformly exclusive, aristocratic, and jobbing ; and the actual state of the law courts of France affords a still more decisive proof of the prevalence of constitutional feelings, and of a consequently higher tone of political honesty, than is to be found among the people of England. The comparison be- tween the maxims which govern the tribunals of France and England in matter of libel, is infinitely in favour of the former ; and the sentences are milder in the proportion near- ly of months to years, and of francs to pounds sterling. The PUBLIC OPINION IN 1829. 181 absurd plea of bringing the government into contempt, is acted upon in both countries ; but, in France, the noble in- dependence of the judges, and the stern severity with which they motive their sentences, keep the public prosecutor in check ; for often, even in convicting the libeller, they read an useful lesson to the powers that be, and teach them to respect the freedom of opinions. Not only in France, but throughout all Europe, the feudal principle has fallen into general disgrace. The spread of education has elevated man to a due sense of his personal value, and has given currency to the idea that land is for his use, and not he for the use of the land : the spread of Com- merce has also brought into existence an aristocracy, at once more beneficial to the state, and more popular in its feelings, to compete with the landed interest, and to limit its suprema- cy. In England itself, aristocracy has, perhaps, past its zenith, and is already hastening towards its decline, through the gross and selfish abuse that has been made of its usurped powers, and the too open collision between privilege and popular interests. The restored dynasty of France, there- fore, in allying itself so closely with the emigrants, has acted in ignorance of the spirit of the age and nation, and has pre- pared for itself a long series of disquietudes, if not an early fall. Habit and opinion are too powerful for law to wrestle with ; and no system of majorats or of privileges could invest a French House of Peers with the credit which that order has obtained in England. At present, the Upper Chamber has little about it of aristocracy but the title ; its proceedings, indeed, pass with closed doors ; and large drafts of the partisans of successive ministries have increased its mem- bers with men not overburthened with patriotism ; yet the body is anything but subservient to authority ; nor could the crown, with safety, rely upon its docility to sanction a coup d'^taif or to recommend it td the people ; much less would the Frenchmen of the present day, tolerate a privileged body, whose pretensions should be amalgamated with the overthrow of all chartered rights, and whose influence on public affairs would be a permanent conspiracy against every liberal idea, and every honest system of administration. But, as if the unpopularity of the emigrant party was not in itself sufficient, the court has added to the obloquy, by nfiaking common cause with the church. The ecclesiastical establishment in France is completely worn out, as an instru- ment for binding the conscience, and directing the will. Vol. I.—16 182 PUBLIC OPINION IN 1829. How far the clergy, by an abandonment of their claims to ancient abuse, by the adoption of liberal politics, and by a judicious forbearance upon offensive or exploded points of discipline, could have succeeded in winning back the nation to any trinitarian form of worship, is sufficiently problemati- cal ;* but it is abundantly clear, that the course they have taken in attacking at once the purses, tiie consciences, and the comforts of their flocks, has heaped on their head the contempt of increduUty and the hatred of insulted self-love. They are laughed at as priests, and detested as ultras. Any utility which the old noblesse could have obtained by alliance with the clergy must have depended on public opin- ion ; but public opinion was decidedly against the ecclesias^ tical establishment, such as they sought to make it. In the blindness, however, of their zeal, they imagtned that their own will to deceive and to govern, would be met by a cor- responding disposition in the people to be duped and mas- tered. Tne ultras thought that nothing more was necessary than to send forth an army of able-bodied missionaries, with crucifixes as large as a main mast, stentorian preachers, and insinuating intriguants ; and to direct the pr&fets and maires to set an example of obedience, in order that straightway all France would bow its knee to these apostles, and take back every abuse of the old regime, for the love of heaven. Thia might do for the Belgian provinces, where a child's doll will excite as much devotional awe as the Jupiter of Phidias ; but in France, and in the nineteenth century ! to hope any thing from such coarse and palpable priestcraft, was the most mistaking of calculations. In matters of religion, the sub- lime is in the closest juxtaposition with the ridiculous ; and the French are essentially a mocking people. In the remoter provinces, the male population, more directly menaced in their fortunes, thwarted in their pursuits, and subjected to an endless detail of petty vexations? by the priests, may now and then be driven into an external varnish of hypocrisy : but even there, the prevalence of females in the parochial con- * It has been much questioned whether Napoleon should not have established a reformed church in France, instead of making his con- cordat with the Pope. Of these schemes, one might have been better than the other ; but neither of them was sufficiently in accordance vvitli the age to reconcile the people to the Athanasian faith. A com- plete separation of church and state, on the American plan, would alone have disarmed the national resentment against priestcraft and mysti* cism in religious matlerg.j PUBLIC OPINION IN 1829. 183 gregations plainly proves the rarity of the fact, and the ge- neral insufficiency of the state rehgion to satisfy either tlie abusive or the useful purposes of such institutions. But in the capital, and in the large cities, where opinion isv.more free, and where the authoriti(fs come less closely in contact with tha citizens, the spirit of mockery is more openl}^ in- dulged. The appearance of the public functionaries in re- ligious processions, and the affected devotion of the fau- bourg, are so well understood, that they are the occasion of a torrent of squibs, sarcasms, and epigrams. While the personal interference of the clergy in favour of a political cause, is the shortest and promptest means of bringing it into distrust and dislike. Whether it arose from the narrow education, contracted intellects, or from longr absence from France of the emigrant clergy, they totally miscalculated the mental condition of the nation, and from the outset they played their cards too openly. Obtaininuf some influence over the excitlible imagination of the female part of the public, they did not employ this in fluence to lead back the men to the sentiment of religion but erected it at once into a battery for attacking their purses The women were taught to believe that the retaining pos session of church lands was an irremissible sin ; their feel ings and their fears were worked upon, that they might ca jole or harass their male relations into a surrender of their property. The inevitable consequences were coldness, alienation, and discord in families, and the relaxation or dis- solution of the nearest and dearest ties. Forced, likewise, into the observance of minute and ridiculous ritual observances, and compelled to forego the pleasures of society,* the women were virtually separated from the men ; domestic business was neglected, domestic comfort destroyed ; " et tout poui' la tripe," and all for the most obvious and clumsy pursuit of the selHsh and anti-national interests of the j)arti-prHre. The impertinent interference of the Jesuits with public education, was still more oflfensive ; and the perpetual contrast of their doctrines, with all the knowledge and cultivation of the age, confirmed politicians in the conviction that their object was nothing less than the total overthrow of liberty, civil and re- ligious.-]- In this overwhelming mass of odium, the emi- * The art of dancing has been preached atead of being edi6ed, are shoclrd matter for pleasant expatiation to a British pen. The comparison is mortifying, humiliating, depressing. It is far indeed from the indecent juggle of an East Retford borough assignment, or the struggle to defraud the public by an issue of unconvertible paper, — it is far from the petty triumph of stopping 900/. out of the mass of corrupt and abusive expenditure, to that energetic address, which has earned for the French chambers the honours of prorogation, and the love and veneration of their constituents. It is fur- ther still from the perjured electors of English boroughs, who return the nominees of nobility, to the honest freemen of France, whom money cannot purchase nor power in^ timidate. Of the probable results of this new contest, in which the French court has so wantonly embarked, there is the less ne- cessity for hazarding a conjecture, as it may happen that the question may be already settled, before these pages reach the press. But be the immediate issue what it may, the ulti- THE GIRAFFE. * 193 mate destinies of France are secure ; secure in the sound- ness and patriotism of the people, and in the prooressive difilision of poHtical intelligence, firmness, and of modera- tion. Every day that passes adds to the strength of the people, and takes something from the coterie of exclusive privileges and of despotic misrule. That France will eventual. iy be a free country, is a consoling truth for England and for Europe, founded on the certain augury of the relation of causes to effects. Whether that freedom shall be peaceably and happily effected, or purchased only by blood and a se- cond revolution, depends on the wisdom, and fortunately also on the political courage of the reigning dynasty. THE GIRAFFE. In looking, this morning, over a list of visits, after \ve had got mto the carriage, we were struck by the odd associations it presented, for it began with Cuvier, and ended with the giraffe, including the most celebrated physician and physio- legist, the most eminent naturalist, and the first mathemati- cian, in France : in a word — Messieurs Broussais, Geffroi- St.-Hilaire, and La Croix ! As the giraffe is (to use the words of Beranger,) " Vani- mal le 7noins remuanfCy'" and might never leave Paris ; and as her companion in England was either dying or dead, we were particularly desirous to make the acquaintance of one so much a-la-mode, and were curious to ascertain the grounds of her popularity and fashion. Her bon-mot, on her arrival, in passing through the staring multitude of Parisian badaux, — " Mes amis, il ■ii'-y-a qu'une bele de plus ;" the elegant no- velties in dress, to which her name gave vogue, and the high moral qualities attributed to her by all the French naturalists, had raised the giraffe, in our expectation, to the dignity of a " a lion," whi- n " not to know, would argue ourselves un- known." On reaching her residence, in the " jardin des plantes,'' we found sa celebrity taking the air, in a little park, in front of her pavilion. Beside her stood her premier geniilhomme de la chambre, a faithful friend, and countryman, who has accompanied her emigration. His tall, fine figure, jet- VoL. I.