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Title: Lives of the most eminent literary and scientific men of France, Vol. 2 (of 2)
Author: Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft
Language: English
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AND SCIENTIFIC MEN OF FRANCE, VOL. 2 (OF 2) ***
THE
CABINET OF BIOGRAPHY.
CONDUCTED BY THE
REV. DIONYSIUS LARDNER, LL.D. F.R.S. L.& E.
M.R.I. A. F.R.A.S. F.L.S. F.Z.S. Hon. F.C.P.S. &c. &c.
ASSISTED BY
EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
BIOGRAPHY
EMINENT
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF FRANCE.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR
LONGMAN, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS,
PATERNOSTER-ROW;
AND JOHN TAYLOR,
UPPER GOWER STREET.
1839.
CONTENTS
TABLE,
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL,
TO THE FIRST VOLUME OF
LIVES OF
EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF FRANCE.
TABLE,
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL,
TO THE SECOND VOLUME OF
LIVES OF
EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF FRANCE.
VOLTAIRE
ROUSSEAU
CONDORCET
MIRABEAU
MADAME ROLAND
MADAME DE STAËL
INDEX
TABLE, ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL, TO THE FIRST VOLUME OF
LIVES OF EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF ITALY, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL.
TABLE, ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL, TO THE SECOND VOLUME OF
LIVES OF EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF ITALY, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL.
TABLE, ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL, TO THE THIRD VOLUME OF
LIVES OF EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF ITALY, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL.
INDEX
_The Analytical and Chronological Tables and Index to the Series of
Lives of Eminent Literary and Scientific Men of Italy, Spain, and
Portugal, are given at the end of this volume._
TABLE,
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL,
TO THE FIRST VOLUME OF
LIVES OF
EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF FRANCE.
MONTAIGNE.
1533-1592
A.D.
1533. Birth of Michel de Montaigne 1
Pierre Eyquem, Seigneur de Montaigne 1
Education of Montaigne and his five Brothers 2
The Public School of Guienne 5
1559. Ætat 26. Friendship with Etienne de la Boétie 7
1563. Death of É. de la Boétie 9
1566. Ætat 33. Marriage of Montaigne 9
Death of his father Pierre 10, 11
Troubles of France 10
Duke of Guise 11
Henry King of Navarre, afterwards Henri Quatre 11
Anecdotes of the Civil War 13, 14
1580. Ætat. 47. Montaigne's Journey through Switzerland to Munich,
Venice, and Rome 17
1581. Ætat. 48. Citizenship of Rome granted to Montaigne by a Bull
of the Pope 18
Description of Rome 18
Devotion of Montaigne, and Offering at the Shrine of Loretto 19
Montaigne elected Mayor by the Citizens of Bordeaux. His
return home to fill that Office 19
1585. Ætat 52. Friendship of Montaigne for Mlle. Marie de Gournay
le Jars 20
1592. Ætat. 60. Decease of this celebrated Author 21
His Character 21
Montaigne's Essays edited by Mlle. de Gournay, with a Preface
by that Lady 21
RABELAIS.
1483-1553.
Lord Bacon's Opinion of Rabelais 23
Style of his Romance in Writings 23
1483. Presumed Date of Birth of Rabelais 23
His Education in a Monastery 24
Rabelais assumes the Franciscan Habit, and preaches
Envy of Monks 24
His Condemnation to Bread and Water 25
On his Release he turns to the Rule of Benedict 25
Rabelais quits the Monks, and studies Medicine 26
His Edition of Hippocrates 26
His Visit to Cardinal du Bellay 27
His scarlet Gown 27
Established as Physician at Lyons 28
Rabelais' Journey to Rome 28
His Correspondence 28, 30
Interview with Pope Paul III. 29
His Journey to Lyons and Paris 29
Rabelais, Abbot of St. Maur-des-Fosses, and Curé de Meudon 30
His celebrated Work, or Romance 31
Controversy resulting therefrom 31
Rome, attack on, by Rabelais 31
Francis I. protects him from the Sorbonne 31, 32
Opinions of French Authors on Francis Rabelais 34
His Imitators enumerated 36
His various Works 37
His Acquirements in Languages and Science 38
Exemplary Conduct as a Minister of Religion 39
1553. Ætat. 70. His Decease 39
Epitaphs for Rabelais 39
CORNEILLE.
1606-1684.
State of French Poetry and Literature 40
1606. Birth of Corneille 40
1590-1600. Consequences of the Civil War in France 41
Rise of the French Drama 42
1629. Ætat. 23. Corneille writes "Mélite," a Comedy 42
1634. Ætat. 28. His early Tragedies, &c. 42
Cardinal de Richelieu employs Corneille, Rotrou, Colletet,
Bois-Robert, and L'Étoile on his own Dramatic Works 43
Theatre of the Cardinal 43
1635. Corneille retires to Rouen 43
His Amatory Poems 43
Ætat 29. His "Medea" acted 44
Corneille's Genius excited by the Study of Guillen do Castro 45
Unity, dramatic, considered as a Fetter on modern Talent 45
He composed the "Cid" 45
Unparalleled Success of this Drama 46
1637. Critique of the "Cid" by the French Academy 47
1639. Ætat. 33. Writes "Horace," a Tragedy 48
1616. Ætat. 40. Corneille's Tragedy of "Rodogune" 52
Success of his "Œdipus" 54
1642. Is elected of the French Academy 55
His Manners and Conversation 55
Thomas Corneille's Tragedies 56
1662. Ætat. 62. Pierre Corneille and his Family established in Paris 56
Rivality of Corneille and Racine 57, 58
Louis XIV.'s Court 58
Henrietta of England, Duchess of Orléans 58
1684. Ætat. 79. Death of Pierre Corneille 59
Veneration for his Memory 60
Eloge by Racine 61
Account of his Sons and Daughter 61
ROCHEFOUCAULD.
1613-1680.
The Duke de la Rochefoucauld's Maxims 63
High Station of his House, and its ancient Power 63
Reign of Henry IV. 64
Reign of Louis XIII. 64
Cardinal de Richelieu represses the Ambition of the French
Nobles 64
1643. Anne of Austria, Regent of France 64
Five Years of Peace and Tranquillity 67
1642. Ætat. 29. The Prince de Marsillac (afterwards Duc de la
Rochefoucauld) returns to Paris 63
1644. Battle of Rocroi gained by Condé over the Spaniards 67
Civil War in France 68
The Fronde 68
Barricades of Paris 68
De Retz, Cardinal, Coadjutor of the Archbishopric of Paris 68
Account of the Princes de Condé, de Conti, and their Sister the
Duchess de Longueville 68
1650. Condé and his Brother imprisoned at Vincennes 72
Liberated by the Frondeurs 73
His Actions with Turenne 80
Is defeated by Turenne near Paris 81
Raises the Standard of Rebellion in Holland 82
Peace concluded between the Court and the Fronde 83
Louis XIV. assumes the Government of his Kingdom 83
1653. War of the Fronde terminated, and the Party dissolved 83
1653. Ætat. 40. Duke de la Rochefoucauld retires with his Family to
Danvilliers to recover from his Wounds 83
Recalled by Mazarin to Court 84
Literati in Paris in the Reign of Louis XIV. 85
1680. Ætat. 67. Death of the Duke de la Rochefoucauld 89, 90
Critique on his "Maxims" 91
Memoirs of the Regency of Anne of Austria, Widow of
Louis XIII. 96
MOLIÈRE.
1622-1673.
Distinguished Writers of the Age of Louis XIV. 97
Family of Poquelin 97
1622. Birth of Jean Baptiste Poquelin, who assumed the Name of
Molière 98
His Studies at College 99
His Fellow-Students under Gassendi 99
1641. Ætat. 19. Attends on Louis XIII. as Royal Valet-de-Chambre 100
Execution of Cinq-Mars 100
Cardinal de Richelieu's Plays, and Encouragement of Actors 101
1643. Ætat. 21. Molière studies the Law 101
Molière's taking the Stage for his Profession offensive to his
Relatives 101
His Theatrical Company 102
The Fronde and Civil War injurious to the Theatre 102
Molière's Company perform at Bordeaux, where he produces an
unsuccessful Tragedy 103
His early Comedies 103
His excellent Farcical Interludes performed at the Prince de
Conti's Mansion of Pezenas 105
Molière and his Comedians established in Paris 106
They perform at Court 106
"Les Précieuses Ridicules," a Satire on the Hôtel Rambouillet 107
The Poet Voiture 108
1659. Ætat. 37. Molière's Satire of the Affectation then in Fashion 109
Fête given by the Finance Minister Fouquet to Louis XIV. 111
Le grand Condé patronises Molière 113
Molière decried for being an Actor, is protected in his duties as
Royal Valet-de-Chambre by Louis XIV. 114
Molière's Marriage 115
He writes "l'Ecole des Femmes" 117
The Court Ballets 118
"Tartuffe" 119
The Soldiers of the King's Body Guard, deprived of their free
Admission to the Theatre, create a Riot 121
1666. Ætat. 44. "Le Misanthrope" 122
Scene from the "Amphitryon" 124
Molière writes "l'Avare" 127
Scene from the Comedy of "George Dandin" 127
Unprecedented Success of "Tartuffe" 126
Friendship of Molière with Boileau, Racine, and the Wits of his
Time 131
A Supper Party described 131
"Monsieur de Pourceaugnac" 132
Molière's Comedy of "Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme" 133
Scene from "Les Femmes Savantes" 135
1673. Molière writes "Le Malade Imaginaire" 138
Ætat. 51. Is carried from the Stage in a dying State 139
Funeral Rites denied him 140
Character of Molière 141
His Charity 143
His Style 146
His Troop of Comedians dispersed 148
LA FONTAINE.
1621-1695.
1621. Birth of Jean de la Fontaine 150
His Father a Keeper of the Royal Domains in his District 150
La Fontaine enters the Oratoire, a religious Order 151
He throws off the fetters of a monastic Life, and marries Marie
d'Héricart 151
The Keepership of the Royal Domain is devolved on him 151
La Fontaine reads an Ode by Malherbe, and commences Poet 152
He studies the Classics 153
His Style simple, unaffected, and something antiquated 153
His Study of the great Italian Writers, of Rabelais, and of Clement
Marot 154
Writes "Adonis" in Heroic Verse 155
Is jealous of M. Poignan, a military Man, and fights him 156
His Wife's Temper 157
His own Forgetfulness, and Anecdotes explanatory of its
intensity 157
The Duchess de Bouillon notices him 158
His Appointment in the Duke of Bouillon's House 159
The Duchess takes him to Paris 159
Account of the Mancinis, Duchesses of Mazarin, and of
Bouillon 159
La Fontaine's Parisian friends, Molière, Racine, and Boileau 160
His Distractions, or Absences of Mind 160
Forgets home and his Wife 161
His Journeys to Château Thierry 161
Receives a Pension from Fouquet 162
Elegance of his fugitive Poetry 162
Fouquet disgraced 162
La Fontaine endeavours to soften Louis XIV. towards this
unfortunate Minister 162
"Contes et Merveilles, en Vers," of La Fontaine 163
His "Psyche and Cupid" 163
His Fables 164
"Joconde," his most popular Tale 165
He lives under the Roof of Madame de la Sablière 165
La Fontaine writes "Daphne," an Opera, for Lulli, and takes
just Offence at that Musician 166
He is elected of the French Academy 167
After some hesitation, Louis XIV. confirms his Election 167
The Abbé Furetière, and Academic Disputes 168
Anecdotes illustrative of La Fontaine's Mind and Simplicity, of
Conduct 169
Account of Madame de la Sablière and her Concerns 171
La Fontaine invited to England, declines the Journey 172
He resides with Madame d'Hervart, wife of a Financier 172
Sickness of this celebrated Poet and Fabulist 173
He is taxed as to his Indifference in Religion 173
The Clergy exact a Reparation, or Testimony of his Penitence 173
His Submissiveness 174
Recovers from Illness, and publishes a few more Tales 176
1695. His Death 176
Criticism on his Works 177
Beauty of his "Adonis" 177
Nature of his Tale of "Psyche and Cupid" 177
La Fontaine's Dramatic Pieces 178
His Fables and Tales 178
Comparison with Gay 179
His Conversation and Habits 181
PASCAL.
1623-1662.
Bayle's Praise of the Genius of Pascal's Works 183
His Family 184
1623. Birth of Blaise Pascal 184
1631. Ætat. 9. His Father superintends his Studies 184
Philosophy of Descartes 185
1635. Ætat. 12. Pascal's Study of Physics 186
Being restricted to the Study of Greek and Latin, he occupies his
leisure Moments with the Study of Geometry 186
His Father surprising him in his eager Pursuit of Mathematics,
is overjoyed, and consults a Friend 187
Blaise Pascal comprehends Euclid without a Master's
Instructions 188
Ætat. 16. His "Essay on Conic Sections" 188
His Father Etienne, being compromised in some Political Affairs,
flies from Paris to Auvergne 189
Jaqueline Pascal's Performance at fourteen Years of Age in the
Theatre of Cardinal de Richelieu; recites Verses declaratory of
her Father's Innocence 189
1639. Ætat. 16. Richelieu pardons M. Pascal, and Blaise is presented
to him as a young Mathematician 189
1641. Pascal studies Logic and Physics 190
1642. Ætat. 19. He invents an Arithmetical Computing Machine 190
Galileo's Investigations of the Atmosphere 191
Torricelli pursues this Inquiry 192
Father Mersenne explains this matter to Blaise Pascal 192
1647. Ætat. 24. Account of Pascal's Discovery of the Atmospheric
Pressure, and his Experiments made on the Puy de Dôme 193
Descartes claims a Priority in this Invention 194
1653. Ætat. 30. Pascal's Treatises "On the Weight of the Atmosphere,"
and "On the Equilibrium of Liquids" 194
He quits the Study of Mathematics to devote himself to
Religion 195
His Sister Jaqueline imitates his Devotion 195
He falls into a State of general Debility 195
1651. Death of Etienne Pascal 196
Jaqueline takes the Veil in the Abbey of Port Royal aux
Champs 196
1654. Ætat. 37. Pascal meets with an alarming Accident, which injures
his already feeble Health 196
Is delirious, and makes a Record of some supposed Vision 197
He renounces the World, and lives solitarily, using monastic
Rules of Self-denial 197
Description of the Abbey of Port Royal, and of the Arnauld
Family 198
Pascal frequents the Society of Abbé Arnauld and his Friends 199
Controversy between the Jansenists and Molinists 200
The Jesuit Molina 200
Cornelius Jansen, Bishop of Ypres 200
"Five Propositions" of Jansenius condemned by the Pope at
the Desire of the Jesuits 200
Antoine Arnauld's Defence of Jansenism 201
1656. Ætat. 33. Pascal's "Lettres Provinciales" 202
Jaqueline Pascal, a Nun of Port Royal, cured by Miracle of a
Fistula of the Eye 203
Pascal writes his "Pensées" 203
He subjects himself to Privations and Mortifications, for
Religion 204
1658. Ætat. 35. Entails chronical sufferings thereby on his frame 204
Pascal solved many difficult Problems in Mathematics 204
1658. Ætat. 35. He challenged scientific Men to solve the same; and
when Huygens, Wallis, and Wren were foiled, he published
his Solutions 205
New Persecution of the Jansenists 207
1661. Ætat. 38. His "Lettres Provinciales" condemned to be burnt 207
The Nuns of Port Royal expelled from their Convent 207
Jaqueline Pascal, the Sub-Prioress of Port Royal, dies in
consequence of it 207
Pascal declares the "Five Propositions" to be in accordance
with St. Paul 208
His dying Sentiments 209
1662. Ætat. 39. His Death 210
His admirable Character 210
Eloquence of his Works 211
His Address to Atheists 211
MADAME DE SÉVIGNÉ.