— 17 194 THE GIRAFFE. black complexion, and graceful attitude and costume, com> bined with the appearance of the gigantic animal, with whom he seemed to hold " high communion," presented a graphic combination, and afforded curious specimens of the respec- tive species in that great and distant region, whence the en- terprize of science had conducted both. Nothing is more striking in the giraflie than the disproportions of its form, ■with the beautiful graces of its movements. Its inteUigence is strongly illustrated by its docility and mildness, which amount almost to courtesy. A lev^e had collected round this *' illustrious stranger," which seemed as anxious to attract her notice, as that which fills the royal bed-room of Charles the Tenth, to catch the good omen of his morning smile, while the premier valet de chambre of the old peerage pre- sents hi» shirt, or offers his handkerchief: and the giraffe, blS if aware of the wishes of her court, repeatedly stepped for- ward, bowed her long neck, and put forth her head between the bars of her ruelle, to receive the homage of her courtiers. The whole scene was amusing and characteristic, and it re- called the much vaunted royal courtesy, on similar occasions, at the Tuileries — the " bHe de plus," did not lose by the comparison. The neighbours of the gentle and intelligent giraffe, are a surly, restless bear, and a heavy, stupid buffalo : not all that Owen or Pestalozzi could devise, would give to this bear and buffalo, the intelligent gentleness, so obvious in their gu gantic associate. Delightful as it is to behold new and fine forms, and fresh proofs of the great creative power, (come as they may, from " Indus or the Pole," to the mart of civihzation), there was a still higher gratification obtained by this visit to the giraffe, it was the happy view of the humbler classes of the people of Paris, who, on this day, thronged the jardins des plantes, for which there is much facility in procuring tickets of admission, as for all such establishments in France. It was a. jour de fHe, and tradespeople and artisans had come here to pass it worthily, by studying the Creator in his works, thus collected from far remote climes and regions, for their instruction and benefit. Curiosity, indulged with order ; surprise, expressed with naivete; information, sought with zeal, — such were the traits of manners obvious in the exte- rior depcTtment of the miscellaneous crowds, (among which were many military subalterns,*) who wandered in harm- * Having visited the Bibliotlieque du Roi, several days consecutively, LE SACRE DU ROI CHARLES X. 195 less admiration through -parterres of the most precious plants and tlowers, or paced the galleries of its unrivalled museu(n, with noiseless sltjps, and whispered observations. We proceeded, with increased in erest, to accomplish our intended visits to Messieurs Cuvier, liroussais, GefTroi-St.- Hilaire, and La Croix ; for it is to such men that modern France owes such establishments as Jes j&rdins des jAantes, and that wondrous spre; d of knowledge among the intelli.. gent population we had left there.* GERARD.— LE SACRE DU ROI CHARLES X. How one envies the contemporaries and townsmen of Raffaele, Michael Angelo, Titian, and the other distinguish- ed masters of Italy ! What pleasure to have visited their great works in the morning, and in the evening to have met and conversec with themselves; to have asked Raffaele how he felt, while working at his divine picture of St. Cecilia, or to have inquired from Salvator Rosa, what he thought of the exhibition of his Catiline conspiracy. All yesterday we were occupied with the Mus^e, and prin- cipally with the pictures in the salon of the exhibition, A crowd was gathered round the picture of the " Sacre'^\ of to make extracts from particular books, I always observed a common soldier seated opposite to me, and similarly oc(-upied ; he had one of the finest heads I ever beheld ; he was occasionally joined by one of his comrades, occupied in anotlier room, like liiinself. If such be a "specimen of the French army, let those who count upon the blind obedience of a brute military force, look to it." * We Were accompanied, during the " courses " of this agreeable day, by an old friend, tho ex-American consul, Mr. Warden, who, though out of office as a diplomale, acts as the Cicerone to the United States, at Paris, and cuts short for the strangers recommended to his courtesy, the difficulties and inconveniences of a first arrival. Thirty years' residence in Paris retiders him a most iiUelligent and useful guide; and I was happy to find that his experience and opinion con- firmed our own observations concerning the middle and lower ranks of the people. " So devoted are they," said INlr. Warden, " to know- ledge, and so highly do they esteem it, that in recommending a stran- ger to their notice, either in the way of friendlv intercourse or bus!-, ness, one of their first questions is, Estil bien ikrt ? A-t-il requ I'edu" cation ?" t "The Coronation." 196 GERARD. Charles the Tenth, by Gerard, which rendered it for some time inaccessible. The success of a painter must depend upon the nature of bis subject, no less than on its execution ; for the judgnienL of the spectator must be influenced by his sensations and affectioas. In this point of view, there is a vast contrast between the ^' Sacre," and the " Entry of Hen- ry the Fourth into Paris," or the " Battle of Austerhtz," by the same great master. All that could be done by art for such a scene as the " Sacre,'" with such means and originals as the painter had to work on, has been done. But what where his models ? It is in vain that his admirable powers of drawing have bren lavished to give force and symmetry to figures that had none : that he has made foolish faces look grave, which even his art could not make to look wise ; and attempted to give to the Poloniuses of the court, an expres- sion of intelligence which nature had denied them. The stamp of times and principles, beyond the art of one of the greatest painters of his age, to efface or dignify, comes forth and proves the inefficiency of the highest genius, to ennoble that, which is in itself ignoble.* Of all the personages, princes, dukes, cardinals, and bishops, who fill this spacious and most brilliant picture, there is one only who struck me as particularly well placed ; it was the Cardinal Ducde Cler- mont Tonnerre ; for his back is turned to the spectator, and nothing is visible but his robe and tonsure—the most vera- cious part of the person of this ultra priest and prelate. Such as the picture of the " Sacre" is, it proves the genius of the master, by its decided superiority as a composition to the other paintings on the same subject, commanded by the minister Corbieres, whose mal-administration with respect to the arts, has been frequently mentioned to us. In the evening, we went to the soiree, at Gerard's ; my mind was too much pre-occupied with his picture, not to mrke it an immediate subject of conversation. I asked him why he had chosen that particular moment, when the cere- mony is over, as the accolade was certainly a less picturesque representation than the " Sacre" itself. "The moment,'* he said, " you allude to, was suggested * Monsieur Gerard I id this subject forced upon him by royal com- mand. He had avoided the ppsence of Charles the Tenth, when that monarch was dTstiil>uting marks of his approbation to the painters in the Louvre. The king noticed his absence; and observed, " I regret tbai M. GSrard is not here to learn from aie that 1 char^re him with ibe painting of my Coronatl:?B." LE SACRE DU ROI CHARLES X. 197" to me by high authority, but I could not bring myself to repre- sent a king of France at the feet of the priests."* Shortly afterwards, I visited Gerard in his study, where nearly all the potentates of Europe had come to seek the only immortality reserved for them. I found him giving the last touches to a work, of a far different interest from the sacre of Charles the Tenth. It was the tomb of Napoleon, in the island of St. Helena. With the glare, movement, broad lights, and shewy colours of the former still in my eyes, what repose was presented in this melancholy little picture ! . As a mere work of art, it shewed that, had Gerard devoted him- self to landscape painting, he would have been at the head of his school. As a work of sentiment, it did him more honour than all the commanded subjects, which imperial liberality, or royal muniticence ever required at his master's hand. The scene is curiously supported by four fine figures, represent- ing fame, science, history, and war. They are celebrated for the beauty of the drawing; and were originally painted for a ceiling in the Tuileries, of which the centre was occu- pied by a portrait of Napoleon. On the restoration, this head was defaced, and Gerard has transferred the figures, to up- hold the tomb of the superseded hero. Near this melancholy little picture still hung Gerard's great work of the battle of Austerlitz ; one of the noblest produc- tions of the modern school. It is full of admirable and cha- racteristic details. The moment selected is that in which General Rapp rode up to the emperor (himself on horseback, and surrounded by his brilliant staff) to announce to him that the battle was decided, and the glory his. The joy and tri- umph of the news flash from the eye, and agitate every mus- cle in the soldierly face and figure of the brusque Rapp. The expressive faces of Berthier, Junot, and Bessieres, who are close to the emperor, contrast by their strong vitality, with the livid hues of a dead soldier, and of the dying officer, whose countenance in the last agonies of death, is full of in- tellectual elevation. All are now reduced to the same level ;. men of the times and of necessity ! while of their brave bands but few survive, (the disgrace of their cast, or its glory).. Among the latter, it is gracious to all the milder feelings of * On my return home, I turned to the Histoire du Sacre, by Moru. sieur Alex. Le Noble, where I found the full value of the painter's de- cision, in rejecting a ceremony the most degrading that royally ever submitted to. The king remains kneeling before the seated priests, fop, more than an hour. — Seepage 593, o/t/je Hiitoire. 17* 198 SOCIETE PHILOTECH:xrQtJE» h^imanity, to single out the brave, the loyal, the high-minded Bei'rand. There are, perhpps, but three modern French pictures comparable in any way to this, — the battles of Jaffa and of Aboukir, by Gros ; and that of Jemappe, by Vernet. We fo >nd the Wednesday evenings of Monsieur and Ma- dame ^^Gerard, in 1829, as we had found them in 1810-18, among the most delightful assemblies in Paris, and attended by all the eminent talent in that capital of European arts and intellect. Asking Gerard, on one very sultry evening, how he could leave the delightful gardens of his villa, at Auteuil, for the close atmosphere of his hotel in the faubourg, he an- swered, " in such a season it is a sacrifice, but a sacrifice well repaid. For thirty years my friends and brother artists, of all countricri, have found me, on Wednesda)- evenings, ready to receive them in this salon ; and, should I live thirty years more, as long au healLh and means are spared, here they slall still find me." It is a charming trait among a hundred others, in the cha- racter of Gerard that his house is always open to young and rising tjilenr. There, he waits not for the world's stamp to acknowledge tiie claims of unpatronized genius. His salon is an actdem'', not only for the study of the arts, but for the acquirement of that good tone of manner, that quiet, elegant, unobtrusive air, which abashes the impudence of confident mediocrity, when the example is offered in the address of the first artist of his country. SOCIETE PIIILOTECHNIQUE. FRi^'CH women, though eloquent talkers, are also the best listeners in the world. This came particularly hoine to my observation at the numerous literary and scientific associa- tions at which I saw ihsm assembled. To me, such public sittings are mere subjects of curiosity ; to them they are .sources of a deeper interest. I went to see what sort of things buch assemb'ies are ; they attend to seek information, thro>!gh a medium of a'.l others to me the most tiresome. Having received an invitation to attend a meeting of the Society Philoieckiique, held in one of the great rooms of the SOCIETE PHILOTECIIMQt'E. 199 Hotel de Ville, I was a good deal surprised at the number of chapeau fieuris which I saw there mingled with bald heads, grey hairs, and other forms symbolic of time and wisdom. The assembly was remarkable for its numbers, and for the diver- sity of ages of which it was composed. At the upper part of a vast and beautiful hall, was erected a stage, with the presi- dent's chair and table, desks for the readers, and seats on either side for foreigners and the more distinguished guests. The body of the hall was thronged promiscuously. The pro- gram of the day's business is curious, as shewing the possi- bility of passing a Sunday afternoon innocently and instruc- tively, yet cheerfully and elegantly ; and in a manner ahke exempt from ennui or from dissipation.* Much fatigue on the preceding day, a late and crowded assembly on the preceding evening, had incapacitated me for that vivacious attention which the subjects merited. The •' Rapport sur Jes Iravaux de la Socitie^' had no rapport with * Societe Philotechnique. Seance publique du dimanchc 31 Mai 1829. Presidence de M. Bertin. ORDRE DES LECTURES : 1. M. L6on Thiesse, Sec. vjri'joi?:/. . . . Rapport sur les Travaux de la Societe. 2. M. Bignan Fragment d'un Pogme sur les Femmes Fran^aises. 3. M. Anatole de Montesquiou .... Fables. 4. M. Alexandre Lenoir Melanges sur David, ex- traits d'un mor^eau sur la derniere epoque de la Restauration des Arts en France. 5. M. Gohier Introduction au l*""" chant du Poeme des Q,uatre Ages de I'Homme, a- dressee a la Societe Philotechnique. 6. M. Michaux (Clevis) Le Po6te, Stances. 7. M. De Montrol Essai sur Cl6nnent Marot. MUSIQUE. 1. Airs sufdois arranges et varies pour violoncelle, avec accompagne- raent de piano, executes par Madame Decaen etM. Baudiot. 2. Nocturnes composees et chanties par M. Romagntsi. 3. Polonaise pour le piano, compose execulee par M. Sowinski. 4. Romances composees et chanlees par M. Romagnesi, 6. Tiio sur des motifs de Rossini, compose pour hautbois, violoncelle, et piano, par VIM. Vogl et Baudiot, et execute par Madame Deca- en et les Auteurs. 200 SOCIETE PHILOTECHNIQUE. my previous associations ; — " les femmes Francaises" never appeared to me less piquantes ; — the " extracts on the resto- ration of the arts" found me trying to keep my eyes open on a great picture, with the figure of a Paillasse in the fore- ground, which turned out to be King Charles the Tenth, (for this was another picture of the Sucre, by a prol^g^ of the minister Monsieur Corbieres) ;'^ — and " Les quatre ages de Vhomine''' put me, or found me, fast asleep. I know not what was the mystic word, or name, or sound, that caught some still wakeful organ, but I found myself suddenly roused to in- terest and attention by a prose recitation. It was a fragment of the life of Clement Marot. There was a freshness in the theme, and a vigour in the style of treating it, which came home at once to the feelings ; and I attended to the whole article without once closing an eyelid, perpetrating a yawn, or casting an abstracted glance on the inappreciable repre- sentation of Paillasse in the royal character of Charles the Tenth. . When the sitting was over, and while the musical instruments were tuning, we adjourned with the principal gentlemen of the society to another room, where open windows and a free space to move in, roused our spirits and rewarded our patience. Here we found our old acquaintance Pigault Le Brun. I expressed a wish that he would soon make the dull world laugh once more. He replied with a sigh, " At seventy-five years of age, we neither laugh ourselves, nor make others laugh. And yet," he continued, " I remember laughing very heartily during the whole rapid composition of my novel ofVerifant du Car- nival ; because it was a vivid sketch of many of my town's- fellows of Calais, who, I was aware, would recognize them- selves. The fault I find with Walter Scott is, that he neither * The ministerial pRmpering of the fine arts, so often called for by English writers, is the source of infinite mischief in France. Each funciionary, intent only on availing himself of present opportunity to serve his own friends, calls upon them to produce and to exhibit, with- out reference to their talents and acquirements. Paris teems with the abortive attempts of young men of unquestioned ability, thus pushed forward to engage in undertakings above their strength. The picture of the Sacre^ here alluded to, is a case in point. It is not without merit; but the composition of a great historical picture requires a mature judg- ment, as its execution demands a deeper insight into effects than youth- ful inexperience can afford. Yet, what degree of self-denial would be sufficient to prevail on a struggling, and perhaps needy student, to re- fuse an order, as serviceable to his present necessities, as flattering to bii, amour profre. SOCIETE PHILOTECHNIQUE. 201 makes me laugh nor cry enough.* His heroes, too, are poor creatures. The whole is fine scene painting : but Fielding ! — I dare not trust myself to speak of him. It is not adju- ration ; it is idolatry that I feel for Fielding," Upon this, as upon other occasions, I observed that a flash of spirit was followed in Le Brun by a sort of melancholy abstraction : and I afterwards learned that the , persecutions he had suffered from the government had made a considerable alteration in his naturally gay disposition. Monsieur Gohier, who had been secretary to the Directory, Monsieur Jullien de Paris, and other members of the so- ciety, joined us, and asked my opinion of the literary pro- ductions of the sitting, — a delicate point, which I got over as well as I could, by saying tliat the opinion of the critic was not alwa5^s a proof of the merit of the work ; but that if I had the choice of the subjects I had heard, to take home and read a t^le reposee, it should be the charming fragment of Clement Marot. A young man, who was outside the cir- cle, came modestly forward, and in the customary phrase of Frepch gallantry, begged permission to " lay the manuscript at my feet." I accepted the ofTer with gratitude ; and it has proved the foundation of a most agreeable acquaintance. Among the most serviceable and friendly of la jfunesse de France with whom I was brought into contact in 1829, 1 have the pleasure of numbering the clever author of " Clement Marot. "t The first sounds in the orchestra brought us back to our places. As we listened to the delightful voices and elegant compositionsof Monsieur and Madame Romagnese, I remem- bered my own musical soirees in the Rue de Helder in 1818, which so frequently owed much of their charm to the musical talent of the former. The hautbois playing of Monsieur Vogt, which I now heard for the first time, is perhaps the finest in the world, though many performers have acquired a deserved celebrity upon this simple but most effective in- strument, in a well constituted band. * This is perhaps generally true : but Walter Scott has pathos at least, and of the truest and deepest kind. Who has not wept over the last volume of Waverley, and the trial of Effie Deane ? With a muse of less facundity, this great and prolific writer might certainly have in- fused a deeper moral inlerest into his romances, than for the most part he has thought necessary to bestow on them ; — that is, if it had suited his purpose to do so. tThe biographical sketch of Clement Marot, is an episode in the life of Rabelais, upon which Monsieur de Montrol is at present employed. 202 SOCIETE PHILOTEClINiaUE. Such public meetings as those of the Societe Philotech- nique are frequent in Paris.* Their defect is that lliey pre- sent too ready a market for the exhibition of mediocrity, and accord too easily ithat prompt and tangible little triumph, which draws oft" useful abilities from more serviceable la- hours. But this defect is more than overbalanced by the service they render to society at large, in diffusing a taste for literature and the arts, and in bringing together persons of congenial tastes and talents. An universal communion is thus opened, through a medium the most civilizing ; the women find the account even of their vanity, in giving their attention to subjects, which draw them off" from personal gossip, and from the eternal petty details that weaken intel- lect, and embitter the intercourse of domestic life. When the sitting was broken up, it was proposed to us to visit the whole of the K-jtel de Ville, the scene of many of the most tragic events of the great historic drama of France. As an edifice marked by le cachet du terns, there are few build- ings in Paris better Avorth examination. It was begun in the reign of Francis the First, and the fine gothic hall, with its pendant roof, is most probably of that time ; for it differs es- sentially from the rest of the edifice, which was raised on the designs of Cortona, brought from Italy by Henry the Second. The whole was not completed till the reign of Henry the Fourth ; whose statue on horseback, in basso relievo, occu- pies the tympanum, over the great door of the principal en- trance. This statue, erected in the midst of his glory — torn down during the wars of the Fronde — restored and replaced * " L'esprit d'association et un desir vivement senti de contribuer k ravancement des sciences et k la prospeiite generale, ont multipli^ en France, depuis la revolution, et surtout depuis le retour de la pais, un grand nombre de reunions libres, dont plusieurs ont drj^ rendu des ser- vices importans a la chose pnblique. II siiffit de nommer ici la SociSlS d' encouragement pour V Industrie vaiionalc, la Soci6l6 royale et centrale d' Agriculture, la Sociele des Aniiquaires de France, la Societe pour Vami- linrntion de I' Enseigneme7il ilimentaire, la Societe des Methodes, la SociHe de la Morale Clir6tienne, la SocieU pour V amelioraiion des Prisons, les Societes Fhilotechnique, Philomatique, Piiilanlrnpique, Asiatique, de Gio- graphic, des Sciences Natureltes, de M6decine, d' Horticulture, Athin6e des Jlrts, &c, " Chacune de ces Societes, dans la sphere de ses attributions, donne une impulsion salutaire et une direction mieux entendue aux travaux de ses membres, et entretient, dans nos departernens et dans les pays ctrangers, des relations avec des hommes instruits et zdl^s, que leur in- solement laisserait dans I'impuissance de faire le bien, et qui, par la coia- binaison de leurs efforts individuels dirigcs vers un but commun, con-. Iribuent A produire de bons r^sultats." — Revue Encyclopedique. SOCIETE PHILOTECHNIQUE. 