1626-1696.
1626. Birth of Marie de Rabutin-Chantal 214
Account of this noble Family 214
1627. Her Father, Baron de Chantal, slain at the Isle of Rhé 215
Account of the De Coulanges Family 215
The Breton Race described 216
1644. Ætat. 18. Mademoiselle de Rabutin-Chantal marries Henry
Marquis de Sévigné 216
Cardinal de Retz and the Fronde 217
Count de Bussy-Rabutin, Cousin of Madame de Sévigné 217
Ninon de l'Enclos 217
Marquis de Sévigné falls in a Duel with the Chevalier d'Albret 218
The Prince de Conti 219
Hôtel de Rambouillet 220
Cardinal de Retz imprisoned, and escapes 220
Disgrace and Trial of Fouquet, Minister of Finance 222
Letters of Madame de Sévigné 224
1664. Fêtes at Versailles 225
Louis XIV. takes a Part in the Tournament and Jousts 225
His Affection for Mademoiselle de la Vallière 225
Benserade, the Court Poet 226
Mademoiselle de Sévigné appears in the Ballets at Court 226
1669. Her Marriage with the Count de Grignan 227
Correspondence of the Marchioness de Sévigné addressed to her
Daughter, Madame de Grignan 227
Count and Countess de Grignan repair to Provence, of which he
is Lieutenant-Governor 228
Ninon de l'Enclos again the Cause of Affliction 230
Countess de la Fayette 231
Monsieur and Madame de Coulanges, Cousins of Madame de
Sévigné 232
Dialogue, Supposititious, of M. de Coulanges and M. de
Bussy-Rabutin 232
Celebrity for Talent of Madame de Coulanges 234
Poetry of that Lady's Husband 235
M. Corbinelli 236
Madame de Maintenon 237
D'Argenson and Corbinelli, amusing Anecdote of 237
1675. Death of Turenne 238
1676. Madame de Sévigné attacked with Rheumatism 244
1677. Ætat 51. Visited by her Daughter, who falls ill also 245
Their Residence in Paris 246
Account of the Chevalier de Grignan 246
1680. Ætat. 54. Madame de Sévigné visits her Estate of Aux Rochers,
in Britany 248, 252
Marriage of the Marquis de Sévigné, Son of Madame de
Sévigné 249
Further Letters to Madame de Grignan 251
James II. established at St. Germain 251
Duke and Duchess de Chaulnes 252
1690. Ætat. 64. Marchioness of Sévigné resides with Madame de
Grignan in Provence 254
The Family of de Grignan 254
1695. Pauline de Grignan married to the Marquis de Simiane 248, 254
1696. Ætat. 70. Death of Madame de Sévigné 248, 254
Count de Bussy-Rabutin's Character of his celebrated
Cousin 248, 254
Countess de la Fayette's Portrait of her 255
Voltaire's opinion of her Taste 256
Her Character 253
Madame de Sévigné was a Jansenist 257
The Dragonnades against the Protestants of France 257
No Posterity existent of the Family of de Sévigné 258
BOILEAU.
1636-1711.
Celebrated Era of Louis Quatorze 259
1636. Birth of Nicholas Boileau, known also by the Name of M.
Despréaux 259
He displays a turn for Poetry at the College of Beauvais 260
His first Ode 261
1656. Ætat. 20. Boileau studies the Law 261
He addicts himself to Letters 261
Rise of Literature in France 262
The Dramatic Poets 262
Jean Chapelain's Poem of "La Pucelle" 262
Colbert, Prime Minister 262
Satire of Boileau 263
French Poets 265
Prince de Condé's Society of Literary Men at Chantilly 266
Boileau's Learned Friends 267
1666. Ætat. 30. He publishes his Satires 269
1667. His Eighth Satire 270
"L'Art Poétique" 270
"Le Lutrin" 271-278
Parallel of Boileau and Pope by Mr. Leigh Hunt 271-278
1677. Ætat. 41. Is pensioned by Louis XIV. 279
Friendship of Boileau for Racine 279
They are appointed Historiographers 279
1678. They attend Louis XIV. to the Siege of Ghent 280
Campaign of these Poets 281
Boileau, leaves the military duties to Racine 281
Abbé Arnauld and the Jansenists 283
Boileau joins the Jansenists 283
He is elected of the French Academy 284
1687. Ætat. 51. Visits the Baths of Bourbon for Health 285
1692. Ætat. 56. His attack on Charles Perrault 287
Boileau's Satire on Women 288
Racine's explanations of his and Boileau's Pensions 289
Boileau's great Regard for Jean Racine 289
His House at Auteuil 290
1698. Ætat. 62. Is named sole Historiographer on the Death of
Racine 291
Latter Years of the Satirist passed in Tranquillity and
Happiness 291
Louis Racine, Son of the Dramatic Poet 291
Boileau sells his House at Auteuil 292
His Piety and strict Observances 293
Prepares a complete Edition of his Works 293
His "Dialogue on the Romances" 293
1711. Ætat. 75. His Death 293
His Character for Wit 294
The "Lutrin" his best Poem 295
RACINE.
1639-1699.
1639. Birth of Jean Racine 297
His Education at Beauvais 297
1655. Ætat. 16. Received as a Pupil at Port Royal 298
Rivalry of the Jesuits and Jansenists 298
His Enthusiasm for the Tragedies of Sophocles and Euripides 299
1660. Marriage of Louis XIV. 300
Racine on this Occasion writes the Ode "Nymphes de la
Seine" 301
Chapelain recommends him to the Minister Colbert 301
Racine resides with his Uncle le Père Sconin at Uzès, in
Provence 302
His Poem, "The Bath of Venus" 304
Returned to Paris, and employed by Molière in Dramatic
Composition 304
1664. Ætat. 25. His "Alexandre" 305, 306
He teaches the celebrated Champmélé to recite 307
He replies to M. Nicole 307
His Tragedies of "Andromach" and "Britannicus" 308
He writes "Bérénice" in rivalry of Corneille on the same
Subject 309
Henrietta of England, Duchess of Orléans 309
Partisans of Corneille 309
Racine's Comedy of "Les Plaideurs" 310
1673. He is admitted of the French Academy 312
Duke of Montauzier 312
Racine's "Iphigénie," "Bajazet," and "Mithridate" 312
"Phèdre," and Madame des Houlières' Sonnet on that Tragedy 312
Racine and Boileau, supposed to have written a Reply to Madame
des Houlières, are threatened by the Duke of Nevers 313
Racine resolves on renouncing the Tragic Muse 313
1677. Ætat. 38. He meditates becoming Chartreux, but is counselled
by his Confessor to marry 313
Character of Madame Racine 314
Their Sons, intended for monastic Life, are thrown into more
active Pursuits 314
Their Daughters take the Veil 314
Racine reconciles himself with M. Nicole and the Abbé Arnauld
of Port Royal 315
He is named Historiographer conjointly with Boileau 316
His Devotion 316
His Fondnesss for Home, and Paternal Benevolence 317
He attends Louis XIV. in his Campaigns 317
1684. Ætat. 45. His Eloge of Corneille before the French Academy 317
His "Idyl on Peace" 318
His Attendance at Court 319
His excellent Recitation 319
"Esther" 320
"Athalie," his best Tragedy 320
Madame de Maintenon and Racine 321-325
1699. Death of Racine 326
Criticism on the Tragedies of Jean Racine 327
FÉNÉLON.
1651-1715.
1651. Birth of François de Salignac de la Mothe Fénélon 329
His charitable and devout heart 329
His Father the Count de Fénélon 329
His Mother of an illustrious Family 329
His early Acquaintance with Greek and Latin Literature, and
Powers of Composition 330
1669. Ætat. 18. The Abbé de Fénélon takes his Degree in the
University of Cahors 331
Visits his Uncle, the Marquis de Fénélon, at Paris 331
1670. Ætat. 19. His Success in Preaching 331
1675. Ætat. 24. His Zeal in Ministerial Duties 332
Wishes to go as Missionary to Canada 332
His religious fervour 333
Louis XIV. commissions him to preach to the Huguenots in
Poitou 332
Fame of Bossuet, then Bishop of Condom 334
Le Père Bourdaloue surpasses in eloquent Discourses his Master
Bossuet 334
Bossuet, Governor of the Dauphin, writes his "Discours sur
l'Histoire Universelle" 334
Fénélon "on Female Education" 335
1689. Ætat. 38. Duke de Beauvilliers appoints Fénélon a Preceptor to
the Grandsons of Louis XIV. 336
Celebrated Men employed as Preceptors to the Princes 336
Fénélon appointed Archbishop of Cambrai 339
Controversial Spirit of the Age 339
Affair of Madame Guyon's Visions and Mysticism 340
Bossuet and other Divines commissioned to inquire into her
Doctrines 343
Bossuet, now Bishop of Meaux, writes the "Instruction sur les
États de l'Oraison," and desires Fénélon's Approval thereof 343
The Archbishop of Cambrai refuses, and writes his "Explication
des Maximes des Saints sur la Vie Intérieure" 344
The Controversy of the Two celebrated Divines has an unfortunate
Result in the Division of the Gallican Church on the
Doctrines in question 345
Louis XIV. prejudiced against Fénélon 345
Madame de Maintenon's Coldness to him 345
1697. Ætat. 46. Fénélon exiled to his See 346
The Dispute between MM. de Meaux and Cambrai referred to
Rome 347
Innocent XII. appoints a Commission, and calls upon those Prelates
for a formal Statement of their Opinions 348
Louis XIV. erases the Name of Fénélon from the List of Preceptors
to the Princes 349
Calmness and Charitable Sentiments of Fénélon under the indignities
offered him 349
1699. Ætat. 48. The Pope's Brief condemning the "Maximes des
Saints" of Fénélon 352
Exemplary Obedience of Fénélon, and his Pastoral Letter on the
Occasion 353
The Brief against him is registered, and Bossuet draws up a
Report 355
1714. Death of Bossuet, without any Reconciliation with Fénélon 356
"Télémaque" 337, 356
Admirable Deportment of Fénélon in the See of Cambrai 357
His Sermons 358
His Seminary for the Instruction of the younger Clergy 358, 360
His Doctrine 360
Fénélon an Opponent of Jansenism 362
He explains the Mistakes of Pascal in the "Provincial Letters" 362
The Campaigns in Flanders 362
The Duke of Burgundy obtains Louis's permission to visit the
Archbishop of Cambrai 364
Famine the Result of War 365
1709. Ætat. 58. Fénélon's active Charity to the Soldiery and the
People 365
1711. The Death of the Dauphin overwhelms Fénélon with grief as a
national Misfortune 360
Death of Fénélon's chief Friends 366
1713. Louis XIV. relents as to this admirable Prelate 366
1715. Death of Fénélon 367
Demise of Louis XIV. 368
Person, Manners, and Talent of de la Mothe Fénélon 368
His Character given by Sir----Ramsay and other Writers 369
Eloge of Fénélon by d'Alembert 369
Criticism on "Télémaque" 372
TABLE,
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL,
TO THE SECOND VOLUME OF
LIVES OF
EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF FRANCE.
VOLTAIRE.
1694-1778.
A. D.
Infidelity of Voltaire 2
1694. Birth of François-Marie Arouet at Chatenay 4
His Father, M. Arouet, a Notary 4
1704. Ætat. 10. Is taught by the Jesuits in the College of
Louis-le-Grand 5
His Prejudice against the Jansenists 5
The Abbé de Chateauneuf 5
Precocious Genius of Arouet 5
His introduction to Parisian Society 6
Court of Louis XIV. 6
The King ruled by Molinist Confessors 6
Influence of Madame de Maintenon in religious Matters 6
1714. Ætat. 20. Young Arouet sent to Holland with the Marquis de
Chateauneuf 7
His Affection for Mademoiselle du Noyer 8
He is placed as pupil with M. Alain, Attorney in Paris 9
M. de Caumartin invites him to his Château of St. Ange 10
1715. State of public Affairs on the Demise of Louis XIV. 10
The Regent d'Orléans, and Cardinal Dubois 10
1716. Ætat. 22. Arouet imprisoned in the Bastille for a Satire of
which he was not the Author 11
On Epic Poetry 12
Criticism on the Henriade of Voltaire 13
Duke of Orléans liberates and compensates him 14
1718. Ætat. 24. "Œdipe," Tragedy by Voltaire 15
His Critique on the Tragedies of Sophocles 15
His mode of Life and Habits 16
His "Mariamne" successful 16
1722. Dispute between the Poets Jean Baptiste Rousseau and Voltaire 17
Insult offered Voltaire by the Chevalier de Rohan 17
He challenges de Rohan, and is sent to the Bastille 18
1728. Ætat. 34. He visits England and reads Locke and Newton 18
His return to Paris 19
The Clergy become suspicious of him, and aim at his Ruin 19
Increase of his Fortune 20
Reasons of his purchasing the Estate of Voltaire, and assuming
that name 21
Becomes attached to the Marchioness du Châtelet 21
His "Brutus" and "Eriphyle" unsuccessful 22
1732. Ætat. 38. Great success of "Zaire" 22
"Histoire de Charles XII." 23
"Siècle de Louis XIV." projected by Voltaire 23
Mademoiselle Lecouvreur, an Actress, denied the Rites of
Sepulture 23
Voltaire's "Lettres sur les Anglais" publicly burnt 23
He retires to the Château de Cirey with the Marquis and
Marchioness du Châtelet 24
Their philosophical Studies 25
He writes "Alzire," "Mérope," "Mahomet," &c. 25
"Essay on the Manners and Spirit of Nations" 25
Madame de Graffigny's Visit to Madame du Châtelet at Cirey;
her Letters 26
1738. Ætat. 44. Voltaire writes "La Pucelle," the Maid of Orléans 28
Is attacked by the Abbé des Fontaines and Jean Baptiste
Rousseau 31
Alarm as to the Printing of "La Pucelle" 33
His Correspondence with Frederic II. 35
1740. Letters of Frederic 37
Interview of the King of Prussia and M. de Voltaire at the
Castle of Meuse, near Clèves 39
Maupertuis President of the Berlin Academy 39
Frederic's former Work against the Principles of Machiavel, the
"Anti-Machiavel" 40
Character of Frederic 41
1742. War against Maria Theresa, on the Death of Charles VI. her
Father 42
Administration of Cardinal de Fleuri 42
Voltaire in constant Danger of the Bastille 43
Crébillon refuses to license "Mahomet" 43
It is acted at Lille in Flanders by La Noue and Mademoiselle
Clairon 44
1743. The Duke of Richelieu, a Favourite of Louis XV. 44
Ætat. 49. Voltaire endeavours to obtain a Seat in the French
Academy, but is rejected 45
Great Success of his Tragedy of "Mérope" 45
He is sent on a Mission to Berlin, and a Treaty between Prussia
and France is the result 46
Frederic invades Bohemia 47
Voltaire is left unrewarded 47
He resides in Paris with the Marquis and Marchioness du
Châtelet 47
His Visit to the Duchess du Maine at Sceaux, when he writes
"Zadig," and other Tales 48
He performs the Part of "Cicero" in his Play of "Rome
Sauvée" 48
M. Longchamp's Account of Voltaire's Journeys, and his Visit
to King Stanislas at Luneville 48, 51
1748. Ætat. 54. Tragedy of "Semiramis" 49
Voltaire dangerously ill of Fever at Chalons 50
His Friendship for Madame du Châtelet 51
His Rapidity in Writing, and literary Enthusiasm 51
His "Catiline" and "Elèctre" 51
Death of the Marchioness du Châtelet 52
Voltaire become sole Tenant of their Hôtel in Paris, appoints
his Niece, Madame Denis, to preside over it 53
Private Theatre in his House 53
He patronises Le Kain, the Tragedian 54
His Admiration of Corneille and Racine 55
Madame de Pompadour for a Time patronises M. de Voltaire 55
Louis XV. appoints him a Gentleman of the Bed-chamber, and
Historiographer of France 56
Voltaire becomes a French Academician 56
Crébillon a successful Rival of Voltaire in dramatic
Composition, and Court-favour 57
Voltaire, jealous on that Account, repairs to the Court of
Frederic at Potsdam 57
Is pensioned by him, and appointed Chamberlain 58
Frederic's Admiration and Kindness 58
Voltaire's Admiration of the Prussian Monarch 59
Madame Denis left in Paris 60
Ætat. 57. His "Siècle de Louis Quatorze" 60
Umbrage and Jealousies of the King and Poet 61
1751. Offence given by M. de Voltaire to Frederic 63
Maupertuis and the Berlin Academy; Contest respecting the
mechanical Principle of the "least Power" 65
La Beaumette and Maupertuis attack M. de Voltaire 66
Voltaire's Satire of "Akakia" against Maupertuis 66
His Reconciliation with Frederic the Great 67
Their mutual Dissatisfaction renewed, and Voltaire takes leave
of the Prussian Court 67
He repairs to Leipsic and Saxe Gotha 68
Is arrested at Francfort by Agents of Frederic 69
Voltaire slighted at Lyons by Cardinal du Tencin 71
1755. Ætat. 61. He purchases the Estate of "Les Délices" at Geneva 72
1756. Renews a literary Correspondence with Frederic 73
Despair of that Monarch on a Defeat 73
Fresh Victories of Frederic 74
M. de Voltaire's "Manners and Spirit of Nations" 74
The Publication of "La Pucelle" occasions a
against the Poet 75
His Residence in the Genevese Territory becomes perilous 76
1762. Ætat. 68. He purchases the Château de Ferney on the Frontier
of France and Geneva, as a Residence affording him
Security 76
The "Encyclopédie" 77
A great niece of Corneille received by Voltaire and Madame
Denis at Ferney 79
Arrival of the Family of Calas at Ferney 79
1765. Ætat. 71. Voltaire obtains the Reversal of the Condemnation
of Jean Calas, and the Restoration of his Family to civil Rights 81
His Exertions in Favour of the Sirven Family 83
Execution of the Chevalier de la Barre at Abbeville, and
Indignation of Voltaire at the Spirit of religious Persecution 84
The Jesuits banished from France 87
Persecution of Jansenists and Quietists 87
Bitter Quarrel and Satire between M. de Voltaire and Jean-Jacques
Rousseau 88
Security and happy Life of Voltaire at Ferney 88
1766. Ætat. 72. He is deserted at Ferney by his Niece and former
Inmates 89
His Letters to the Marquise du Deffand 89
Return of Madame Denis to Voltaire at Ferney 90
Marmontel's Visit to him 91
The Countess de Genlis' Visit to Voltaire 94
Voltaire neglects the Count de Guibert and other Visitors 98
His Improvements in his Village of Ferney 98
His Humanity to Exiles, and charitable Character 99
He founds the Town of Versoi 100
Patronises the Town of Gex, and procures the Enfranchisement
of Serfs of the Jura Mountains 100
Disgraceful Close of the Reign of Louis XV. 101
1788. Ætat. 81. After the Accession of Louis XVI. Voltaire,
accompanied by his Niece and M. and Madame de Villette, arrives
in Paris 102
His Tragedy of "Irene" 102
Condorcet's and Baron de Grimm's Description of his honourable
Reception by the Parisians, with whom he had always
been a Favourite 103
Louis XVI. 104
The Clergy endeavour to obtain from M. de Voltaire, in Sickness,
a Declaration of his Faith 104
On a temporary Recovery he attends the Academy and the
Theatre, and is received enthusiastically 105
Is prevented from returning to Ferney by Madame Denis 105
1778. Death of M. de Voltaire 106
Delineation of his Character 107
His Infidelity, and Grossness, alluded to 108
Critique of his Works 109
ROUSSEAU.