203 Wider Louis the Fourteenth — agaui torn down during the re- volution, was replaced in the year 1815. What is to be its future fate, reste a savoir. A flight of interminable steps leads to the interior of the building, and terminates in a gloomy court decorated with ar- cades, once covered with inscriptions to the honour of Louis the Fourteenth, but now defaced by time or by contempt. Under one of these arcades stood a great pedestrian statue of that heau ideal of a despot. Removed, but not demolished, at the revolution, it found its way to the Magazin du Roule, where it underwent some very unceremonious mutilations ; and where it remained some thirty years, forgotten or ne- glected. On the restoration of the Bourbons, however, it was brought to light, furbished up, and replaced in its old niche. As it now stands, it is " d mourir de rire" a monument of the state of the arts in the Augustan age of France. Louis the Fourteenth, here, figures not as a French Apollo, but as a French Mars — cuirassed and armed a la Greque, with an head- dress like Justice Midas, a full, flowing wig of immense vo- lume and enormous redundancy of tress and curl, such as he wore in 1689. Between his coiffure and the rest of his cos- tume there is only the trifling anachronism of some two or three thousand years ; and this in the days of the Le Bruns and the Poussins ! The apartments, dedicated to the service of the governors of the Hotel, are numerous and spacious, but dark, gloomy, and cumbrous to a most depressing degree. Still, every thing, there, is curious, interesting, and connected with strange and terrible events. In the Salle de Trone, two fine old chimney pieces remain, just as they were erected in the time of Henry the Fourth, whose monuments, like his fame, triumph over all that preceded them. Two full-length portraits of Louis the Fifteenth and Eighteenth now occupy the walls, which once were covered with pictures of royal births and marriages, that have disappeared during the revolution. Of these works, by Porbus, Rigaud, Louis de Boulogne, L'Argilliere, Vien, and other forgotten artists of the worst ages of French art, not a trace remains. It was in this roonl, I think, that I remarked a picture of Henry the Fourth receiving the keys of Paris from its chief magistrate. There was also a small equestrian statue of the same king — a copy of that on the Pont Neuf. It was placed there in 1819, when nothing was neglected that could awaken a feeling for the royal family, through busts, statues, and pictures ; a more effectual and direct road might 204 SOCIETK PHILOTECHNIClUEi have been discovered ; but the popularity of Henry the Fourth still remains the sole claim of his great grandchildren to the favour of their subjects. The Hotel de Ville, the ancient seat of the Pr^vSts des Mar- cJiands, was afterwards given to the Prevots de Paris ; and is now devoted also to the administration of the Prefecture of the Seine. It has for ages been the site of important political events, and of civic and royal festivities. Here the city of Paris entertained her kings, her consuls, and her emperor. Here the republic held its most momentous consultations, and here were enacted some of the most tragic scenes of the re* volution. Every room has witnessed a fete or a tragedy ; and the very threshold has been stained with the blood of French citizens. On one side is the gorgeous salon, where the modern Charlemagne and his imperial bride were feasted and flattered : on the other is that gloomy turret, with its high and horrid casement, out of which Robespierre flung himself into the court beneath. Standing on the melancholy Place de Greve, the Hotel de Ville, with its gothic architecture, its imposing height, its gloomy courts, and splendid halls, is one of the most interest, ing and at the same time the most melancholy of the histori- cal edifices of Paris. The monument of many changes, the memorial of many crimes, its annals would afford a fearful commentary on the evils of despotism in the government, and of ignorance among the people. In its connexion with the revolution, too, it has given some lessons to royalty, by which it will be wise in the kings of Europe to profit. It has taught them the power of the people, when goaded by op- pression ; it has taught them that there lurks in the bosoms of the most crouching of slaves a germ of patriotism and of energy, which a moment may develope, to the destruction of the oppressor ; and it proves to those, susceptible of any de- monstration, that if the ways of tyranny be sometimes ways of pleasantness, all its paths are not paths of peace* 1265] BERANGER.— VISIT TO LA FORCE. "II n'exista jamais, il ne peut jamais exister en France jusqu'a nos jours, un p'oete aussi populaire que Beranger : c'est a dire un pbete en rapport entiere, en harmonie par- faite, avec les sentimens, les besoins, et les vceux d'une grande nation." This species of cotemporary eulogium, the proudest re- sult of eminent genius, and its highest recompence, needs no confirmation from posterity. The contempt which withered the wreath of Dryden, and bhisted the fame of Waller, can never shadow the glory of him, whose talents are directed to the honest purposes of patriotism, and to the furtherance of the canse of liberty. Different generations may make vari- OHs estimates of mere literary excellence ; but the genius which benefits mankind is of all ages ; and the line which has once awakened the enthusiasm of a generous people and found an echo in the bosom of free men, will survive all revo- lutions of taste, as immortal as the principle it illustrates. "The songs of Beranger," says a cotemporary critic, " are conversations with France ;" and the expression is eminent- ly just. Coteries may have their Trissotins, and boudoirs their Sapphos ; but thought and originality, a great feeling to rouse, or a great truth to tell, will, now, alone answer the intellectual wants, and secure the permanent attention of the European public, — above all, of its quintessential represen- tatives, the people of France. Academies and corporations, sages by act of parliament, and wits de par le roi, may still be satisfied with their La Harpes and Delilles ; but the world of mind and passion must have its Byrons and its Be- rangers. The two poets thus coupled in a sentence by their com- mon popularity, are, in all their private and personal rela- tions, at the opposite extremes of the scale of life. Every one knows the ancient descent and noble blood of the Bri- tish bard ; and no where in the world could such accidental advantages have been more prized than in the country of his birth, the last strong hold of aristocratic prejudice. But Beranger, with no such claims on adscititious renown, be- Voi. I.— 18 ^06 BERANGER. hefits equally by the opinions of the people, among whom his lot is cast. In a firm reliance upon that national senti- ment which now, in France, values a man for what he is, and not for what his forefathers may have been, he has be- come the frank genealogist of his own humble birth, and thus describes it : " Dans ce Paris, plein d'or et de misere, En I'an du Clirist mil sept cent quatre vingt, Chez un tailleur, mon pauvre et vieux giand-pere, Moi, iiouveau ne, sachez ce qui m'advint."* In observing that Beranger is the poet of his age and country, it is unnecessary to add that he is a liberal ; and a liberal of so frank and uncompromising, so indiscreet a cha- racter, that, since the restoration, " Certains gens qui pardonnent trop peu,"+ have pertinaciously marked him out for a species of politi- cal persecution, which has tended to the literary advantage of the victim. It has quadrupled the sale of his works, and awakened a personal interest for the man, independent of the splendid reputation of the writer. In the early epoch of the " return of social order," Beranger was prosecuted by the government for the publication of a collection, in which there were more witty truths, than poetical fictions. He was tried, condemned, and incarcerated in St. Pelagic ;:}: and was deprived of a small literary place which he had held with credit for more than twelve years. An event so appalling served but as a stronger excitement to resist the tyranny to which he was subjected ; and in the dens of St. Pelagic he produced some of his freest couplets, and boldest opinions. His captivity and persecution for " liberty's dear sake," drew t " Certain persons, not too apt to forgive." t M. de la Borde, spe:iking of this prison, observes, that its apartf ents, liijhied l>y air-holHS in (lie roof, have no fire-places, — that the/ e subject to every extreme of temperature. VISIT TO LA FOUCE. 207 the attention of all France to the poet, and to his works ; and testimonies of respect and admiration, under a variety of gracious forms, came to cheer his prison, and to compr isate for his sufferings. His second condemnation on a govern- ment prosecution, and his imprisonment ia La Force, (in 182U,) proves that his country has lost nothing of her inte- rest in his fate. " France," says one of the public prints of the day, " laments for Beranger, and freely would bestow on him the consolations of the heart, the onl}' consolations of which such a character stands in need." We had made tlie acquaintance of this celebrated writer and honest man in 1818; when we left him, the centre of many brilliant circles, and the subject of much devoted tViend- ship. We found him, on our return in 1820, a prisoner in La Force. This was an additional reason for wishing to re- new our acquaintance ; and a message, through mutual friends, from Monsieur de Beranger, expressive of his wish to receive our visit, increased our desire to make it. We were mformed, however, that to effect our purpose, certain preliminaries were necessary ; and that to obtain an inter- view with a prisoner in La Force, we must present ourselves at the prefecture of police, to undergo certain forms and exa- minations which were indispensable. We set off, therefore, to the prefecture, accompanied by two distinguished and in- timate friends of the prisoner, — David, the sculptor, and Du- mas, the author of " Henri IH," A more appropriate socie- ty for such a visit could not have been chosen. Genius and friendship were fit qualifications to approach the prison of the poet of liberty and of France. There was, in the course we had to take, in order to see Beranger, an interest, distinct from that which he himself excited. All our acquaintance with Parisian sites, however historical, had hitherto been hallowed by intellectual asso- ciations, by the glow and lustre of the imagination. Even the Palais de Justice, with its many horrible recollections of the worst of times, was seen through the medium of the passed, and with reference to the improvements of the present. But of the prisons of modern France, those haunts of crime and misfortune, we knew nothing but the names. We knew that in feudal times, the superiors of a religious order had a right to maintain a prison in their monasteries :* we had read of • The Abbaye, so horribly celebrated in the annals of the reign of terror, was the prison of the Abbot of St. Germain. The dungeons of 208 BEKANGER. • " oubliettes,'''' " vade in pace" and iron cagefs, (all im- plements of tyranny in full employment, from the reign of Louis the Eleventh, to that of Louis the Sixteenth) — of the antiquated terrors of the Rastile, Vincennes, the Temple, the Conciergerie, la tour de Montgomerie, the Grand, and the Petit Chatelet, and many others ; but of the actual condition of such abodes of sutlering we knew nothing, except that some of them had been abolished at the revolution. Napoleon, who in his last years hurried on the fate of France and his own, by every species of error, which a re- turn to the old regime could originate, created, in 1810, eight illegal places of confinement, by the title of prisons d'etat ; while in the legal prisons he made scarcely any ame- lioration. This was one of the dark points in his administra- tion, arising from a want of that sympathy with his species, which, when present, is the source of much of the sagacity and wisdom of legislators and statesmen : for he who feels for man, provides for his infirmities and misfortunes. Na- poleon was intent only on providing for the exigencies of the state. Our first visit to a French state prison was not made un- moved ; and curiosity and compassion entered largely inta the feelings with which we sought a site, which though ren- dered interesting by the sufTerings of one man of eminent genius and virtues, had still stronger claims, perhaps, on mere reason, on the score of general humanity. The prefecture of police is not only an office for the ad- ministration of all matters that come under the cognizance of that department, but also a municipal prison. It is a vast and gloomy edifice, lying in the old quarter of Paris, called L^Isle de la cite, and in the Rue de Jerusalem, an avenue, probably, as old as the crusades. It surrounds a large court, and its walls are curiously painted in fresco, with the por- traits of eminent men of old France. Defaced and fad- ed as they are, the lineaments of the famous Constable de Bourbon, De Guesclin, and others, are still cognizable. We proceeded to the Bureau de Police, through a little wicket, where a porter, on learning we had business there, sent us forward, under the guardianship of one of the familiars of the office. On entering a dark, close room, smelling of this monastic jail are horrible. A prisoner cannot stand up in them, or long survive iii this unwholesome atmosphere. Th.ey are no longer ic use. VISIT TO I-A FORCE. 209 musty papers, a very glum-looking man, in a black cap, sat writing at a high desk. After a few moments silence and pre-oCcupation, he raised his eyes, and addressing our con- ductors, (for I went for nothing,) asked " Que veulent ces^ Messieurs ?" — " They wish to see Monsieur Beranger, pri- soner in La Force," was the reply. " Pass, if you please," he said ; and we passed into another chamber, within the first, where another officer, of superior rank, was seated in the like manner, and proposed the same questions. We were then asked to shew our passports, and our friends to produce the " permit," which they had already obtained, for visiting Be- ranger, and which it was necessary to renew. We were here civilly asked to be seated, and chairs were brought forward for our accommodation, while the necessary forms were fulfilled. It was in this silent interval, that I ventured to throw my eyes around, and examine this outwork of the state prisons. The walls were built up on all sides with boxes, on ranges of shelves, each marked by a label, containing the name of the prison to which its contents related. I read, successively, " Bicitre," " La Force,'' " But de la Mairet," &c. &c. &;c. ; when my fearful study was interrupted by our inquisitor, who filled up our permit with my husband's personal traits, pro- fession, age, country, &c., and then passed us into another apartment, where the document was counter-signed by ano- ther officer ; we were then conducted back to the hatch, and proceeded on the way to our destination. Every step to La Force seemed appropriate. We passed the Palais de Justice, the Place de Greve, and that fearfully celebrated lamp-post, where so many executions were per- petrated, on that short and summary sentence, " d la Ian- tepie." " Verrez-vous plus clair ?"* replied one of the victims, as he tranquilly obeyed the horrible command. The en- trance into the Hdfel de la Force is in a narrow, old street,, called " Du Roi de Sicile." It is divided into two distinct prisons, which stand contiguous, but without commanication ;, the one, la grande, the other, la petit Force. They derive their very appropriate name from their standing on the site of the old Hotel de la Force, which existed in the thirteenth, centHry ; and which having been the palace of Charles, king of Naples, brother to Saint Louis, became the property of the Due de la Force, whose descendant, with his sons, pe- ztshed in the massacre of St. Bartholomew. On part of the " " And if 1 am hanged to the lantern, will you see the better for it V' 18* 210 BERAN€tER. site of this vast edifice, was also raised the Hotel de Brienne, The government, in 1754, bought both ; but it was not tilJ the ministry of Monsieur Necker, that this domestic fortress of kings and feudatories was converted into the most exten- sive prison of the kingdom. We arrived before a gate, and passing the lodge of the porter or guicheiier, (which was occupied by some despond- ing looking creatures, who waited for admission to the pri- soners,) we were, on producing our order, at once conducted by a turnkey, armed with a tremendous bunch of kej's, through a long narrow riteTle or passage, on either side guard- ed by high dark walls. This led to what is called the new building, Avhere prisoners are lodged, who in the " argot," oi' cant language of tlie place, are able to '■'■prendre la p'istole," or pay for their accommodation. It is situated between two courts, planted with trees ; and is constructed of hewn stones, clasped with iron. It consists of four vaulted floors, with grated casements ; and beneath them are those dark, damp dungeons, reserved for prisoners) whose attempted evasions are suspected.* Escaping from the close passages, which lead to the first of these courts, (where, at a second lodge, we left our permits,) I was struck by its comparatively at- tractive appearance. The trees in full verdure, and small beds of flowers, contrasted strangely with the surrounding fearful buildings, and the terrible visages which gleamed through the unsashed and grated windows. '^I'hey were all crowded with prisoners ; some of whom were playing cards, some mending their clothes, and almost all boisterous and laughing — the frightful mirth of hardened crime and ruth- less despair. Here and there, a pale haggard face was si- lently pressed against the iron bars, marked with disease, and with that suffering which quells alike the brutal gaiety of the wicked, and the sweet cheerfulness of the innocent. This court was, I think, called " La Cour de Charlemagne :" the • " A la grande Force sont encombres dans une salle basse, tenant lieu de chauflFoir, 150 ou 200 malheureus, la plus part sans bas, sans sou- liers, converts de haillons, ne recevant pour nourriture que de pain et de I'eau, et un cuilleree de soupe d la Rumfort, appelee comraunement pitarice d'oisifs. II en est k peu pres de mdme du iroisi^me corps de logis, du b&timent neuf, ou sont 200 detenus, qu'on entasse la nuit soix- ante ensemble, sur un lit de bois, sur des paillasses puantes, et dans des salles qui n'ont pas et6 blanchies depuis qu'elles existent, I'administra* tion au lieu de r6parer leur triste demeure, el^ve devant eux (1816-18) des chapelles somptueuses." — Mem. sur lea Prisons, par M,, Alexandre.dk la BortU. VISIT TO LA FORCE. 211 next was that of St. Louis. Another parterre here present- ed itself, all bloom and sunshine ; and yet I thought the flow- ers and the sun rather heightened than relieved the sadness of the scene. After passing another hall, we were conduct, ed up a narrow stone staircase, at the top of which was the prison-room of De Beranger. Monsieur de Beranger had expected us ; and received us with all the gay cordiality which had characterised him, when we tirst met in the salon of the " Hermite de la Chausst^e d'Antin." We found him in society vv'ith the author of" Cla- ra Gazul,'' and a lady. It required a moment to recover the impressions which had preceded our arrival at his chamber, — a small but neat room, furnished with some elegance by himself. The little bed in the alcove was draped with mus- lin. Vases of flowers stood on the chimney, over which hung a picture of his late eminent and excellent friend, the Depute Manuel. His table was covered with books and writing ma- terials. His position, our former acquaintance, and present visit, formed the first topics of our conversation. In answer to some expression of sympathy, he said, "I am not so ill off here, I assure you. I am the least restless animal {Vanimal le moins remuani) in the world ; and moreover, I am so circumstanced, that I can see none but friends. Besides," he added, " I am the object of perpetual attentions to many, who, under other circumstances, would never think of me — you see 1 have the freshest flowers, and the finest fruits of the season." I thought of all the charming poetry that such offerings had called forth, in the still more horrible prison of St. Pe- lagie,* and I expressed a hope that La Force would not be less distinguished than St. Pelagie. He said : "Yes, if I have time ; but I am not a facile, not a rapid writer. I rarely compose more than sixteen songs in the year. Then, from ten till four, when the prison gates are closed, I am occupied with some kind friend or other, who comes to chat with me." In the course of conversation, he mentioned that the room underneath was clearing out for a prisoner, who was to be * "Ma Guerison," on receiving a present of wine, of w'hich the fol- Ipwing is tlie commencement: " J'espere, Q,ue le vin opere. Oui, tout est bien, mfeme en prison — Le vin m'a rendu la raison." &c. &ic. Stc. 212 BKRANGBR. brought in at night. " It was an honest country gentleman,'* he said, who cho e to write a pamphlet on the justice and ne- cessity of re-establishing the national guard, for which he was prosecuted. " What a sad transition," I observed, " from his woods and vineyards to La Force !" " Yes, poor fellow !" said Beranger, shrugging his shoulders, " he will feel it more than I have done." Somebody mentioned another melan- choly event, connected with the terrible edifice. In the very place, where De Beranger was confined, was lodged the un- fortunate Princesse de Lamballe ; and at the wicket, through which we had passed, she was put co death. Here, too, the Due de Rovigo was confined during that most extraordinary and melodramatic of all political events, the conspiration de Mallet: but every anecdote of such a place is an historical tragedy. The sound of some one singing in the court below, drew us to the window. It was a handcuffed prisoner, who was walk- ing under the trees. There was something inconceivably heari-rending in the circumstance. Beranger said, that he never went down into the court to take exercise, till the other prisoners wer'i locked-up in those dens (pointing to the iron grated door which opened into it). " I used at first to go down, and walk among them ; but it was too painful. Their claims on my purse and my feelings were too exorbitant." Before we left him, his cheerfulness, and philosophy, and the conversation of the circle by which he "was surrounded,^ had banished every less gracious impression : and when we took our ie?ve, it was in repeating his own line, " Oui, tout est bien, inferoe en prison." The visit to such a man, in such a place, produces any other impression than that which is desired by those who es- timate the sufferings of the free-minded and the devoted, as an additional security for their own unlimited and desolating power. Base and dastardly indeed must be that spirit, which departs not from such scenes, with a heart more determined to do and to suffer in the great cause of humanity ; and that does not feel its sympathies kindle, and its indignation fiame at the sight of such means, adopted for such ends. For what purpose is all this apparatus of tyranny, these padlocks upon mind, the jail, the gibbet, the mercenary army, the spy, the censor, the violator of private correspondence, the tribunal of exception, and the executioner — to obtain the power of doings PRIVATE COLLECTIONS. 