1712-1778.
1712. Birth of Jean-Jacques Rousseau at Geneva 111
His Studies when a Boy 112
Placed under M. Lambercier, Minister of Bossey 113
Lives with a M. Bernard, Engineer 114
Is pupil to a Greffier 114
His love of Reading 115
He runs away from Geneva 115
Visits M. de Pontverre at Confignon in Savoy 116
The Countess de Warens, a Convert to the Romish Religion, is
pensioned by the King of Sardinia, and resides at Annecy 117
Rousseau is recommended to the Hospital of Turin for the
Conversion of Protestants 117
His Abjuration of the Calvinistic Creed 118
Is Footman to the Countess Vercelli 119
Also a domestic in a noble Family at Turin 120
Whom he quits on a roving Expedition to revisit Madame de
Warens 120
1729. Ætat. 17. Kind reception of Jean-Jacques by that Lady 121
His Genius in Music 121
His Visit to Neufchâtel and Paris 122
1733. Ætat. 21. Madame de Warens recommends him to Employment in
a Bureau at Chambery 122
1735. Ætat. 23. He is established at Chambery as Music-master 124
Madame de Warens removes to Les Charmettes, where Rousseau
prosecutes his Studies with Ardour 125
The Confessions of Jean-Jacques with regard to this Period of
his Career 126
Ill-health of Rousseau 126
His Method of Notation for Music 127
Rousseau's Spirit of Independence 128
1741. Ætat. 29. His Employments at Paris, where he is encouraged 128
1743. Ætat. 31. Appointed Secretary to M. de Montague, Ambassador
at Venice 128
His Return to Paris 129
His Friends interest themselves for him 129
His Mistress Thérèse le Vasseur 130
Rousseau consigns their Children to the "Enfants trouvés" 131
Reflections on the Condition of Foundlings 131
Rousseau eventually a Victim to his lax Principles from the
Destitution of all social Ties 132
1749. Ætat. 37. Visits M. Diderot, who was confined at Vincennes
for a Pamphlet 133
Rousseau's celebrated Essay on the proposed Question, "Whether
the Progress of the Arts and Sciences had tended to corrupt or
ameliorate the condition of Men" 134
He renounces the Appointment of Cashier to a Farmer-general
of the Taxes 135
Copies Music for a Subsistence 135
1750. Ætat. 38. Great Success of his "Devin du Village," an Opera 136
His Essay on "The Origin of Inequality among Men" 137
1754. Ætat. 42. He revisits Geneva 137
Poverty of Madame de Warens 137
Rousseau abjures the Romish Faith, and again embraces the
Reformed Religion 137
Is invited to reside in Geneva, his native City 138
Madame d'Epinay 138
She establishes him at the Hermitage near Montmorenci,
belonging to M. d'Epinay 138
Rousseau's "Les Institutions Politiques," and other literary
employments 139
Writes "La Nouvelle Héloïse" 140
Rousseau's love for the Countess d'Houdetot 141
M. de Saint Lambert 141
Cause of the Coolness between J. J. Rousseau and MM.
Diderot and Grimm 144
Treachery of M. Grimm 145
State of French Society under Louis XV. 147
1758. Ætat. 46. Rousseau removes from the Hermitage to
Montmorenci 148
His Quarrel with Diderot 148
He writes against the Establishment of a Theatre at Geneva 149
Sentiments expressed in his "Confessions" 149
Marshal the Duke of Luxembourg and the Duchess of Luxembourg
friendly to Rousseau 149
1760. Publication of "La Nouvelle Héloïse" 150
The "Emile," or Rousseau on Education 150
Some admirable Maxims of that celebrated Treatise 150
M. de Malesherbes 151
The "Confession of a Savoyard Vicar" 152
1762. Ætat. 50. It is condemned, and Rousseau warned by the Duchess
of Luxembourg to make his escape 153
He arrives at Iverdun, but is exiled by the Council of Berne 154
Is received at Neufchâtel by the Governor, Marshal Lord
Keith 154
His Study of Botany, and herborising Rambles 155
His Controversy with Geneva 156
Disturbances at Geneva 157
Rousseau's "Lettres écrites de la Montagne" 157
Rousseau quits Motiers through Fear of Assassination 157
Resides in the Island of St. Pierre, Lake of Bienne, but is
expelled by the Council of Berne 158
His Dislike of Dependence prevents him from repairing to the
Court of Frederic; Fictitious Letter in that King's Name by
Horace Walpole 159
Hospitably entertained by the Prince de Conti 159
1766. Ætat. 54. He accompanies David Hume to England 160
Resides at Wotton in Derbyshire, writes there his "Confessions,"
receives a Pension from George III.; but his morbid Melancholy
causes him to take some groundless Alarm and to fly to
France 161
1767. Ætat. 55. Is protected by the Prince de Conti at the Château of
Trie 162
1770. Ætat. 58. He is most kindly welcomed at Paris 163
His Readings of the "Confessions" in Society interrupted by the
Minister of Police 164
Lives by copying Music 165
Prince de Ligne visits him, and offers him a Home 167
Countess de Genlis gives Testimony of his Benevolence of Heart
and Modesty 167
The Abbé Bernardin de Saint Pierre gives a very favourable
Description of Rousseau 167
Respect shown for Rousseau at the Theatre by the Parisians 168
His morbid Sensibility verging on Madness 169
1778. Ætat. 66. His Death at Ermenonville, and Rumour with relation
to it 169
Inscription on his Tomb 170
Character of his "Confessions" 171
His Jealousy of literary Competitors 171
His Reveries; his Charity; Suspicion his characteristic 172
The "Emile" one of his most important Works 173
Criticism of his "Nouvelle Héloïse" 174
Eloquence, Tenderness, and Nature, in his Writings 174
CONDORCET.
1744-1794.
1744. Birth of Marie Jean Antoine de Caritat, Marquis de Condorcet 175
1765. Ætat. 21. His Essay on the Integral Calculus 175
His scientific Works 175
Is appointed joint Secretary of the Academy of Sciences 175
His Friendship with D'Alembert 176
Visits M. de Voltaire at Ferney 176
Edits the "Pensées" of M. Pascal 177
A Friend of the Minister Turgot 178
His Reply to M. Necker on the Corn Question 178
He writes the "Reflections on Negro Slavery" 178
Refutation of De Lolme on the English Constitution 179
Mental Qualities of Condorcet 179
His Influence at the Commencement of the French Revolution 180
1789. Ætat. 44. Writes a Declaration of the Rights of Man, on the
Convocation of the States-General 180
Flight of Louis XVI. to Varennes 181
Marquis de Condorcet, a Deputy of the City of Paris in the
National Assembly 182
His Speech relating to the Emigration 182
His "Declaration" adopted by that Body 183
His Character for Integrity 184
A vigorous Opponent to monarchical Government 184
His Theories, and Idea of public Virtue 185
The Girondists treat with the Court and lose Influence thereby 186
Manifesto of the Duke of Brunswick 187
Marquis de Condorcet popular 187
Did not vote for the Death of Louis XVI. 188
1793. Ætat. 49. Denounced as Brissot's Accomplice, is obliged to
conceal himself 190
His "Historical Sketch of the Progress of the Human Mind" 190
Is obliged to fly, but is seized at Chamont, and perishes of Hunger
and Cold in a Prison 192
His Character pourtrayed by Madame Roland 193
Mademoiselle de Condorcet married to Arthur O'Connor 194
MIRABEAU.
1749-1791.
Family of the Marquis de Mirabeau 195
Originally Italian, and named Arrighetti 195
Valour of the Marquis Jean Antoine de Mirabeau 196
His high Character 196
Victor, Marquis de Mirabeau, a tyrannical Father 197
His literary Reputation founded on his "L'Ami des Hommes" 197
Is imprisoned for writing the "Théorie de Impôt" 197
Marries Marie Geneviève, Marchioness de Saulvebeuf, and has
eleven Children 193
Instals Madame de Pailly over his Household 198
This occasions a Separation from his Marchioness 198
His Prejudice against GABRIEL HONORÉ DE MIRABEAU, his fifth
Child, the Subject of this Article 199
Accuses him of an innate Depravity of Character 201
The Father makes him undergo a severe Education 202
Gabriel serves in the Regiment of the Marquis de Lambert, a
strict Disciplinarian 203
The Marquis Victor de Mirabeau obtains a Lettre-de-cachet and
imprisons Gabriel 204
Gabriel de Mirabeau declares his love of a military Life 205
1772. Ætat. 23. He marries Marie Emilie de Covet, Daughter of the
Marquis de Marignane 207
Incurs Debts, and is confined by his Father by means of a
Lettre-de-cachet 207
Is jealous of the Chevalier de Gassaud 209
His Quarrel with the Baron de Villeneuve-Moans 209
Is imprisoned by his Father in the Castle of If, near Marseilles 209
1775. Ætat. 26. Is transferred to the Fortress of Joux 210
His amour with Madame de Monnier (Sophie de Ruffey) 212
He escapes from Prison 213
Is indignant at his Father's Severity 214
1776. Ætat. 27. He flies with Madame de Monnier to Holland, and
earns a Subsistence by his Pen 215
M. de Monnier prosecutes him and Madame de Monnier, and
they are condemned to ignominious Punishments in their
Absence 216
1777. Ætat. 28. They are arrested at Amsterdam, and Gabriel de
Mirabeau is imprisoned at Vincennes 217
His Complaints of the long Persecution of him 218
His Writings during Imprisonment 219
"Essay on Lettres-de-Cachet and State Prisons" 219
Death of his Son 219
Endeavours to persuade his Wife to live with him 221
1780. Ætat. 31. Is enlarged after Forty-one Months'
Imprisonment 221, 223
Subsequent History of Madame de Monnier 222
His Father conducts himself with Kindness towards him 223
1782. Ætat. 33. Mirabeau's Sentence for the Seduction of Madame de
Monnier reversed 223
He fails in a Suit to compel Madame de Mirabeau to live with
him 224
1784. Ætat. 35. Visits London, but is not successful in the Profession
of an Author 225
Renewed Cruelty of his Father, who reduces him to a State of
Destitution 225
1785. Ætat. 36. Returned to France, writes on financial Subjects; and
for a Pamphlet on the system of "Agiotage" is compelled to
fly to Liege 226
1787. Ætat. 38. Financial Controversy with Necker 226
His early Exertions in favour of Revolution 226
Occasional Display of his powerful Eloquence 228
His Independence as a political Economist 228
1788. Ætat. 39. His Reputation at its height 229
1789. Ætat. 40. Convocation of the States-General 230
Mirabeau excluded by the Nobility of Provence from his
Privileges as a Noble 231
His "Correspondence from Berlin" condemned to be burnt 232
Becomes a popular Leader of the Provençeaux, and is
enthusiastically received at Aix and Marseilles 232
Disturbances in Provence, on account of Scarcity, allayed by
Mirabeau 233
Is elected Deputy for Marseilles and for Aix in the "Tiers Etat;"
he sits for the latter Town 234
He publishes a Journal of the Proceedings of the Chambers 234
His political Writings 235
The National Assembly 235
He draws a Line between the royal and legislative Power, or
between the Throne and the People 236
His Energy and Eloquence in the Chamber 238
Address to Louis XVI. 239
1789. Death of the Marquis Victor de Mirabeau 240
Mirabeau's genuine Sorrow on that Event, forgetful of his long
Persecution by his Father 240
Louis' Ministers draw Troops around the Capital 240
Destruction of the Bastille 241
Mirabeau's Speech against the Court Party, on the Scarcity of
Grain 242
He supports M. Necker's Proposal of a Subsidy of one-fourth of
the Income of all Proprietors 242
He maintains that the Royal Authority is essential to the Balance
of Power between the Aristocracy and People 243
The Orléans Party 237, 246
Popularity of Mirabeau with the Parisians 247
In what degree Mirabeau is to be considered the real Defender
of the Monarchy 248
He negociates with the Court 249
His Enthusiasm nevertheless maintains his Influence over the
National Assembly 250
His Speech on the Establishment of the Convention 250
1791. Ætat. 42. His splendid Style of Living 251
Supposed to be supplied by the Court with Resources, as the chief
Supporter of Royalty 251
His Deference to the Assembly, and Conciseness of his energetic
Speeches 252
Original of his Treaty with the Court, in the Hand-writing of
Monsieur [Louis XVIII.] 252
Mirabeau's ill Health 253
His last Struggle with the Jacobins, or "Mountain" 254
Sickness of Mirabeau excites the Fears of both King and People 255
His notion of the Character of the Rt. Hon. William Pitt 256
Death of Mirabeau 256
His Sepulture in the Pantheon at Paris 257
His Misfortunes 257
His wit 258
His Character of La Fayette 258
Allusion to his military Talents 259
MADAME ROLAND.