213 evil. To do good, the narrowest prerogatives of constitutional monarchy are amply abundant ! PRIVATE COLLECTIONS. This has been a most amusing and interesting morning. We have passed the early part of it in that old, national cabi- net, the Faubourg de St. Germatne. Our first visit was to the little museum of Monsieur de Villenave ; for such his apart- meat literally is. His library, though very small, is very curious, full of the most precious things, a little Vatican in its way. We found Monsieur de Villenave seated in the arm-charm of Madame d'Houdetot, from which she so often issued her sentimental edicts to St. Lambert, and before which Rousseau so often knelt, to receive the inspirations of his "Jm/Zc." Rev iiendide, and a beautiful little statue of Voltaire, stood on the chimney-piece. She had written un- der the statue, on a label, " Q,ui que tu sois, voila ton maltre." Monsieur de Villenave, as I understand, purchased the en- tire furniture of her boudoir. Among the curious books in his collection, was a horrible relic of horrible times — a printed copy of the constitution of 1793, bound in human skin. It had been the pioperty of a terrorist, who paid the forfeit of his atrocity on the scaf- fold. The temperament that could lend itself to such a dere- lictiun of all human feeling must, at all times, form a mon- strosity, for which nature is accountable ; but its untamed de- velopment in the bosom of society, is the consequence of institutions ; and the terrorists were the children of the an- cient monarchy. What a reprieve ! to shake off the horror and disgust of such a memorial, by turning to the beautiful original picture of La Valliere — of one, whose defects were all on the side of weakness. This is the portrait by Mignard, from which the well-known engraving is taken. It is La Valliere, in all her beauty and softness, and in the first era of her too fatal pre-eminence in the capricious passion of the king. She was the first mmtresse tilr(e since the time of 214 PRIVATE COLLECTIONS. Mad'"" Entragues, the successor of /a Z»e//e Gahrielle ; and the pubUcity aud pomp with which she was installed in her > degrading elevation, and the high titles bestowed upon her and her illegitimate children, gave the greatest blow to pub- lie morals that had ever been inflicted by the influence and example of the highest personage in the state. From that time till the retreat of Madame du Barry, a state mistress made part of the civil and religious establishment of France. This picture of La Vallicre, all soft and lovely as it is, has neither spirit nor expression. It is the face of a woman, who might have been first a concubine and then a bigot ; and have qualified for the cell of the rfligieuse, in the harem of the sultan, — the i\ice of a Duchess de la Valliere, and a soeur Louise de la mis&ricorde. Not so the charming picture of her, who hangs opposite. This is the visage of an honest woman, all over the world. It has none of the feebleness nor the sensuality of those faces of the courts of Louis XIV. and of our Charles II., whose originals were excused by being thought to have loved " not wisely, but too well ;" but who were, nevertheless, in gene- ral, the most loveless and heartless of their sex. This is the countenance of an affectionate creature. All the tender sympathies of wife, mother, friend, are traced in its anxious lines and solicitous look. The eyes have a dimmed, subdued lustre in their intelligent glance, like the eyes of one who had read and wept much. There is, too, a shade of tender sad^ ness over the whole countenance, which mingles with its intelligence, and expresses disappointed affection, (that most acute of all feelings,) — disappointed where the heart had treasured up all its hope. The hair is remarkable : it islux-^ uriant, and beautifully dressed, in a profusion of curls on either side, like the heads of Charles the Second's beauties; and yet, it is silver grey. The whole dress and air is ex- pressive of toilet coquetry, the personal attention of one who could not forget the habit of pleasing. It is the picture of Madame de Scvigne, in her latter days ; and probably was painted just before she left Paris for Grignan, where she died in harness, and true to her original calling, — of fatigue and anxiety, in attending her grandchild through a long illness. It is ti)e only original picture I have ever seen of Madame de S6vign6, in advanced life ; it gave no idea of the spirit and energy of her character, nor of the brilliancy of her wit ; but was the portrait of a good woman, and of a ci-devant pretty one. Phivate collections. 215 tjnder this picture lay a very curious little map and draw- ing of the Chateau de Grignan, sketched by Madame de Se- vigne herself, and a small collection of her manuscript let- ters ; I kissed them with the devotion of a pilgrim. All the women of fashion, of her times, wrote the same hand. The long, thin, Italian character of Madame de Sevigne's auto- graph, is particularly like Madame La Valliere's, which I had seen the day before.* The letters of both, likewise, were written on the first page, continued on the third, and then back again to the second, as if there was no blotting paper, nor writing sand. The letters of Madame de Grignan are better written ; there was in the hand something of that decided character and ungracious manner, that so often chilled the heart of her devoted motherj and drew from her complaints of disappoint- ment, which tradition has given to posterity, though her charming letters have not. The letters of Madame de Grig- nan were written to Monsieur Lamoignon, on business, and they were found amongst the interesting papers of his illus- trious descendant, the martyr Malesherbej;. Among other autographs, I noticed a letter of Louis the Thirteenth, written in a good, legible hand ; and one, very ill written, by Louis the Fourteenth ; it is addressed to Ma- dame Lamoignon, from the camp at Ghent, after one of his victories. It begins like the letter of a capuchin, and ends like that of a despot, ascribing his victories to her prayers, and those of other such saints; and threatening destruction to all who should, in future, oppose his will. There was, also, a letter from Marie Antoinette, in writing and spelling wor- thy of some grisetle of the Rue St. Denis. Its subject was the placing or displacing a garcon de la garderohe — I forget which. Among the picturesj ^vhich both from their execution and the originals they represented, were of no common interest, the most striking were Rabelais laughing, and showing the finest teeth in the world ; a miniature of the same original * In the private library of the King, at the Lonvre, where, among other strange things, I saw the work on Sicily, of our excellent, and old friend. General Cocklxirn. A King's private library' was the last place in wliicli I expected to lind any of his writings. We were aware that the volumes were " Neitlier new nor rare ; But wondered how tlie devil they got there." And all who know the gallant General, will share in the amazement. 216 PRIVATE COLIiECTIONS. author, in a curious old metal frame ; a splendid head of Af- nauld, the jansenist ; and a most curious and amusing picture by Rigaud, of J. B. Rousseau, Chaulieu, and the Marquis de la Fore, at supper ; in the distance, and in deep shadow, stands Rigaud himself, sketching this singular, and once cele- brated group. Some pictures of greater value, as being by old masters, but which were of less interest to me, in my pre- sent hunt after " modern antiquities," attracted my notice, but have escaped my memory. Monsieur de Villenave, in doing the honours of his own collection, proved himself well worthy to be the possessor of such valuable relics. Much reading, and long intercourse with the world, the eloquence of familiar conversation, and that fascinating talent, so truly French, the talent de Men con- ter, combined to render him an admirable cicerone ; and the anecdotes and observations with which he illustrated the va- rious objects, added considerably to their value ; while it made us insensible to the fatigues of sight-seeing ; which, truth to tell, not unfrequently form a heavy discount on the pleasure and instruction it affords. On leaving Monsieur Villenave's, we dropped in at Mon- sieur L'Avocat's, (the publisher,) who conducted us to a bou- doir, that might kill with envy the most confirmed petite mai- tresse of the Chaussee d'Antin. He shewed us some of the most curious manuscripts and autographs, which even France can boast. There were two letters from Lucien Bonaparte to Monsieur Bourrienne, which were written at distant inter- vals. The first was in the most familiar intimacy of confi- dential friendship, and was written to borrow a little money : the second, was from the brother of the emperor ; and, be- ginning with ''Monsieur," ends with the old form of royal va- ledictions, " que Dieu voiis ait en sa sainle garde." The letter of Bonaparte, first consul, to Louis the Eigh- teenth, beginning " Monsieur," is a most curious monument, illustrative of the most extraordinary times. Manuscripts of Delille, Chenier, Denon, Talma, Manuel, Lanjuinais, Ca- mille Jourdah, General Foy, &c. &c. were also presented to us in succession, and had each their specific interests : and so completely had our morning's amusements inflamed our curiosity, on the subject of autographs, that we heard with much pleasure, from our young friend De Montrol, that there was at the Magazin de Madame Pecher, on the ^'wai Voltaire, lithographic autographs to be purchased, that would fill a port- folio. We took leave of Monsieur L'Avocat, with a due PRIVATE COLLECTIONS. 217 sense of his politeness, the value of his literary property, and the beauty of his boudoir, a model of which we recommend to all English publishers, who are anxious to set off their calling to advantage. The collection of JMorisieur Sommerard, Rue Mesnars, is a treasure of antiquarian curiosity. It consists of a suite of apartments, furnished with every possible article of domestic use, of the epoch when Charles the Eighth returned from his Italian expedition, and brouglit with him Italian artists, who gave a new character to the furniture of France. During the fury of the revolution, ]Monsicur Sommerard, like Denon, pur- chased articles of curiosity, sold out of the great houses, and sold for almost nothing. The bed of Francis the First was bought in the open street. It is placed in an apartment, with an infinity of contemporary articles of bed-room furniture. In the dining room, a knight in full armour is placed at a table under a dais. The drcssoir, or sideboard, is perfect, and the knives, spoons, and earthenware are all appropriate, and of the same date. Every variety of armour, swords, spears, daggers, are accumulated in this chamber. The bed- room is hung with gilt leather. The chairs are low and easy, of white leather and gold flowers, varnished. On the table is a mirror of about six inches square, the frame inlaid with carved ivory and gems ; on the top is a Venus with a garland, also carved in ivory. The back of tiiis mirror presents an alt-ar and a cross, curiouslycontrasting with the Venus in front ; it is of the time of the Valois. In this Pompeii of the middle ages are preserved a sort of spinette or virginal of the time of Marie de Medici, and an abundance of cabinets of great value and beauty ; with many specimens of carving, inlaying, and casting, not improbably the works of Benvennto Cellini, and Jean de Boulogne. The collection is unique in its kind, and wonderfully extensive and complete, as a result of individual industry and research. It will well repay the visit of the English antiquary ; and as a mere object of sight-seeing, will afford amusement to those unimbued with a decided taste for antiquarian pursuits. We concluded this sight-seeing day with a visit to the curious collection of pictures, called '■'la CoUection Diode sienne,'" and a peep at the Cosmorama of our friend, the Commandeur do Gazzera. Vol. 1.-19 218 EXCLUSIVES. SOCIETY— EXCLUSIVES. Driving about Paris the other day, with a distinguished member of the garde de corps^ who though cntiche with mili- tary honour, is not the less a son of the revolution, bearing the stamp of his age, I asked him if there was no exclusive nucleus of fashion which gave the tone to society, and shut and opened the gates of its paradise of fools at will : in a word, such a set as he had himself lived with in London, the elite of rank, fortune, and tonish celebrity. He replied — "Nothing of the kind. Every attempt to form such an influential coterie of exclusives (for it has been frequently attempted since the re- storation) has utterly failed. Some of your English great ladies, who have settled here for reasons it would be want of gallantry to discuss, and a certain number of diplomatic ladies, and of the fair members of the emigration, who go upon their historic names, and the favouritism of their mothers in the court of Marie Antoinette, have endeavoured to get up an ex- clusive circle, with such pretences to superiority as France no longer acknowledges. But though a coterie may huddle together in the entresols of the Tuileries, or amid the solemn gloom of the faubourg, — and from their admission to the as- semblies of the Dutchesse de Berri, may call themselves ' la societe du chateau;'' and though an inferior satellite of lesser light may revolve round this orbit, with the less-distinguished appellation of ' le petit chateau,'' — still their existence is almost unknown to the great, the enlightened, the stirring so- ciety of Paris. In private life, as in public, the highest dis- tinctions are awarded to genius, worth, virtue, and patriotism, — to the fame of military glory when treachery has not blasted it ; and to the reputation of works tending to improve and delight mankind. Besides, the haute noblesse and their friends, the English fashionables and foreign diplomates, have no means of competing with the immense wealth of the classe indus- trielle, and with the dynasties of the Bourse. There is no making head against the magnificent hospitality of the Perriers, Lafittes, Ternaux, Rothschilds, &c. whose entertainments are characterized by perfect equality ; or if there is any exclusion, it arises solely from preference of amusing talent, ennobling genius, or well-merited celebrity. But of this you have been FROMOXT. 219 enabled to judge for yourself, and I leave you to draw the inference. I must, however, observe, that the same principle appeared to me to be gaining ground even in your exclusive circles of London, where the ' most agreeable' takes the pas of the ' most noble,' and where youth, beauty, and wit have a decided advantage over dowager dulness and aristocratic morgue." HORTICULTURAL INSTITUTIONS— FROMOXT. " Des Jltitrs, et des livres. Voila tout ce quHl faut a ma vie .'" said the heroic Madame Roland, whose tastes were as simple as her mind was sublime. I believe there is no other place where such tastes are so well supplied, — where flowers and books are so abundant, and so cheaply and so readily ob- tained as in Paris. A hook and a bouquet, are the common necessaries of life there ; and the purest of sensual and of in- tellectual pleasures are enjoyed alike by the highest and low- est classes, and are within the reach of all. Every street has its stalls of fresh flowers and its stdnds of cheap editions ; and violets and Voltaire are to be had at a price, that would in London scarcely buy a primer or a primrose. I am almost persuaded that nature has invented new flow- ers since I was last in France, to meet the exigencies of the in- creasing taste for her productions ; or, if she has not origin- ated, she has perhaps copied from the guirlandes of Baton, or the ^'ficurs detacMs" o^ Nattier.* Be that as it may, I cer- tainly see flowers now which I never saw before ; and whether indigenous or exotic, they are delicious discoveries. In old France, gardens were only cultivated, says the learned presi- dent of the Socicte Horticulturale, ^'- pour nous fournir les plantes nonrricieres dont nous avons besoin, en reparant par une prompts et abondante reproduction les consommations de chaque j our :''''] and the homely name of potagere plainly * The two most fashionable florists of Paris, who have arrived at a perfection, in their imitations of nature, that elevates their trade into an art. t " Tofm-nish the edible plants, by reproducing, promptly and abun-- dantly, th,e consumption of each day." 220 HORTICULTUKAL 1^'STITUTIOS. speaks its designation. Henry the Fourth (whose hardy, rustic education threw more useful knowledge into his active mind, than Fenelon or Ceesar Moreau were permitted to suggest to the Dukes of Burgundy or Bourdeaux) was fond of agriculture, aware of its utiliiy, and delighted to talk to his old gardener Claude Mollct " de la plantation des arbres, et de la culture des hortolagcs :'" — He did more than talk ; — he gave a public and useful direction to his own individual taste ; and instituted his '' Ecole du Jardinagc,''' founded a public garden at Montpellier, and planted the gardens of the Tuileries with mulberries ; while he frequently discussed the agricultural interests of France, , and '■'■ mestiagc des cliamps^^' with the most learned agronorne of those times, Oliver de Sevres. Louis the Fourteenth multiplied the royal gardens, at an enormous expense ; and committed his hocages and quincimxes of Versailles to the superintendence of Le Notre, and of his vast orangeries to La Quintinee ; for Pluinier, Tournefort, and Fernel, who were despatciied to America, to the Levant, and to Pei'u, to procure exotics, brought not back with them the art of gardening, nor a taste for horticultural pursuits. Many noble and public foundations for the advancement of the ■science had succeeded each other in successive reigns and epochs of French history ; but it never has been so cultivated by private individuals, nor become an object of such intense interest, as in the present moment of universal devotion to all that is good and useful. The popular works of Morel, Thoiiin, Bosc, and other eminent writers on the science, have greatly tended to promote its universality ; and many magnificent pri- vate establishments are the results of their influence. Among these, the splendid gardens of Messieurs Boursault, Vilmorin, S(3mon, Fulchiron, Soulange Bodin, &c. exhibit the immense acquirements which horticulture has made during the last twenty years in France ; and bear testimony to the benefit which that country has derived from the genius and the science of the Jussieus, Des Fontaines, and a host of learned botanists and horticulturists.* We had already visited the celebrated and magnificent gardens of M. Boursault in the neighbourhood of the Chausee d' Antin, when we received a^l invitation from Monsieur and Madame Soulange Bodin, to * Bonaparte did more for science than all the kings of the three races combined. Let the lovers of horticulture in France never forj^et, too, liow much they owe to the taste, the enterprise, and the liberalitj' of that charming woman, by far the best and in every sense the Jirst of his wives — the Empress Josephine. I FKOMO^T. 221 visit '' les jardins dc Fromont,'" and to dine and enjoy a long summer's day, in those beautiful scenes which they have so iiigldy embellished on a site so favourable to horticultural pur- suits. Monsieur Soulange Bodin, who is esteemed one of the most learned agronomes of France,* animated by a sentiment of public good, which now so generally combines in France with every private speculation, lias recently opened his mngnifi- cent establishment at Froinont as a practical school of horti- culture ; where, assisted by many learned individuals, he has founded a clrair of horticulture under the auspices of the Di- rector General of Agrit;u!ture. This society was inaugurated on the 14th of May, 1829. The inauguration was a cere- mony of considerable and novel interest. It began by a so- lemn mass in the church of His; and was attended by all the pupils, gardeners, husbandmen, and labourers employed on the ground ; and by the most of the landed proprietors and resi- dents of the neighbourhood. The first sitting was held on the following day : it was numerously and respectably at- tended ; and, in addition to the auditory of the preceding day, by most of the eminent scientific men and professors of Pa- ris. Discourses applicable to the useful foundation were de- livered by M. de Thury, president of the Horticultural Society of Paris, by Professeur Poiteau, by the Abbe Puy, and M. Bois- bertrand of the Chamber of Deputies, and Director General of Agriculture. The advantage which will be derived from such practical schools of gardeners by the highest and the lowest classes of society are obvious and incalculable. Attached to the esta- blishment is a library, open to all, a cabinet of instruments and implements, including models of gardening utensils of modern and improved invention, with an herbal, to be completed by the researches of the young gardeners themselves. In a word, every thing in this institution, foimded by a private individual, bears upon the words with which the Director General opened its first meeting : — " Instruire Jcs hommes cest Iciir donner Ic inoyca d'etre hctireux, et de concoiirir au bonheur de ce qui hs- entoure ; — V instruction fait aimer le travail; — et le travail cree des vert us, aussi hicn que des ri chesses.