1754-1793.
Mémoires of Madame Roland, and Considerations thereon 260
1751. Birth of Manon Phlipon 261
Care of her Education by her Father, an Engraver of some merit 261
Domestic Economy of her parental Roof 262
Madame Phlipon's Piety 262
Mademoiselle Phlipon's Residence in a Convent 263
Her Admiration of Blaise Pascal and Port Royal, or the
Jansenist' Party 263
She rejects the Theories of M. Helvetius 263
Her Enthusiasm in the Cause of Liberty 264
Her Rejection of many Suitors 265
Death of Madame Phlipon 266
Impression of the "Nouvelle Héloïse" on the ardent Mind of
Manon Phlipon 267
Her Habits of Economy and Seclusion from Society 267
History of M. Roland de la Platière 268
1779. Ætat. 25. His Offer to marry Mademoiselle Phlipon, and Refusal
by her Father 268
1780. Ætat. 26. Their Union takes place 270
Madame Roland accompanies her Husband to Switzerland and
England 271
Her Letters 271, 274
1785. Ætat. 32. Her placid Temper, and domestic Happiness 274
1789. The French Revolution. M. Roland's Mission from the
Municipality of Lyon to the National Assembly on financial Affairs 272
1791. Ætat. 37. Madame Roland's Visit to, and Residence in, Paris 273
Writings of M. Roland 273
Beauty and political Influence of Madame Roland 273
M. and Mdme. Roland form a Friendship with Brissot and the
Gironde Party 273
Madame Roland's Opinions anti-monarchical 275
Position of Louis XVI. 275
1792. M. Roland appointed Minister of the Interior 277
General Dumouriez Minister for Foreign Affairs 277
Roland's Letter to Louis XVI. written by his Wife, occasions his
Dismission 278
Recalled to the Ministry 279
The Massacre of Prisoners in September alarms Madame Roland 280
Robespierre, Danton, and Marat 280
Description of Madame de Roland 281
M. Roland exhibits considerable Intrepidity during the popular
Agitations 282
Madame Roland is hated by the "Mountain" Party 283
Robespierre denounced by Louvet 284
1793. Death of the King 285
M. Roland resigns 286
Arrest of Madame Roland 287
Her calm Demeanour 288
The Reign of Terror in Paris and France 290
Condemnation of the Girondists 290
Brissot and the Girondists executed 291
Accusation and Defence of Madame Roland 291
Ætat. 39. Her Execution 292
Interesting Character of this celebrated Authoress 293
MADAME DE STAËL.
1765-1817.
M. Necker of Geneva early in life placed in a Banking-house 295
His Partnership in Thelusson's Firm 295
1773. His "Éloge de Colbert" 295
Minister from Geneva, and appointed Director-general of Finance
in France 296
He marries Mademoiselle Churchod 296
Allusion to Gibbon the Historian 296
1766. April 22. Birth of their only Daughter, afterwards Baronne de
Staël 296
Her Education under the parental Roof 296
MM. Thomas, Marmontel, de Grimm, &c. form the literary
Society at M. Necker's 297
Talent of Conversation early acquired by Mlle. Necker 297
Her Writings 298
She delights M. Necker by her Talents and Wit 300
Publication of M. Necker's "Compte Rendu," or Statement of
French Finance 301
His Retirement to his Estate of Saint-Ouen 302
Purchase of Coppet on the Lake of Geneva 303
Publication of his financial Work, written at Coppet 303
Administration of M. Calonne 304
1786. Ætat. 20. His Daughter's Marriage with the Baron de Staël
Holstein, Swedish Ambassador to France 305
Portrait given at that period of Madame de Staël 306
1788. M. Necker Minister, Revival of public Credit 307
1789. Convocation of the States-General 307
Louis XVI. commands him to retire quietly from France 307
Troops collected round Paris, by Louis, against the People 308
M. Necker generously leaves two Millions of Livres in the
National Treasury 309, 313
Madame de Staël's Description of the Journeys to and from
Switzerland 309, 313
Destruction of the Bastille, and Recall of M. Necker 310
His Popularity 311
Sentiments of Madame de Staël 311
1790. Necker again retires to Coppet 313
1792. Madame de Staël witnesses the Tumults of the Capital in August,
&c. 314
Her Endeavour to save M. de Lally-Tolendal 314
Her Carriage stopt by the Republicans; she claims Privilege as
Wife of a foreign Minister 315
She is carried before Robespierre, Collet d'Herbois, and the
Revolutionary Tribunal 315
Is saved by the Republican Manuel, who obtains Leave for her
to quit France 317
Her Emotion on the Journey across the Jura to Coppet 317
1793. Her Appeal in favour of Marie Antoinette 318
M. Necker's Pamphlet designed to save Louis XVI. 318
1794. Madame de Staël's "Reflections on the Peace" 318
Death of Madame Necker 318
1795. M. de Staël resides at Paris as Swedish Minister 319
Madame de Staël's Residence there considered as an Epoch
in Society 319
Reign of the Directory 320
Napoleon Buonaparte, unfavourable to Madame de Staël 321
Their Interviews 321
His Attack on the Helvetian Republic 322
1798. Madame de Staël retires to M. Necker's at Coppet 322
She presents a Memorial at Paris in the Name of M. Necker,
requiring to be erased from the List of Emigrants, and succeeds
therein 323
1799. Ætat. 33. She Witnesses the Overthrow of the Directory by
Buonaparte 323
Account of Benjamin Constant 324
Jealousy of Buonaparte on Account of Madame de Staël's
Influence in Parisian Society 324
His Interview with M. Necker on his Route to Italy 325
French Police, and Fouché, Minister 325
1799. M. de Staël Holstein recalled to Sweden 327
1802. Ætat. 36. His daughter joins M. Necker at Coppet, and the Baron
de Staël dies 327
Publication of her "Delphine" 327
Critique of that Work 327
M. Necker's "Last View of Politics and Finance" 328
Madame de Staël's Affection for her Father 328
1803. Ætat. 37. She returns to France on the Rupture of the Peace of
Amiens 329
Is ordered to quit France within twenty-four Hours 329
Her Regret on being exiled 330
1804. She is accompanied by Benjamin Constant, and receives Tidings
of M. Necker's Decease 330
She resides at Coppet 330
Her "Dix Années d'Exil" 330
Her Education of her Children 331
1805. Ætat. 39. Her Visit to Italy 331
Criticism on her "Corinne" 331
She revisits France and repairs to Rouen 332
Not having flattered Napoleon in her Writings, she is again
exiled 333
She visits Vienna 333
At Coppet she writes her Work on "Germany" 333, 334
1810. Ætat. 44. Attempts to publish her "Germany" at Blois; the
Edition seized, anti she is again banished 334
Forbidden to visit Aix in Savoy for the Recovery of her Son's
Health 335
William Schlegel ordered to quit Coppet by the Authorities 336
Madame de Staël makes a Tour through Switzerland in company
of M. de Montmorency 336
M. de Montmorency exiled 336
Persecution of Madame de Staël 337
1810. M. Rocca, a Spanish Officer in the French service, visits Geneva 337
He offers his Hand to Madame de Staël 338
Their Marriage 338
1812. Madame de Staël escapes from Coppet 338
Travels through Germany and Poland to Russia 338
Her Reception by the Emperor Alexander at St. Petersburg 339
Her "Dix Années d'Exil" 339
She visits Sweden and England 339
Lord Byron 339, 340
1814. Louis XVIII., repays to Madame de Staël the two Millions of
Francs advanced by Necker to Louis XVI. 339
The Duke de Broglie marries the Daughter of Madame de Staël 340
Ill-health of M. Rocca 340
Madame de Staël's Character and Sentiments 341
1817. Ætat. 51. Her Death in Paris 341
Death of M. Rocca 341
Criticism on the Writings of Madame de Staël 342
The Viscount de Chateaubriand's Opinion of her 343
Her "Dix Années d'Exil" 343
Her "Germany" 343
Her political Sentiments 343
LIVES
OF
EMINENT
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
VOLTAIRE
1694-1778.
It is impossible to commence the biography of this extraordinary man
without feelings of apprehension as to our power of well executing the
task. To write the life of Voltaire in a full and satisfactory manner,
is to write not only the biography of an individual author, and the
history of French literature during the course of nearly a century, but
also of a revolution in the minds of men, in their opinions and rules of
action, which, if not brought about entirely by him, was fostered and
supported by his influence, in a manner the most singular and powerful.
We are apt, as we read his letters, to laugh at the petulance which he
evinced when attacked, and to reprove the vehemence with which he
attacked others in return. But when we consider that an absolute monarch
and a powerful hierarchy supported opinions which he and his friends
struggled to subvert, we feel that it required all his dogmatic spirit,
all his bitterness of sarcasm and vehemence of temper, to combat
opposition, and to support both his own courage and that of his
followers, in his attempt.
Voltaire has been called the Apostle of Infidelity. He denied the truths
of revealed religion--he desired to subvert Christianity. He disbelieved
its divine origin; he was blind to the excellence of its
morality--insensible to its sublime tenets. It is easy to make his life
one diatribe against the wickedness and folly of such principles and
intentions--to intersperse the pages that compose his history with
various epithets of condemnation of a man so lost to the knowledge of
truth. But we do not intend to do this. We consider that Voltaire had
many excuses, and he had also his uses. We do not mean, on the other
hand, to write an elaborate defence of a system that cannot be defended;
but we will mention the heads of those topics which we consider
available for his justification to a certain limited extent.
In the first place, Catholicism is not Christianity. Voltaire's great
war was against the church of Rome, and more particularly against the
Gallican church, which was one of great persecution, bigotry, and
misused power. We turn to the pages that record the history of his
country, during the years that immediately preceded him, and of his own
age, and we find them stained with brawls and cruelties, excited and
exercised by the priesthood. The quarrels of the violinists, the
Jansenists, the Quietists, and the disgraceful exhibitions of the
convulsionaries, absorbed so much of the talent, and perverted so much
the uprightness and charity, of men of first-rate genius, that we turn
with pity and loathing from the history of the misuse of one of the best
gifts of God. Voltaire had it deeply at heart to put an end to these
discussions--to prevent such men as Bossuet and Fénélon from expending
their vast talents on unworthy squabbles, and to prevent such men as
Pascal and Racine from sacrificing their talents at the altars of
superstition. He wished to redeem such of his countrymen as were slaves
to the priests, from the miseries of bigotry and ignorance; and he most
ardently desired to liberate those, whose piety was enlightened, from
persecution at the hands of bigots. The cruelties exercised on the
Huguenots raised a tumult of generous indignation in his benevolent
heart; the insolence and barbarity with which the French priesthood
endeavoured to quell all rebellion to their authority roused his anger
and pointed his sarcasms. Liberty for the soul was the aim of his
endeavours. It was a noble and a useful one.
He went too far. There are two classes of minds among men of education.
Those who live for the affections--for the elegances of literature--for
moral and intellectual purposes; who are virtuous and enlightened, but
devoid of enthusiasm for truth or the dissemination of opinion. There is
another class, to whom what they consider truth is the great all in all.
It is vain to talk to them of a falsehood or mistake that has its good
uses; they consider truth, that most glorious attribute of God, as the
best of all things--the reformer of abuses--the sustainer of the
unfortunate--the advancer of human excellence--the rock in which we
ought to put our trust. To them, truth, or what they consider truth, is
light; falsehood, darkness. Such a mind was Voltaire. He did not
distinguish the truths of the Gospel from the multifarious, sometimes
ridiculous, but always pernicious, impostures of papacy. He read of, and
his heart revolted from, the series of intolerable evils brought upon
the world by the Roman Catholic religion; he forgot the civilisation
produced by the Gospel, and even the uses of the system of the church of
Rome during days of feudal barbarism: he saw only the evil, and visited
the whole with his reprobation, his ridicule, his unflinching and
unwearied opposition. He fell into great and mischievous mistakes. As is
often the case, he destroyed, but he could not construct. France owed to
his mighty labours and powerful influence a great and swift advance in
civilisation, and enfranchisement from political and priestly thraldom.
But he went beyond the useful and right in his struggle; and, not
contented with warring against superstition, made inroads into the
blessed fields of rational piety. This must be admitted and censured.
Let some among us rise to drive him back and barricade him from his
invasion on revealed religion; but let us do this without, rancour or
scurrility, feeling grateful at the same time for the good he did
achieve, and acknowledging our esteem for his motives and abilities. Let
us, above all, in writing his life, show ourselves just and impartial.
From the limited nature of this work, we can only present the reader
with a sketch of his labours and their effects; it is our earnest desire
that this sketch should be one drawn from undoubted sources, and prove
itself to the minds of all, a fair, exact, and impartial account of so
great a man.
François-Marie Arouet was born at Chatenay, 20th of February, 1694. His
enemies, in after life, displayed their spite by promulgating that his
father was a peasant--an assertion without foundation. His father was a
notary by profession, and filled the situation of treasurer of the
chamber of accounts; a lucrative place, which he occupied with such
integrity as to save but a small fortune, where others amassed great
riches. His mother was named Marguerite d'Aumont, of a noble family of
Poitou. The child was so feeble at the time of his birth that he was not
expected to survive; he was hastily baptized in the house, nor
considered sufficiently strong to be carried to church until he was nine
months old, when he was baptized over again by the parish curate, from
whom his age was concealed. Condorcet, in his life, remarks the
singularity that two illustrious men of letters of that day, Voltaire
and Fontenelle, were both born so feeble as not to be expected to
survive, and yet lived to extreme age. He might have added the more
curious instance of their contemporary, the marshal de Richelieu, a six
months' child, fostered in cotton and reared artificially, who enjoyed
strong and robust health, and lived till a still more advanced age.
The child was quick and sprightly; he had an elder brother, who was dull
and sombre. The elder, in progress of time, became a Jansenist, a
convulsionary, and a bigot; the germ of his tendency to superstition
existed even in childhood; and the brothers disputed, in prose and
verse, to the amusement of the family. The abbé de Chateauneuf,
godfather to François-Marie, took pleasure in educating him, and taught
him some of La Fontaine's fables. The boy got hold also of a deistical
ode, attributed to J. B. Rousseau, called the "Mosaide," a poem, which
said--
"Les hommes vains et fanatiques
Reçoivent, sans difficulté,
Les fables les plus chimériques;
Un petit mot d'éternité
Les rend bénins et pacifiques;
Et l'on réduit ainsi le peuple hébété
A baiser les liens dont il est garrotté."
This was a singular production to put into a child's hand: it was more
singular that a child should enter into its meaning. François-Marie
quoted it against his brother in argument, and his father, frightened at
the premature wit and freedom of speech his son betrayed, hastened to
send him to school.