^ ^ \ * Le Chevalier Soulange Bodin was superintendant of tlie grounds, gardens, and improvements of Mahnaison. t " Instruction is a means of happiness, to the individual, and to those by whom he is surrounded. It promotes a love of imlustry ; and in- dustry creates virtues as vvejl as riches," 222 ^ FROMOKT. Among the many agreeable and instructive days which we enjoyed on the occasion of our visit to Paris in 1829, we have to register that which we passed in the enchanting grounds and gardens of Fremont,* and with the agreeable and en- lightened Family of the Chevalier Soulange Bodin and his lady. * The gardens are of immense extent, and situated most beautifully on the banks of the Seine. " Leur ordonnance est telle," says a notice on the grounds, " aujourd'hui, qu'elles ofTrent en quelque sorte, par leur eteuduo, leur rapprochement, et leur liaison, I'aspect d'un haiheau dont tous les toits seraient vitres. Leur longueur est d'environ 2G0O pieds ; elles presentent toutes les expositions, ce qui les rend propres a toutes les cultures. L'eau y est amente par des tuj'aux de plomb, et distribuee par des robinels qui la versent dans des reservoirs en pierre, en plomb, et en zinc, places dans chaque serre, de telle maniere qu'on pent la voir couler dans une des divisions seulement ou dans toutes les divisions a la fois. Elle se met ainsi prompteraent au niveau de la temperature de chaque serre. Les baches en pierre ou en bois, consacrecs aux semis, aux boutures, aux sevrages, a I'^ducation ct d I'abritemcnt des jeunes Aleves n'ont guere moins de 4 a 5,000 pieds de long. " Ces divers apparcils ^?ont employes a I'entretien et a la propagation d'une collection de vegetaux dont beaucoup sont encore rares pour la France, qui s'eleve deja, y compris les objets de pleine terre, a plus df six mille especes ou varietes. Le nombre des multiples eleves en pots est constamment entrctcnu a environ cent vingt mille. La partie du jardin consacree aux pla^itcs de terre de bruyere est jugee, par tous les connaisscurs, ce c^u'il y a de plus complet en ce genre dans les environs de Paris. Pour donnor une idee rapide des multiplications dans cette seule partie, il sulHt do dire qu'il a ete repiquil' I'armee derniere, sous des ch3i3sis vitres, quarante mille Kalmia latifolia et que quatre mille Aza- lees sont disposes en pots pour la greffe de plus de cent cinquante va- riet^s, par le precede du Baron de Tschoudy. Cette espece de pepi- niere est protegee contre le soleil et centre les vents par de longues pa- lissades de Thuyas qui entrccoupent les plates-bandes sans les encom- brer, et arrosee par de nombreuses rigoles ; et en mdme temps qu'elle se lie heureusement, par le contour prolong^ de sa masse toujours verte, a la scene generale du Pare, elle renferme deja dans son sein des res- soui'ces considerables, dont savent profiter les Pepinieristeset Fleuristcs do la province et de I'etranger, ([ui vicnneut actuellement s'y assortir/' EXD OF VOL. I. THE FAMILY LIBRARY. Several Numbers of " The Family Library" are now in press, and will shortly be ready for publication. To render the American edition of " The Family Library" stUl more v.orthy of the extensive patronage whicli it has received, the publishers intend to incorpo- rate in it every work of interest and value which may be embraced in .'' The Libraiy of General Knowledge,'^ "The Juvenile Family Library," "The Librarj' of Modern Travels," " Constable's Miscellany," &c. These works, as they appear ft-om the London presses, will be submitted to the inspection of several literary gentlemen, and all such, and only such, as will be calcu- lated to maintain and exalt the present elevated charac- ter of " The Family Librar}'" Avill be admitted. In addition to these proposed acquisitions, the pub- lishers have engaged several writers, already advan- tageously known to the public, to prepare far th' " Librar}'" works of an American character, on inter- esting and popular subjects. In short, every exertion will be made to render tliis " Family Library-" a v/ork equally entertaining to age and instructive to youth ; alike profitable to the ignorant, and acceptable to the learned. " The Family Library — a work which no one can take into his hands Avithout perceiving, that the supply of the reading market is undergoing, or about to imdergo, a complete revolution ; which, in the names of some of \ts wTiters, furnishes evidence that the very highest talent no longer disdauas to labour for those who can buy cheap books only — and evidence we are stUl more happy to see, that an attempt at least is to be made to infiise and strengthen right principles and feelings, as well as to extend mere knowledge, among those classes." — Quarterly Revieiv, No. LXXVIII. Works Recently Published. THE HISTORY OF THE JEWS: (Nos. 1. 11. & HI. of the Family Library.) By the Rev. H. H. Mihiian. In 3 volumes, l8mo. Illustrated Avith original Maps and Woodcuts. *' The high attainments of Professor Milman. as a classical and biblical scholar, are too well kno\vu to require an extended notice from us ; anil it will be sufficient to say, that the deep research evinced- in this work, is only equalled by the beauty of the Blyle in which the hislory of the most extraoriinaiy nation in- the world is presented; free from the fables with which it has too often beeu clothed, and far removed from the tediousness inseparable from the perusal of Josephus." — Mercantile Advertser. " Professor H. H. Milman is one of the most chaste and classical writers of the age. His Eamptop I/Bctures contain some of the most glowing and eraphic descriptions which we ever read. Tbt Histon-of the Jews embraced in the volumes be^re us, has already passed through three editions in England, and is highly and justly commended by many of the most respectable periodicals of that country." — J\'. V. Journal of Commerce. " It is written in a very interesting manner— in a more philosophical spirit, and with more ^eplh of retleciion, than is generally found in histories of this nature. It is not wanting io historical conden=a'ion, at the same time that the colouring of the style is livdv and pic'iiresque." — A'. F. Evening Post, "The volumes before iis are from the pen of a writer who holds a high place in the republic »f letters, and contain a History of the JewD, the perusal of which must prove extremely interest- ang to the scholar and the Christian."— TrurAt Teller. '■' Th^ name of the author alone is a strong recnnimeniition "of the work. Its simplicity will engage fhe attention of the young reader, and gratify all. To youth it is one of the best of books. Tiie Christian will be delighted and instructed by ny— Albany Daily Advertiser. "We feel confident, from the interesting nature of the subject, and the acknowledged talents of the Author, that its success will be great." — X. V. Commercial Advertiser, " The name of Milman is familiar on this side of the Atlantic, as a scholar and a poet, and this histor} will, it seems to be conceded on all lunds, add largely to his reputation." — N. Y. American. " -Mr. Milman, whose great n>erits as a writer are acknowledged by every reader of taste in this country, has taken the facts furnished by early and recent ^vriters, and in his felicitous sfy^t has fur nished one of tlie most interesting books that we hnve for some time examined. Notu'i'hstanding; the familiarity of most general readers with many of the circumstances narrated by the author, there is so much of the air of noveltj' in the maimer of recital, that none can read it without increasing pleasure. — l/n ited States Gazette. " This is a work which must meet with a welcome reception among all classes of readers. It n one^of those rare productions which unite all the charms of novelty, without the aid of roniance; and' combine all the beauties of elegant and spirited composition, without diverting at all ftom the record of historical facts.'— *4/ne»-ican Traveller. " This History of the Jews is the best we liave ever seen."— A'eio-i^TJgZand Palladium. "The style in which it is written is remarkably lucid and elegant; attractive by its general smoothness' and simplicity, yet animated and foroille. The work must be popular, and we doubt not ranked among the classics of the language."— ^aiJtmore Republican. " Tlie irolumes before ua«are occupied by a learned and elegant History of the Jews, by the Rev. H. H. Milman, a writer. well known in the litei-ary world by majiy successful effort.:; jq jpijse and versa. A work of this kind, arranged to suit the tas^e of modem times, and freed frrm the rrnlixity of the ancient chronicles, has been much wanted for popular circulation. Mr. Miimaii*5 history will meet, precisely, the » ishes of the public.-' — Boston Statesman. '* Mr. Milman's work is calculated to interest and instruct a greater number of readers of 3II ages, than any book which has been produced for many years.' — Philadelphia Doiily Chronicle. *' No nun need fear, in procuring a work by Dr. Milman, that he will regret his purchase."— Morning Herald. *The Editors have been most fortunate in engaging on this work the pen of a scholar, both classical and scriptural, and so elegant and powerful a writer, as the Poetry Professor. Few tfaeolo* gical v.'orks of this order have appeared either in ours or in any other langiiage. To the Christiaa reader of every age and sex — and we may add of every sect-— it will be a source of the purest de- light, instruction, and comfort : and of the inti'lels who open it merely that they may not remain in ignorance of a work placed by general consent in the rank of an English classic, is there not every reason to hope that many will lay it down in a far different mood ?" Blackwood*t Magazine.. **Th«ugh the subject'is trite, the manner of treating it is such as to command our deepest atten- tion. While the work has truth and simplicity enough to fascinate a child, it ia written with a masterliness of the subject and an elegance of co.i;positioD that will please the most refined and fastidious reader.'' — Edinb. Saturday''s Post. *' The most popular history of the sons of Israel that has hitherto been published. The highest enconium we can pass upon the work under notice is toTirge its purchase, from a conviction of its Krikmg and permanent worth.'' — Berkshire Chronicle. [g,^.-^^^^ ^c>Ayva8n-# '^J'^ijonvsoi^"^ "^/saaAiNO-iw^^ UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 'SCHARQE-[fR[ :-0 fU »\p\ REC'D LD-URC AUG 1 5 1988 REC'D LD-llRL r^AY 01 1989 APR24 1900 315 > 1^1 LI vvlOSANCElr; o 'SaiMNn-iwv ^lOSANCELf o > so 3 1158 00651 3740 AA 000 906 209 2 m -^tLiiih'Ai-n-tk, •^3 ^OFCAllFOff^ . AWLUN! V tKV/V vVLUVANLtLfXA ,5MEUNIVER^/A. cc < CO =1 -.„v"r O 'i^AavagiiT ^lOSANCElf, o AINf) 3WV' ^lOSANCElfj-^ O "^AaiAlNfl-^WV ^tllBRAR : ^