[Sidenote: 1704.
Ætat.
10.]
He entered the college of Louis-le-Grand, of which the Jesuits were the
preceptors. Here the boy learned, not to take part with the Jesuits, but
to despise the Jansenists, against whom, as an author, he showed himself
hostile. The talents of the child rendered him a favourite with the
greater number of his masters; father Porée, professor of rhetoric, saw
the germ of remarkable talents, which he took great pleasure in
developing; and, in after life, Voltaire always expressed gratitude for
his master's encouragement and kindness. Encouragement of a far
different and of a pernicious sort he received from another professor,
father le Jay, who entered into arguments with his pupil; was irritated
by his wit and sophistry; and on one occasion, angrily exclaimed that he
would become the "Choryphæus of Deism,"--a prophecy which this very
denunciation helped probably to fulfil. On all sides, the boy found
admiration for his premature genius. His godfather introduced him to
Ninon de L'Enclos, then advanced in years, but still full of that warmth
of intellect and feeling that distinguished her whole career. She
perceived and appreciated the child's genius, and no doubt her kindness
and conversation tended to open his mind and refine his wit at a very
early age. When she died, Ninon left him a legacy to buy books.
On leaving college the abbé de Chateauneuf introduced his godson into
Parisian society. There had been a time when Louis XIV. assembled the
most distinguished men of the kingdom at his court, and wit and
refinement were almost confined to the circles of Versailles. In his old
age, under the tutelage of madame de Maintenon and his confessors, Louis
disregarded every merit but that of piety which bore the Molinist stamp.
Catinat was disgraced, notwithstanding his virtues and military talents,
because he was suspected of freethinking; the duke de Vendôme was
reproached bitterly for not going daily to mass: bigotry, hypocrisy, and
dulness reigned at Versailles. But the king was old, and could no longer
make his will the fashion of the day. Unfortunately, bigotry and
hypocrisy are apt to beget their opposites. The society of Paris,
throwing off the yoke of royal intolerance, gave itself up to pleasure
and licence. The young Arouet was introduced to the circles whose
members enjoyed pre-eminence for birth and talent; he became a
favourite; he wrote verses; he meditated a tragedy: his whole heart was
devoted to becoming a poet and man of letters. When, on occasion of the
dispute between Jean Baptiste Rousseau and Saurin, the former was
banished, the young Arouet took the part of the victim, and exerted
himself to make a subscription in his favour. He was now known and
admired by all the first people of Paris, though he failed when he
wished to bring out a tragedy on the stage, and to be crowned by the
academy. The actors rejected his play; the academicians preferred
another poet. The disappointed youth revenged himself by writing a
satire against his rival.
M. Arouet was deeply pained by the course his son was taking; he
considered the career of a literary man that of disgrace and ruin. He
proposed to him to accept the office of counsellor to parliament; his
son replied, that he would not buy, but earn, distinction. His attempt
with the academy, and the literary quarrels that ensued, raised his
father's inquietudes to the greatest height; he threatened his son with
various marks of his severity, and the quarrel was becoming critical,
when the marquis de Chateauneuf, ambassador to Holland, offered to take
him with him to that country in the quality of page. His father readily
consented to a plan which removed him from a scene where his literary
ambition was excited by rivalship, and fostered by admiration.
[Sidenote: 1714.
Ætat.
20.]
It is, as it appears to us, a most interesting task to inquire into the
early days of such a man as Voltaire; to find the exterior circumstances
that influenced his mind, and the passions that were excited in his
unformed character. The atmosphere of wit and gaiety which Voltaire
carried with him wherever he went made him a favourite; and this favour
again imparted zest to his desire for literary advancement. His father's
opposition produced a thousand struggles in his mind, that tended, in
the end, to give force to his inclinations: he became eager to exonerate
himself, and to elevate the profession which he wished to adopt; and
this gave dignity to his endeavours. Now, torn from his partial friends,
and thrown on a new scene, his mind was yet further excited to gain
strength. His curiosity, as to the manners and peculiarities of a
strange country, was insatiable: he carried everywhere his keen
observing spirit; and his early travels out of France tended to enlarge
his understanding, and shake his prejudices.
Youthful passion intruded to disturb his residence in Holland. Madame du
Noyer was born a Protestant; she abjured her religion when she married;
and then, desirous of separating from her husband, she made religion the
pretext, and fled to Holland with her two daughters. She resided at the
Hague, where she subsisted on a sort of traffic of libels. Fear of the
Bastille, and the laws against the freedom of the press, restrained the
busy Parisians from publishing the vast quantity of libels, epigrams,
and satires, which were continually being manufactured in that
metropolis: these made their way to Holland; and the collecting of such,
and publishing them, became a sort of trade,--infamous indeed, but
lucrative. Madame du Noyer was at once notorious and enriched, by being
pre-eminent in the traffic. One of her daughters was married; with the
other--a gentle, amiable girl--Voltaire fell in love. He wished to save
her out of the hands of such a mother. Madame du Noyer discovered the
intercourse, and complained to the ambassador, who put his page under
arrest, and sent an account of his son's attachment to the father. Young
Arouet meanwhile carried on his intercourse with the young lady by
stealth, and was again denounced to the marquis by madame du Noyer; he,
seeing himself in danger of being compromised by the malice of a woman
whose great desire was to create scandal, and by the perseverance of his
page, sent him back to Paris. His father, knowing the vehement and
resolute disposition of his son, was prepared to prevent the continuance
of his love affair by the severest measures: he obtained an order that
permitted him either to imprison or to transport him to the isles. The
poor lawyer, whose career had been one of routine and respectability,
was rendered equally miserable by both his sons; the elder having
immersed himself in the Jansenist quarrels: and the old man declared
that he had two fools for children, one in prose, and the other in
verse.
On his return to Paris the young Arouet had two objects chiefly at his
heart;--to take his mistress out of the hands of her infamous mother,
and to reconcile himself to his father. For the sake of the first, he
did not scruple to apply to the Jesuits, and to employ religion as the
pretext. He applied also to M. du Noyer: he interested the court in the
conversion. It was agreed that mademoiselle du Noyer should be carried
off, and brought to the convent of New Converts in Paris; but the
marquis de Chateauneuf opposed himself to so violent a proceeding, and
the plan fell to the ground. In the sequel, the young lady married the
baron de Winterfeld, and always preserved a great esteem and friendship
for her early friend.
The young man was not less earnest to be reconciled to his father. He
was carried away by innate genius to cultivate literature; but his heart
was good, and he revolted from the idea of living at variance with his
parent. He wrote a pathetic letter to him, declaring that he was ready
to emigrate to America, and to live on bread and water, if only, before
he went, he were forgiven. M. Arouet was touched by this mark of
submission; and, on receiving the further one of his son's consent to
attend the office of a procureur, or attorney, he was reconciled to him.
The young poet became the pupil of M. Alain, an attorney, residing in a
dark, obscure quarter of Paris. Disagreeable as this change was, it had
its advantages; it strengthened his habits of industry, and it taught
him a knowledge of business. Voltaire became in after life a rich man,
through his excellent management of his affairs: a legal education was
the foundation of his prosperity. He lightened his labours, also, by
forming a friendship with another pupil. Thiriot had not his friend's
talents, but he shared in his youth his enthusiasm for literature: an
intimacy was formed which lasted Thiriot's life. In spite of various
acts of faithlessness on the part of the latter, Voltaire remained, to
the end, constant to his early friend: However, the business of
procureur became intolerable. He still frequented the society of Paris.
He had become deeply in love with madame de Villars: he afterwards
averred that this was the only passion he had ever felt that was
stronger than his love of study, and caused him to lose time. Its ill
success made him conquer it; but the society into which he was drawn
rendered him still more averse to his legal studies. He implored his
father to permit him to quit them; the old man asked him what other
profession he would adopt: to this the son could not reply.
He had a friend, M. de Caumartin, who was also acquainted with the
father, and asked permission that François-Marie should visit him at
his chateau of St. Ange, where he could deliberate at leisure on his
future course, and where he would be separated from the connections
deemed so dangerous. At St. Ange the young poet found a library; and,
plunging into study, became more than ever eager for the acquisition of
knowledge. The father of his host was a man of great age; he had been
familiar with the nobles of the days of Henri IV., and with the friends
of Sully: his enthusiasm for those times and men was warm and eloquent.
Voltaire listened to his anecdotes and eulogies with deep interest; and
began, without yet forming a plan, to write verses in their honour.
The last years of the reign of Louis XIV. had been disastrous, through
unfortunate wars and pernicious policy. Adversity in various forms
visited the old age of that illustrious monarch. The generation
immediately succeeding to him, brought up in his days of glory and
power, died off; of the young race that remained, its hope and flower,
the duke of Burgundy, died; he lost another of his grandsons also by
death, and the third was removed to the throne of Spain. The successor
to his crown was an infant only five years of age; the successor to his
power was a prince whose dissolute character inspired the devout with
hatred, and the thoughtful with sorrow and distrust.
[Sidenote: 1715.
Ætat.
21.]
It was a moment full of eager interest, when Louis died; the cord that
held the faggot snapped; and it became doubtful by whom, and in what
way, it would again be gathered together. The pupil of Dubois became
regent; the kingdom rang with his intrigues, his debaucheries, and the
misconduct of his children. But the duke of Orléans, perverted as he was
as a moral character, was a man of talent, and an enlightened ruler. He
maintained peace: and though the kingdom was convulsed during his
regency by the system of Law, yet its general prosperity was increased;
showing, however speculative and wild a people may be in their financial
schemes, yet, as long as they are preserved from war, no event can
materially injure their prosperity. The regent was, to a certain degree,
king Log, with this exception,--that his libertinism offered a
pernicious example, which plunged Parisian society in immorality, while
his toleration gave encouragement to those men of talent whose aim was
to disseminate knowledge and liberal opinions.
On the death of Louis XIV., young Arouet left St. Ange, and came up to
Paris to witness the effects of the change. He found the people in a
delirium of joy; they celebrated the death of their sovereign by getting
drunk with delight, and by manifesting their detestation of the Jesuits,
who had so long tyrannised over them. Paris became inundated with
satires and epigrams: the French, as in the days of the Fronde, were apt
to signalise their aversions in witty and libellous verses. Voltaire was
accused of writing a piece of this kind; it was entitled "Les J'ai vu,"
in which the author enumerates all the abuses and evils he had
witnessed, and concludes by saying,--
J'ai vu ces maux, et je n'ai pas vingt ans.
[Sidenote: 1716.
Ætat.
22.]
Voltaire was two and twenty, but the difference was slight, and the
verses were clever; he was accused of being their author, and thrown
into the Bastille. The solicitations of his powerful friends were of no
avail to liberate him. His father saw with grief the melancholy
accomplishment of all his prognostics, and failed in his efforts to
obtain his release. It was not till the true author of the verses,
touched by remorse, confessed to having written them, that Voltaire was
set free.
He passed a whole year in his prison without society or books, or ink
and paper. We find no mention in his works or letters of the extreme
sufferings which solitary and unemployed confinement must have inflicted
on a man as vivacious, sensitive, and restless--delicate in health, and
vehement in temper--as Voltaire, except in the deep terror with which he
regarded the possibility of a second imprisonment. Thrown back on the
stores of his own mind, his latest impressions were those of the
conversations at St. Ange with the elder Caumartin, and the enthusiasm
excited for Henri IV. and his contemporaries. The idea of an epic on
this subject suggested itself. It flattered his honest pride to raise a
monument of glory to the French nation in the form of a national poem,
while he was the victim of the government; his literary vanity was
enticed by the idea of sending his name down to posterity as the author
of a French epic, a work hitherto unattempted in verse. He composed the
first two cantos in his dungeon, in his mind, committing them memory;
and it was his boast that, in all his subsequent improvements, he never
changed a word in the second canto. He was prouder, in after life, of
being the author of the "Henriade" than of any other production. His
contemporaries regarded it with admiration; even our own countryman,
lord Chesterfield, declares it the best epic in any language, simply
because, according to the reasons he gives, it is the most devoid of
imagination.
Epic poetry, in its essence, is the greatest achievement of the human
intellect. It takes a subject of universal interest; it exalts it by
solemn and sacred sentiments, and adorns it with sublime and beautiful
imagery, thus lifting it above humanity into something divine. While the
mind of man enjoys the attribute of being able to tincture its earthly
ideas with the glory of something greater than itself in its every day
guise, which it can only seize by snatches, and embody through the
exertion of a power granted only to the favoured few, whom we name great
poets,--and while it can exercise this power in giving grandeur to a
narration of lofty and sublime incidents,--while this can be done by
some, and appreciated by many, an epic must continue to rank as the
crowning glory of literature. We find nothing of all this in the
"Henriade." The very elevation of the sentiments is rendered commonplace
by Voltaire's inability to mould language to his thoughts. During the
whole poem he suffered language to be the shaper of his ideas--not the
material which he forced to take a shape. In his letters, he quotes
Fénélon's just opinion, that the French language might be adapted to
lyrical poetry, but not to epic. He fancies that he disproves this
assertion in the "Henriade;" while, in fact, he gives it entire
support.[1] The second canto is the favourite of many French critics.
They consider the account Henri IV. gives queen Elizabeth of the civil
struggles of France a masterpiece. It consists of a rapid and forcible
view of that disastrous period. But it contains no poetry. Voltaire's
imagination was fertile, versatile, and gay; in some of his tragedies,
he even rose to the passionate and energetic; but it wanted
elevation--it wanted the fairy hue--the sublime transfusion of the
material into the immaterial. It wanted, above all, a knowledge and love
of nature. There is not a word in the "Henriade" descriptive of scenery,
or storm, or calm, or night, or day, that is not commonplace, imitative,
and without real imagery. Of imagery, indeed, he has no notion. Besides
this, he always acted by his own verses as by those of others, and
corrected them into tameness. In a word, the "Henriade" has no
pretensions to success as an epic poem, and is, in whatever view we take
of it, dull and tiresome. Even in his days it had not enjoyed the
reputation it reached but for his admirable powers of reciting, by which
he fascinated the circles of Paris, and the peculiar circumstances that
rendered every other opinion in France an echo of those circles.[2]
There is an amusing anecdote told, which shows, however, that the charm
of his reading did not always suffice to gain unqualified approbation.
One day so many petty criticisms were flung at him, that, irritated to
the utmost, he exclaimed, "Then it is only fit to be burnt!" and threw
the poem into the fire. The president Hainaut sprang forward, and saved
it, saying, as he gave it back to the author, "You must not think that
your poem is better than its hero. Yet, notwithstanding his faults, he
was a great king, and the best of men." "Remember," the president
afterwards wrote, "that it cost me a pair of lace ruffles to save it
from the fire."
The chief interest of the poem lies in the era of its conception, and in
the fact that its composition alienated the horrors of his dungeon. At
last he was set free. The duke of Orléans being informed of his
innocence, he was liberated. The regent compensated for the mistake by a
present of money. Voltaire, on thanking the regent, said, "I thank your
royal highness for continuing to support me, but I entreat you not to
burden yourself again with finding me a lodging." The genius and wit,
however, of Voltaire, continued to expose him to calumny and danger. He
was suspected of having written the "Philippiques," a clever, but most
atrocious libel against the regent and his family. His frequent visits
at Sceaux, the palace of the duchess de Maine, and his intimacy with
Goerts, caused his name to be mingled in the intrigues which cardinal
Alberoni excited in France. The regent, however, refused to credit his
enemies, and limited his displeasure to an intimation that he had better
absent himself from Paris for a time. Voltaire spent several months in
going from one friend's chateau to another, being sedulously occupied,
meanwhile, by the "Henriade" and other literary projects. The most
important in his eyes was his tragedy of "Œdipus."
[Sidenote: 1718.
Ætat.
24.]
This piece, commenced at eighteen, altered and altered again, was at
last brought out, and had the greatest success. This was not solely
caused by its intrinsic merit. The reputation of the author, its being
his first tragedy, and the discussions to which it gave rise with regard
to the ancient and modern theatre, imparted a factitious interest; it was
attacked and defended on all sides, and pamphlets were daily published
and hawked about on the subject. To these legitimate sources of interest
were added the unworthy one of the calumnies in vogue against the duke
of Orléans, which made the odious subject of the tragedy peculiarly
piquante.[3]
Voltaire wrote several letters on the treatment of his subject. His
critique on the tragedies of Sophocles gives us, at once, the measure of
his taste and learning: nothing can be more contemptible than either.
The French _soi-disant_ poet was utterly incapable of entering into the
solemn spirit of the Athenian tragedian, and still less could he
comprehend his sublime poetry, being even ignorant of the language in
which it was written. The "Œdipus Tyrannus" of Sophocles is admirable
as a work of art, and more admirable from a certain majesty that
sustains the subject and characters to the end, and from the solemn,
magnificent beauty of the choruses. All this was a dead letter to the
sprightly Parisian, who admits that had Sophocles lived in his days, he
had written better, but had never approached the greatness of Racine.
The life of Voltaire was an alternation of pleasure and literary labour,
which would have been infinitely delightful but for that system of
caballing which existed in French society, more especially among
authors. Voltaire had to struggle with the envious and the presumptuous.
His method of warfare was bold; it was that of attack rather than of
defence. He was unsparing towards his enemies, and this perpetuated
hostilities that robbed him of peace and leisure. Add to this, his
labours were often interrupted by bodily suffering; for, though his
constitution was strong, he was afflicted by a painful disease. Still
pleasure waited on his moments of ease and leisure. Sometimes he resided
in Paris, but much of his time was spent in visiting, by turns, the
chateaus of the chief nobility; private theatricals, in which his own
plays were got up with care and splendour, were principal amusements at
these country residences. While at Maisons, a chateau belonging to the
president des Maisons, he was seized with the small-pox, on the very eve
of a festival, during which a comedy was to be acted, and he, himself,
was to read his tragedy of "Mariamne;" he was attended by Gervasi, who
treated him in the, then, novel manner, of letting blood and lowering
remedies, by means of which he recovered. His friend Thiriot came up
from Normandy, and waited on him with anxious solicitude. When he
recovered, "Mariamne" was brought out; it went through forty
representations, though it nearly fell on the first, through the levity
of a Parisian audience. When, in the fifth act, Mariamne put the cup of
poison to her lips, a man in the pit called out, "La Reine boit!" On the
succeeding night the mode of her death was changed. Restless, and on the
alert for the ridiculous, the danger of saying anything that suggested
a ludicrous or familiar idea continually hampered a French tragedian;
yet, with all his vanity and eagerness for success, Voltaire's lively
spirits made him sometimes jest with peril. When "Œdipus" was acted, he
went on the stage himself, holding up the train of the high priest, and
played such antics that the maréchal de Villars asked who the young
man was who was desirous of getting the piece condemned. This very
liveliness was, however, a great cause of his universal success. The
Parisians, and especially the nobility, desired to be amused, and no man
was ever born so fitted to afford excitement to the circles of the rich
and gay, as the vain, witty, restless, eager poet, who made a jest of
everything, yet rendered all instinct with the interest imparted by his
good heart and versatile talents.
His quarrel with Jean Baptiste Rousseau is characteristic. He visited
Holland in 1722 with madame Rupelmonde. When passing through Brussels,
he sought out the poet whom he had befriended in his need, and whose
talents he admired. They met with delight. Voltaire called him his
master and judge; he placed his "Henriade" in his hand, and read him
various of his epistles. All went smilingly for a short time. Rousseau
read some of his poetry in return. Voltaire did not approve. Rousseau
was piqued. Various sarcasms were interchanged. Rousseau had composed an
"Ode to Posterity." Voltaire told him that it would never reach its
address. A violent quarrel ensued, and Rousseau became his bitter enemy.
A more serious dissension interrupted the routine of his life. One day,
dining at the table of the duke de Sully, one of his warmest friends, he
was treated impertinently by the chevalier de Rohan, a man of high
birth, but disreputable character. The chevalier asked. Who he was?
Voltaire replied that he did not inherit a great name, but would never
dishonour that which he bore. The chevalier angrily left the room, and
took his revenge by causing him to be seized and struck with a cane by
his servants. Such were the prejudices then existent in the minds of the
French noblesse, that though the duke de Sully esteemed and even loved
Voltaire, and held the chevalier de Rohan in contempt, yet the bourgeois
birth of the former, and noble blood of the latter, caused him to show
himself perfectly indifferent to the insult. Voltaire resolved to avenge
himself. He secluded himself from all society, and practised fencing
carefully. As soon as he considered himself a match for his enemy, he
sought him out at the opera, and demanded satisfaction. The chevalier
appointed time and place for a duel, and then acquainted his family. The
consequence was, the instant arrest of his antagonist, and his
imprisonment for six months in the Bastille; to which was added the
further injustice of an order of exile after his liberation from prison.
[Sidenote: 1728.
Ætat.
34.]
Voltaire took this opportunity to visit England. He had been acquainted
with lord and lady Bolingbroke in France. He appreciated the talents of
the illustrious Englishman, admired his various knowledge, and was
fascinated by the charms of his conversation. Although he never appears
to have at all understood the real foundations of English liberty, yet
he appreciated its effects, especially at a moment when he was suffering
so grievously from an act of despotism. Liberty of thought was in his
eyes a blessing superior to every other. He read the works of Locke with
enthusiasm; and while he lamented that such disquisitions were not
tolerated in France, he became eager to impart to his countrymen the new
range of ideas he acquired from the perusal. The discoveries of Newton
also attracted his attention. He exchanged the frivolities of Paris for
serious philosophy. He became aware that freedom from prejudice and the
acquirement of knowledge were not mere luxuries intended for the few,
but a blessing for the many; to confer and extend which was the duty of
the enlightened. From that moment he resolved to turn his chief
endeavours to liberate his country from priestly thraldom and antique
prejudices. He felt his powers; his industry was equal to his wit, and
enabled him to use a vast variety of literary weapons. What his
countrymen deemed poetry, the drama, history, philosophy, and all
slighter compositions, animated by wit and fancy, were to be put in use
by turns for this great end. He published his "Henriade" while in
England. It was better received than it deserved; and the profits he
gained were the foundation of his future opulence. He wrote the tragedy
of "Brutus," in which he imagined that he developed a truly republican
spirit, and a love of liberty worthy of the Romans.
He spent three years in exile. He became eager to return to his country,
to his friends, and to a public which naturally understood him better,
and could sympathise more truly with him than the English. He ventured
over to Paris. For a time his return was known only to a few friends,
and he resided in an obscure quarter of the capital. By degrees he took
courage; and the success of various tragedies which he brought out
raised him high in public favour, and promised greater security for the
future. He was regarded as the pride of France by the majority of his
countrymen. The priesthood--accustomed to persecute on the most
frivolous pretexts of difference of opinion--who had excited Louis XIV.
to banish the Jansenists and suppress their convents--to exile the
virtuous Fénélon--to massacre the Huguenots, who had long wielded
religion as a weapon of offence and destruction, and had risen to a bad
height of power by its misuse--held him in the sincerest hatred; while
his attacks, excited by, and founded on, their crimes, unveiled to the
world a scene which, had it not been rife with human suffering, had been
worthy only of ridicule. A couplet in "Œdipus" first awakened their
suspicion and hatred:--
"Nos prêtres ne sont point ce qu'un vain peuple pense,
Notre crédulité fait tout leur science."
From that moment they lay in wait to crush him. It needed all his
prudence to evade the effects of their enmity. There was a party in
Paris, indeed, who went to the opposite extreme, by which he was
idolised--a party which saw no medium between the superstition upheld by
the clergy and direct disbelief, which it termed philosophy. This,
indeed, is one of the chief mischiefs of Catholicism--by demanding too
much of faith, it engenders entire infidelity; and by making men, sinful
as ourselves, the directors of the conduct and thoughts, it injures the
moral sense and deadens the conscience. The party in opposition had not
yet risen to the height of talent it afterwards displayed; but it
sufficed, through the rank, abilities, and number of the persons of whom
it was composed, to encourage Voltaire in his career. Another chief
support was derived from the liberal independence of means which he had
attained. He inherited a competent fortune from his father and brother;
the profits of "Œdipus" added to it; the duke of Orléans had made him
presents; the queen of Louis XV. bestowed a pension on him; the edition
of the "Henriade," brought out in London, augmented his means
considerably: he was economical and careful. A fortunate speculation in
a lottery instituted to pay the debts of the city of Paris, in which,
from certain happy calculations, he was the chief winner, raised him to
opulence. He was charitable and benevolent; and though, in his letters,
we find allusions to his donations, this is never done ostentatiously,
but with the plain speech of a man who, having fabricated his own
fortune, knows the value of money, and keeps strict account of his
expenditure. At this juncture we may also speak, of his change of name.
It was the custom, as is well known, for the younger branches of noble
families in France to assume the name of some estate, so to distinguish
themselves from their relations. In the middling ranks the same custom
was in a manner followed. Boileau took the name of Despréaux, and his
younger brother that of Puy Morin, to distinguish themselves from the
elder. People in this rank did not assume the _de_--distinctive of
territorial possession. François-Marie Arouet thought it worth while,
however, to purchase the estate of Voltaire (as Madame Searron, at Louis
XIV.'s instigation, had that of Maintenon), as a means of elevating
himself to a more respectable position in the eyes of his
contemporaries. He succeeded; and though, to our ears, Arouet had
sounded as well as Voltaire, did it stand in the title-page of his
works; in his own day, in spite of various petty attacks from his
enemies, the one he assumed was regarded by his countrymen with greater
complacency.
The heyday of youth was passing away with Voltaire; his vivacity was
still the same: but, from the period of his return from his exile in
England, he began to look differently on life; and while he still
regarded literary labour as his vocation, literary glory as the aim of
his existence, he grew indifferent to the pleasures of society. At one
time he meditated expatriating himself; thus to acquire liberty of
writing and publishing without fear of the Bastille. His attachment for
madame du Châtelet caused him to alter this plan. This lady was
distinguished for her learning, her love of philosophy, and talent for
the abstruse sciences. She was witty, and endowed with qualities
attractive in society; but she preferred study, and the acquisition of
literary renown, in seclusion. This friend induced Voltaire to remain in
France, but strengthened his purpose of retiring from Paris. Various
persecutions were, however, in wait for him before he gained a tranquil
retreat.
Voltaire wrote his tragedies as a means of gaining public favour. He
knew his countrymen. As a sovereign of the French must gather popularity
by leading them to victory and military glory, so must an author, who
would acquire their favour, achieve eminent success, at once to raise
their enthusiasm, and to gratify their vanity, by making them
participate in the greatness of his name. On his return from England,
Voltaire determined to acquire the popular favour, by his triumphs in
the drama. At first he was not as successful as he wished: his "Brutus"
fell coldly on the gay, excitement-hunting Parisians; "Eryphile," on
which he spent excessive pains,--remodelling and re-writing different
portions again and again,--had faults that the author's quick eye
discerned at once to be incurable, and he withdrew it after the first
representation. "Zaire" repaid him for these disappointments;--"Zaire,"
which, whatever its faults may be, is so fresh, so eloquent, so deeply
and naturally pathetic. This play was written in twenty-two days. It was
a happy thought.
[Sidenote: 1732.
Ætat.
38.]
Voltaire writes concerning it: "I never worked so fast; subject carried
me on, and the piece wrote itself. I have tried to depict what has been
long in my head,--Turkish manners contrasted with Christian manners; and
to unite, in the same picture, all that our religion has of dignified,
and even tender, with an affecting and passionate love." Two months
afterwards, he writes: "I wish you had witnessed the success of 'Zaire;'
allow me to enjoy freely, with you, the pleasure of succeeding. Never
was piece played so well as 'Zaire' at the fourth representation. I wish
you had been there; you would have seen that the public does not hate
your friend. I appeared in a box, and the whole pit clapped. I blushed,
and hid myself; but I should be deceitful did I not confess that I was
deeply moved;--it is delightful not to be put to shame in one's own
country." But, after this triumph, he laboured to correct his piece. He
feared, he said, to have owed too much to the large dark eyes of
mademoiselle Gaussin, and to the picturesque effect produced by the
mingling of plumes and turbans on the stage. He felt, for the moment,
that he had arrived at the height of literary renown, and that his task
was nearly fulfilled. "What labour and pains I go through," he writes, "or
this smoke of vain glory! Yet what should we do without the chimæra?
it is as necessary to the soul as food to the body. I shall re-write
'Eryphile,' and the 'Death of Cæsar,'--all for this smoke. Meanwhile I
am correcting the 'History of Charles XII.' for an edition in Holland;
and when this is done, I shall finish the 'Letters on England,' which
you know of,--that will be a month's work; after which I must return to
my dramas, and finish, at lastly the 'History of the Age of Louis XIV.'
This, dear friend, is the plan of my life."
New persecutions were in store for him, to disturb his schemes.
Mademoiselle de Couvreur was the most eminent actress of the time; she
was his friend, and had shown her generosity by attending on him at the
dangerous moment of his attack of small pox. She was worthy of his good
opinion; there was a dignity in her character which imparted the chief
charm to her acting, and rendered her estimable in private life. When
she died, according to the insulting practice of the French clergy,
burial rites and holy ground were denied the corpse, and she was
interred on the banks of the Seine. Voltaire could not restrain his
indignation. Warmed by esteem for his friend, and contempt for the
priesthood, he wrote her apotheosis, which drew on him the outcry of
impiety, and forced him to conceal himself for some months in a village
of Normandy.
Scarcely had this storm passed off, than another broke over him. His
exile in England occurred during the reign of George II., at a time when
literature boasted of great and glorious names; and if the principles of
political liberty were less well understood than now, they appeared in a
highly flourishing condition to the Frenchman. He regarded with
admiration the blessings derived from toleration in religion, a
comparatively free government, a press unfettered by a censorship, and
the general diffusion of knowledge. He wished to describe these things
and their effects to his countrymen, and he wrote his "Lettres sur les
Anglais." There is nothing--save a passing Voltairian sarcasm here and
there--to shock our notions in this work. It begins with an account of
the Quakers,--to demonstrate that dissent in religion, joined to
independence of thought and action, could accord with a peaceable
fulfilment of the duties of a subject. He commences with a humorous
description of a Quaker, to whom he was introduced, who receives him
with his hat on, and without making a bow; speaks to him with the thee
and thou, and defends the peculiar tenets of his sect. He goes on to
give the history of Fox and Penn. Other letters concern the parliament,
the government, the encouragement given to literary men, and literature
itself, of the introduction of inoculation; and then comes his main
topic,--the discoveries of Newton, and the philosophy of Locke. It is a
work that would have excited no censure in England; but he was well
aware that both it and its author would be denounced in France. When he
thought of publishing it, he at the same time entertained the plan of
expatriation; when he relinquished this, he meant to suppress his book;
but it was published through the treachery of a bookseller. A _lettre de
cachet_ was granted against him, of which he received timely notice, and
left Paris to conceal himself at Cirey, while he gave out that he was in
England. The volume itself was publicly burnt. He obtained a cessation
of the persecution by causing the edition to be given up; but he did not
return to Paris, and continued to inhabit the chateau of Cirey, in
Champagne, a property of the marquis du Châtelet, where he and his
wife, and their illustrious friend, lived for the space of six years in
seclusion and laborious study.
We have, from various sources, descriptions of the life he led at Cirey;
not a little instructive from the light they throw on human nature, and
on Voltaire's own character. Voltaire tells us, himself, in his
"Fragment of Memoirs," that, weary of the idle, turbulent life led at
Paris, of the pretensions of the silly, the cabals of the wicked, and
persecutions of bigots, he resolved to pass some years in the country at
the chateau of madame du Châtelet. This lady had received a careful
education, was perfectly mistress of the Latin language, but her
inclination led her to prefer the study of metaphysics and mathematics.
Her ardour for the acquisition of knowledge was unspeakably great, and
she longed for retirement, where she might dedicate her whole time to
study. Voltaire taught her English: she read Leibnitz and Newton. Both
she and her friend aspired to the prize given by the Academy of Science,
for a treatise on fire; and their essays were mentioned with praise,
though the prize was gained by the celebrated Euler. Voltaire was told,
however, by an enlightened friend, that he would never be great in
science. He was glad of this. The arguments and taste of madame du
Châtelet, and his own love of all that was absolutely and demonstrably
true, led him to cultivate abstruse science; but the bent of his genius
and imagination, fertile of plot, situation, and development of passion,
made him turn with delight to the composition of tragedies, the
investigation of the philosophy of history, and the writing lighter
productions, in which he gave full scope to his sarcastic spirit, his
wit, and, we grieve to add, the impurity of his imagination: for this
was the great defect of Voltaire, arising from his inability to
appreciate the sublime, and his contempt of what he considered monkish
virtues, that he loved to indulge in jests, the point of which lay in
the grossest indecency. Having broken loose from the fetters of
mathematics, he wrote "Alzire," "Mérope," "The Prodigal Child," and
"Mahomet." He laboured at his "Essay on the Manners and Spirit of
Nations;" he collected materials for the "History of the Age of Louis
XIV.;" and he relaxed from these labours by writing the "Pucelle
d'Orléans." One of his chief amusements, also, was bringing out his
tragedies at his private theatre. He was a good actor, and an admirable
teacher of the art.
Somewhat in contrast to the sort of fairy splendour and paradisaical
happiness which, from his memoirs and letters, we might judge to have
been the portion of the inhabitants of Cirey, we have another account,
which does not indeed derogate from the character of Voltaire himself,
but which casts gloomy and tempestuous shadows over the picture of his
retirement. This account is worth quoting; though, as we shall
afterwards mention, the fair writer, from private reasons, represented
madame du Châtelet in darker colours than she merited.
When the marquis and marchioness du Châtelet resolved on inhabiting
Cirey, the chateau was in a state of dilapidation. A portion of it was
repaired, and furnished with princely magnificence; partly at the
expense of the owners, chiefly, it would seem, at Voltaire's, who built
a gallery and bath rooms, decorated his apartments with inlaid works of
marble, and adorned them with a variety of precious works of art.
Usually the family party was nearly uninterrupted. Madame du Châtelet
disliked receiving visitors who should intrude on her hours of study.
How the marquis regarded the severe labours of his wife, and the
permanent residence of his guest, we are not told; but he seems to have
been easy and complaisant. When visitors arrived, Voltaire exerted
himself to entertain them by acting plays, and by calling into
requisition the stores of his own mind, which, various and prolific,
never failed to enchant. There was a lady, madame de Graffigny, who had
been very unfortunate through the ill conduct of her husband.
[Sidenote: 1738.
Ætat.
44.]
She at last obtained a divorce; but she was poor, and nearly friendless.
She was asked to spend a few weeks at Cirey, and joyfully accepted the
flattering invitation. She had been residing at Lunéville, at the court
of the ex-king of Poland: she left there a friend, who had beep brought
up with her as a brother; and to him she poured out, in her letters, her
enthusiasm, her joy, and her subsequent disappointment and misery.
From the beginning, Voltaire acquired all her kindness by the cordiality
and friendliness of his reception, and the great and delicate attention
he paid to her comfort; while madame du Châtelet lost it by her
coldness and selfishness. Still the wit and talent of both made it at
first enchanted ground. "Supper was announced to me," she writes, "and I
was shown to an apartment which I recognised as Voltaire's. He came
forward to receive me; we placed ourselves at table--I was indeed happy.
We conversed on all subjects; poetry, the arts and sciences; and all in
a light and witty tone. I wish I could give you an account of his
charming, his enchanting conversation; but I cannot. The supper was not
abundant, but it was recherché, delicate, and good, and served on a
good deal of plate. Voltaire, placed next me, was as polite and
attentive as he is amusing and learned. The marquis was on my other
side--this is my place every evening; and thus my left ear is softly
charmed, while the right is but very slightly ennuied, for the marquis
speaks little, and retires as soon as we rise from table."
She describes the apartments of madame du Châtelet and Voltaire as
magnificent. His was hung with crimson velvet and gold fringe, the walls
were covered with pictures and looking-glasses, and the room crowded
with articles of luxury in worked silver. It opened into a small gallery
wainscotted with yellow wood, adorned by statues, furnished with books,
and filled with tables covered with curiosities and porcelain; opening
on a grotto that led to the garden. The rooms of madame du Châtelet
were far more elegant and rich; splendid with mirrors in silver frames,
and adorned with pictures of the first French artists. Her boudoir, of
which, in her vivacious style, the guest said, "you were ready to kneel
and worship for its elegant magnificence," opened on a terrace
commanding a beautiful prospect: the whole was a model of luxury, taste,
and elegance. Unfortunately, however, in repairing and furnishing, no
attention had been paid to any apartments but those occupied by madame
du Châtelet and Voltaire. Discomfort reigned everywhere else. Poor
madame de Graffigny was placed in an immense chamber, ill furnished--the
wind entering at a thousand crevices--which it was impossible to warm,
in spite of all the wood that was burnt. "In short," she says, "all that
does not belong to the lady or Voltaire is in a most disgusting state of
discomfort."
However, talent spread its charm over the place, although madame du
Châtelet, from the first, was no favourite with her guest, yet she
allows that she talked well, sang divinely; was witty, eloquent, and,
when she chose, pleasing; but, devoted to the study of abstruse
mathematics, she gave up nearly her whole time, night and day, to these
labours. Their way of life was regulated by their excessive industry. No
one appeared till twelve o'clock, when coffee was announced in
Voltaire's gallery for the chosen guests, while the marquis and others
dined. At the end of half an hour Voltaire bowed his friends out; each
retired to their room, and did not assemble again till nine for supper.
This was the chosen season for conversation and enjoyment. He read to
them passages from his works, he showed a magic lantern, and exerted all
his wit, his buffoonery, and knowledge in the explanations. Froward as a
child, amiable as a woman, always full of vivacity, his conversation was
an exhaustless source of laughter and delight. When any guests were
there whom they were peculiarly desirous of pleasing, everything was
done for their amusement: plays were acted--no moment of repose
allowed--all was gaiety and pleasure. "Voltaire," she writes, "is always
charming, always occupied with amusing me; he is never weary of paying
attention; he is uneasy if I seem the least ennuied. In short, I find,
from experience, that agreeable occupation is the charm of life. The
lady, at first a little cold, grows kinder, and we are become
familiar."--"Voltaire read us two cantos of his Joan, and we had a
delightful supper. Madame du Châtelet sang with her divine voice; we
laughed, we knew not why--we sang canons--it was a supper during which
gaiety made us say and do we knew not what; and we laughed at
nothing."--"The Marionettes have greatly diverted me; they are
delightful: the piece was played in which Punch's wife hopes to kill her
husband by singing _fagnana fagnana._ It was delicious to hear Voltaire
say, seriously, that the piece was excellent. It is silly, is it not, to
laugh at such follies? Yet I laughed. Voltaire is as delightful a child
as he is a wise philosopher."--"This morning we were to hear an epistle
read; but the fair lady was still in the same merry humour of yesterday;
and she began to joke Voltaire, who, holding his epistle in his hand,
parodied it against her in the most delightful manner: in short, there
was no reading. He laughed at first, but was a little annoyed at last.
For myself, I was ashamed to laugh so much; but there was so much wit;
each word came and shone like lightning, and all accompanied by such
vivacity and pleasantry that Heraclitus himself must have laughed."--"We
had the Marionettes again. Voltaire declared that he was jealous. Do you
know that I think that Voltaire shows genius in laughing at these
follies. I sat next him to-day; it was a delightful seat. Yesterday
evening he read an epistle which the fair lady criticised most wittily."
At other times, every hour was given to labour. Voltaire spent the
entire day writing: "Does he leave his work for a quarter of an hour
during the day," writes his guest, to pay me a visit, he does not sit
down, saying that the time lost in talking is frightful--that no moment
ought to be wasted, and loss of time is the greatest expense of all.
This has gone on for a month. "When we come in to sup he is at his desk;
we have half done before he joins us, and he is with difficulty
prevented from returning immediately after. He exerts himself to amuse
us during the meal; but evidently from sheer politeness: his thoughts
are far away." Madame du Châtelet was even more industrious. "She
spends her whole nights till five or six in the morning, writing; when
she finds herself overcome by sleep, she puts her hands in iced water,
and walks about the room to rouse herself. After this, instead of
sleeping till the middle of the day, she rises at nine or ten. In short,
she only gives two hours to sleep, and never leaves her desk except for
coffee and supper." This hard labour was productive of great ennui to
their guests, and considerable ill health to themselves; especially to
Voltaire, whose constitution was feeble: but the result with him was,
his voluminous works; and with her, a degree of scientific knowledge
surpassing that attained by almost every other adept of the day. Her
essays were full of most abstruse reasoning, and written in a clear and
elegant style. Madame de Graffigny had the highest opinion of her
understanding. "I have been reading her dissertation on fire; it is
written with admirable clearness, precision, and force of argument. I
beg Voltaire's pardon, but it is far superior to his. What a woman! How
little do I feel beside her! If my body grew as small, I could pass
through a key-hole. When women do write, they surpass men; but it
requires centuries to form a woman like this." Unfortunately, all this
talent was darkened by a vehement and irritable temper. By degrees the
truth became manifest, that these sages quarrelled violently. In madame
de Graffigny's account, some of these disputes are very whimsical. These
are trifles; but they display the inner nature of the man better than
more important events, and deserve record. Voltaire was writing the "Age
of Louis XIV.," in which he took great pride and pleasure, although from
the tyranny then existing in France, the publishing of it would have
doomed him to the Bastille. Madame du Châtelet locked up the
manuscript, and would not let him finish it. "He is dying to do so,"
madame de Graffigny writes; "it is the work, of all his, which he
prefers. She justifies herself by saying there is little pleasure in
writing a book that cannot be printed. I exhort him to go on, and to be
satisfied with the immortality he will gain. He said, yesterday, that
assuredly he would finish it, but not here. She turns his head with her
geometry; she likes nothing else."--"One day, being indisposed, the lady
could not write; so she went to bed, and sent for me, saying that
Voltaire would read his tragedy of 'Mérope.' When he came, she took it
into her head that he should change his coat. He objected, on the score
that he might catch cold, but at last had the complaisance to send for
his valet to get another coat. The servant could not be found. Voltaire
thought himself let off. Not at all: she recommenced her persecution
till Voltaire got angry. He said a few words in English, and left the
room. He was sent for; but replied he was taken ill. Adieu to
'Mérope!'--I was furious. Presently a visitor came, and I said I would
go to see Voltaire, and the lady told me to try to bring him back. I
found him in excellent humour, quite forgetful of his illness; but it
returned when we were sent for, and he was very sullen." Another time
she writes: "I pity poor Voltaire, since he and his friend cannot agree.
Ah, dear friend! where is there happiness on earth for mortals? We are
always deceived by appearances: at a distance, we thought them the
happiest people in the world; but, now that I am with them, I discern
the truth."
Nor was the lady always the peccant person. On one occasion madame de
Graffigny writes: "Voltaire is in a state resembling madness. He
torments his friend till I am forced to pity her. She has made me her
confidant. Voltaire is really mad. One day we were about to act a
comedy--every one was ready, when the post came in; he received
unpleasant letters: he burst forth into exclamations of anguish, and
fell into a species of convulsions. Madame du Châtelet came to me with
tears in her eyes, and begged me to put off the play. Yesterday he had
an interval of quiet, and we acted. How strange that, with all his
genius, he should be so absurd!"
Voltaire's disquiet arose from some defamatory attacks made on him by J.
B. Rousseau and the abbé Desfontaines. We have seen the history of his
intercourse with the former; it was unworthy the poet to revenge himself
by libels. Voltaire had exerted his influence to save Desfontaines when
accused of a capital offence: he was repaid by the publication of
calumnies. The attacks deserved contempt only; but Voltaire could not be
brought to this opinion: "I must have reparation," he writes to a
friend, "or I die dishonoured. Facts and the most shocking impostures
are in question. You know not to what a degree the abbé Desfontaines is
the oracle of the provinces. I am told that he is despised in Paris; yet
his 'Observations' sell better than any other work. My silence drives
him to despair, you say. Ah, how little do you know him! He will take my
silence as a mark of submission; and I shall be disgraced by the most
despicable man alive, without the smallest act of revenge--without
justifying myself."
With these feelings he thought it necessary to write a defence. He
proposed, at one time, entering on a lawsuit. And, to add to his
troubles, his friend Thiriot acted a weak, tergiversating part. Weak in
health, irritated in temper by excessive application, he was in a state
of too great excitement to judge calmly and act with dignity. For six
months every occupation was postponed to his desire of vengeance; a
serious attack of illness was the consequence. With this unfortunate
susceptibility when defamed, we must contrast his patience under every
other species of annoyance, and his constant benevolence. He suffered
various pecuniary losses at this time, but never complained, nor ceased
to benefit several literary men who had no resource except in his
generosity.
To return to Cirey and its letter-writing guest. Madame de Graffigny's
own turn for suffering came at last. The bigotry and severity of the
French government with regard to the press, while cardinal Fleuri was
minister, kept Voltaire and his friend in a continual state of
uneasiness. Twice since his retirement to Cirey he had been obliged to
fly to Holland to escape a _lettre de cachet_; and, meanwhile, he could
not resist writing satires on religion and government, which he read to
his friends; and, their existence becoming known, the cardinal was on
the alert. He had declared that if his burlesque of the "Pucelle"
appeared, the author should end his days in the Bastille. Madame du
Châtelet was more cautious and more fearful than Voltaire himself; and
the imprudence of the latter, and the frightful evils that impended, did
any treacherous friend either lay hands on any portion of the
manuscript, or have a memory retentive enough to write it after it was
read aloud, is in some degree an excuse for the otherwise unpardonable
liberty she took to waylay, open, and read the letters of her guests.
Madame de Graffigny had been delighted with a canto of "Joan," and sent
a sketch of its plan in a letter to her friend. M. Devaux, in answer,
simply replied, "The canto of 'Joan' is charming." The letter containing
these words was opened by madame du Châtelet. Her terror distorted the
meaning of the phrase, and represented in frightful colours the evil
that would ensue; for she fancied that madame de Graffigny had in some
manner possessed herself of, and sent to Lunéville, a canto of a poem
so forbidden and guarded, that she had prevented Voltaire from
communicating any portion of it to the prince royal of Prussia, lest any
accidental discovery should be made. The storm broke unexpectedly and
frightfully. Voltaire learnt and shared his friend's apprehensions. As
a means of discovering the extent of the mischief, he, unexpectedly, the
same evening, after madame de Graffigny had retired to her room, and was
occupied writing letters, visited her there, saying, that he was ruined,
and that his life was in her hands; and in reply to her expressions of
astonishment, informed her that a hundred copies of one of the cantos of
"Joan" were about in the world, and that he must fly to Holland,--to the
end of the world--for safety; that M. du Châtelet was to set out for
Lunéville; and that she must write to her friend Devaux to collect all
the copies. Madame de Graffigny, charmed that she had an opportunity of
obliging her kind host, assured him of her zeal, and expressed her
sorrow that such an accident should happen while she was his guest. On
this, Voltaire became furious: "No tergiversation, madam," he cried.
"You sent the canto!" Her counter-asseverations were of no avail--she
believed herself the most unlucky person in the world that the suspicion
should fall on her. In vain she protested. Voltaire at length asserted
that Devaux had read the canto sent by her to various persons, and that
madame du Châtelet had the proof in her pocket: her justification was
not attended to by the angry poet, who declared that he was
irretrievably ruined. In the midst of this frightful scene, which had
lasted an hour, madame du Châtelet burst into the room: her violence,
her abuse, and insulting expressions overwhelmed her poor guest.
Voltaire in vain endeavoured to calm her. At length madame de Graffigny
was informed of the cause of the tumult and accusation; she was shown
the phrase in her correspondent's letter,--"The canto of 'Joan' is
charming;"--she understood and explained its meaning. Voltaire believed
her on the instant, and made a thousand apologies. His friend was less
placable. Madame de Graffigny was obliged to promise to write for her
own letter containing the account of the canto of the poem, to prove her
innocence. She did this; and till it came all her letters were opened:
she was treated with haughtiness by the lady, and remained shut up in
her own room, solitary and sad; for, to crown her misfortunes, the poor
woman had not a sous in the world, and could not escape from a place
where she was exposed to so much insult. At length her letter was
returned. Madame du Châtelet took care to waylay it, and satisfied
herself by reading it; and then, a few days after, she apologised to her
unfortunate guest; and, fearful, indeed, of her ill report on the
subject, became remarkably civil and kind. Voltaire conducted himself
much better. "I believe," madame de Graffigny writes, "that he was
entirely ignorant of the practice of opening my letters; he appeared to
believe my simple word, and saw the illness I suffered, in consequence,
with regret. He often visited me in my room, shed tears, and said that
he was miserable at being the cause of my suffering. He has never once
entered my room without the humblest and most pathetic apologies; he
redoubled his care that I should be well attended; he even said that
madame du Châtelet was a terrible woman--that she had no flexibility of
heart, though it was good. In short, I have every reason to be content
with Voltaire."
Such was the paradise of Cirey. The arduous study and ill health of
Voltaire, the mental labours of his friend, their very accomplishments
and wit, tended, probably, to irritate tempers, irritable in themselves.
As to the poem, the cause of the storm, it had certainly better never
have been written than occasion so much fear, and pain, and misconduct.
We confess we have never read it. Its framework is indecency and
ridicule of sacred things; chiefly, indeed, of the legends of the
saints, which is more excusable; but still the whole is conceived in bad
taste. We cannot understand the state of manners when such a poem could
be read aloud to women; and we feel that we are scarcely fair judges of
persons living in a system and actuated by motives so contrary to our
own: so that, while we thank God we are not like them, we must be
indulgent to faults which we have not any temptation to commit.
Voltaire's residence at Cirey was marked by the commencement of his
correspondence with Frederic the Great, then prince royal of Prussia. It
is well known that this sovereign passed a youth of great
suffering--that he was imprisoned for an endeavour to escape from the
state of servitude to which his father reduced him. His dearest friend
was executed before his eyes, and measures taken that he himself should
be condemned to death. To avoid a recurrence of these misfortunes, he
lived in a most retired manner during the remainder of his father's
life; given up to the cultivation of poetry and the study of
philosophy. He shared the universal admiration entertained of Voltaire's
genius, and his noble daring in breaking down the obstacles which the
government and clergy of France threw in the way of the diffusion of
knowledge, and his resolution in devoting his life to authorship. He
addressed a letter to him at Cirey, requesting a correspondence.
Voltaire could not fail of being highly flattered by a prince, the heir
to a throne, who wrote to him that "Cirey should be his Delphos, and his
letters oracles." Voltaire was far from being behindhand in compliments.
He writes: "I shed tears of joy on reading your letter--I recognise a
prince who will assuredly be the delight of the human race. I am in
every way astonished: you speak like Trajan, you write like Pliny, and
you express yourself in French as well as our best writers. What a
difference between men! Louis XIV. was a great king--I respect his
memory; but he had not your humanity, nor spoke French as well. I have
seen his letters; he did not know the orthography of his own language.
Berlin will be, under your auspices, the Athens of Germany--perhaps of
Europe." The compliments on both sides were to a great degree sincere.
Frederic shared the enthusiastic, almost, worship in which Voltaire was
then generally held--and Voltaire regarding sovereigns and princes as
powerful enemies, or at best as mischievous animals, whom it was
necessary to stroke into innocuousness, was carried away by his delight
in finding one who adopted his own principles--looked up to him as a
master, and added to the value of his admiration, the fact of being
himself a man of genius. After Voltaire had quarrelled with him, he
spoke in a jocular tone of their mutual flattery; but still in a way
that shows how deeply it sank at the time. "The prince," he writes,
"employed his leisure in writing to the literary men of France, and the
principal burden of his correspondence fell on me. I received letters in
verse, metaphysical, historical, and political. He treated me as a
divine man; I called him Solomon; epithets which cost us nothing. Some
of these follies have been printed among my works; but, fortunately, not
the thirtieth part. I took the liberty to send him a very beautiful
writing desk; he was kind enough to present me with some trifles in
amber; and the coffee-house wits of Paris fancied, with horror, that my
fortune was made. He sent a young Courlander, named Keyserling,--no bad
writer of French verses himself,--from the confines of Pomerania, to us
at Cirey. We gave him a fête, and a splendid illumination in which the
cipher of the prince was hung with lamps, with the device, "The Hope of
the Human Race." In his pique, Voltaire speaks too slightingly. Had he
not been a prince, the correspondence of Frederic was worth having; it
is full of good sense and philosophical remark. It was a more
disagreeable task to correct his verses. Yet these are by no means had;
they are nearly as good as Voltaire's own. There is less pretension, but
often more spirit. The whole mass has no real claim to be called poetry;
and in these days nobody reads either: but when they were written, and
had the gloss of novelty, and the interest of passing events and living
men appended, they were at least respectable specimens of a talent,
which in its own sphere could attain much higher things.
The residence at Cirey was broken up by the necessity of attending to a
lawsuit of madame du Châtelet at Brussels, and she and her husband and
Voltaire proceeded thither.
[Sidenote: 1740.
Ætat.
46.]
At this period Frederic succeeded to the throne of Prussia. The
demonstrations of his friendship for Voltaire continued as fervent as
ever. "See in me only, I entreat you," he writes, "a zealous citizen, a
somewhat sceptical philosopher, but a truly faithful friend. For God's
sake write to me simply as a man; join with me in despising titles,
names, and all exterior splendour." Voltaire replied, "Your majesty
orders me, when I write, to think of him less as a king than as a man.
This is a command after my own heart. I know not how to treat a king;
but I am quite at my ease with a man whose head and heart are full of
love for the human race." Frederic, now that he was emancipated from his
father's control, was most eager to see Voltaire. He asked him to visit
him. Voltaire considered his friendship with madame du Châtelet as of
more worth than the protection of a king; for although, through vivacity
of temper and absence of self-control, they quarrelled, there was a deep
feeling of mutual kindness and sympathy on both sides. The king had been
ready to lavish compliments on the "divine Emily;" but his indifference
to women, and his many and important occupations, made him shrink from
receiving a French court lady, full of wit, caprice, and
self-importance. He wrote: "If Emily must accompany Apollo, I consent;
but if I can see you alone, I should prefer it." It ended in Frederic's
forming the plan of including Brussels in a tour he made, and visiting
his friend there. Voltaire's own account of their interview is full of
spirit and pleasantry; showing how, in reality, a Frenchman, accustomed
to the splendour and etiquette of his native court, could ill comprehend
the simplicity and poverty of Prussia. He writes: "The king's ambassador
extraordinary to France arrived at Brussels; as soon as he alighted at
an inn, he sent me a young man, whom he had made his page, to say that
he was too tired to pay me a visit, but begged me to come to him, and
that he had a rich and magnificent present for me from the king, his
master. 'Go quickly,' cried madame du Châtelet, 'I dare say he brings
you the crown jewels.' I hurried off, and found the ambassador, who,
instead of port-manteau, had behind his carriage a quarter of wine,
belonging to the late king, which the reigning sovereign ordered me to
drink. I exhausted myself in protestations of surprise and gratitude for
this liquid mark of his majesty's goodness, substituted for the solid
ones he had given me a right to expect, and I shared the wine with
Camas. My Solomon was then at Strasbourg. The fancy had taken him while
visiting his long and narrow dominions, which reached from Gueldres to
the Baltic sea, to visit, incognito, the frontiers and troops of France.
He took the name, at Strasbourg, of the count du Four, a rich Bohemian
nobleman. He sent me, at Brussels, an account of his travels, half
prose, half verse, in the style of Bachaumont and Chapelle; that is, as
near the style as, a king of Prussia could attain; telling of had roads
and the passport he was obliged to give himself, which, having with him
a seal with the arms of Prussia, he easily fabricated; and the surprise
his party excited--some taking them for sovereigns, others for
swindlers. From Strasbourg he visited his states in Lower Germany, and
sent word that he would visit me at Brussels incognito. We prepared a
good residence for him; but falling ill at the little castle of Meuse,
two leagues from Clèves, he wrote to beg that I would make the first
advances. I went, therefore, to present my most profound homage.
Maupertuis, who already had his own views, and was possessed by a mania
to be president of an academy, had presented himself, and lodged with
Algarotti and Keyserling in a loft of this palace. I found a single
soldier as guard at the gate. The privy counsellor Rambonet, minister of
state, was walking about the court, blowing his fingers; he had on large
dirty linen ruffles, a hat full of holes, and an old judge's wig, which
on one side reached to his pockets, and on the other scarcely touched
his shoulder. I was told, and truly, that this man was charged with
important state affairs. I was conducted to his majesty's apartment,
where I saw only four walls. At length, by the light of a candle, I
perceived, in a closet, a truckle bed, two feet and a half wide, on
which was a little man, wrapped in a dressing-gown of coarse blue cloth.
It was the king, trembling beneath an old counterpane, in a violent
access of fever. I bowed to him, and began my acquaintance by feeling
his pulse, as if I had been his first physician. When the access was
over, he dressed and went to supper with me, Algarotti, Keyserling,
Maupertuis, and his minister to the States General. We conversed on the
immortality of the soul, free will, and Plato's "Androgynes." Counsellor
Rambonet meanwhile mounted a hack, and, after riding all night, arrived
at the gates of Liège, where he made a requisition in the name of the
king, his master, which two thousand of his troops helped him to
enforce. Frederic even charged me with writing a manifesto, which I did
as well as I could, not doubting that a king with whom I supped, and who
called me his friend, must be in the right. The affair was soon
arranged, through the payment of a million, which he exacted in ducats,
which served to indemnify him for the expense of his journey to
Strasbourg, of which he had complained in his poetic letter. I grew
attached to him, for he had talent and grace; and besides, he was a
king, which, considering human weakness, is always a great fascination.
Generally we literary men flatter kings; but he flattered me, while
abbé Desfontaines and other rascals defamed me once a week at Paris.
"The king of Prussia, before his father's death, had written a work
against the principles of Machiavelli. If Machiavelli had had a prince
for disciple, he would have recommended him, in the first place, to
write against him; but the prince royal did not understand this sort of
finesse. He had written in good faith at a time when he was not
sovereign; and his father inspired him with no partiality for despotic
power. He sincerely praised moderation and justice, and in his
enthusiasm regarded every usurpation as a crime. He had sent me the
manuscript to correct and publish. I now began to feel remorse at
printing the "Anti-Machiavel," while the king of Prussia, with an
hundred millions in his treasury, took one, by means of counsellor
Rambonet, from the poor inhabitants of Liège. I suspected that my
Solomon would not stop there. His father had left sixty-six thousand
four hundred excellent soldiers. He augmented the number, and seemed
eager to make use of them. I represented to him that it was not quite
right to print his book at a time when he might be reproached for
violating its precepts. He permitted me to stop the edition. I went to
Holland entirely to do him this little service; but the bookseller asked
so much money in compensation, that the king, who in his heart was not
sorry to see himself in print, preferred being so for nothing, rather
than to pay not to be."
We have extracted this whole account as highly characteristic, and as
explanatory of much that followed. Frederic loved and enjoyed talent,
and was himself a man of genius; he was simple-minded as a German;
unaccustomed to show and luxury; but he was a king and a soldier. He was
young and ambitious. Voltaire laughed at his economy, ridiculed his
plainness, saw through his pretensions to liberal opinions, and jested
wittily on their friendship. Yet, withal, he was flattered by it. He saw
a refuge and a support against the persecutions he feared in his own
country; and though he would have preferred that a sovereign who called
him friend had been more royal in outward show, he was forced to be
satisfied that though badly dressed and meanly attended, yet he was
really a king, with millions in his coffres, and thousands of soldiers
at his command, and, above all, a man of genius. "He is the most
delightful man in the world," he writes, "and would be sought by every
one, even were he not a king: philosophical without austerity, full of
gentleness, complaisance, and agreeable qualities; forgetting that he is
a sovereign as soon as he is with his friends, and so forgetting, that
it required an effort of memory to recollect that he was one." Such was
the impression which the young king made on his older friend, who had
been accustomed to courts and royalty. But still he felt that the friend
of a king is not half as independent in the royal palace as in another
kingdom. Probably madame du Châtelet's admirable understanding helped
to keep him firm; at any rate, while she lived he declined all
Frederic's invitations, and declared his tie of friendship with the
"divine Emily" paramount to every other.
Voltaire and madame du Châtelet had agreed to vary their solitude at
Cirey by visits to the metropolis. The leisure afforded by the seclusion
of the country was congenial to labour. Far from the society and
interruptions of Paris, they could both devote their whole minds to the
subjects on which they were occupied; but they found difficulty in
getting books. It was impossible at a distance from the capital for
Voltaire to have access to the state papers necessary for the historical
works he had in hand, or for the lady to keep up that communication with
men of letters which, in matters of science particularly, is necessary
to any one ambitious of extending and confirming discoveries. Yet the
change was to be regretted. The vivacity of Voltaire's temper had caused
him to be disturbed by the attacks of his enemies in his retirement. In
the thick of society these attacks were more multifarious and stinging;
and added to this, his reputation in the capital for a wit, could only
be kept up by a sort of small money of authorship, so to speak, which
frittered away the treasures of his mind.
The death of the emperor Charles VI. plunged Europe in war. France
interfered to cause the elector of Bavaria to be chosen emperor, and
attacked Maria Theresa of Austria, daughter of Charles VI. The king of
Prussia, a potentate who had not yet figured in the wars of Europe,
desirous of taking advantage of the distressed state of the empire,
seized on Silesia. Twice Voltaire was employed by his court to sound the
intentions of his royal correspondent, and to influence him to ally
himself with France. The first mission of this sort that he undertook
was at the request of cardinal Fleuri.
Cardinal Fleuri had been the author's friend in his early days. Voltaire
took great pleasure in conversing with him, and collecting his anecdotes
on the reign of Louis XIV. The cardinal was a timid man; the scope of
his policy as minister, was to keep France at peace and Paris tranquil;
to prevent all movement in the public mind, and to suppress literary
influence, whether it tended to enlarge the boundaries of human
knowledge, or to remark upon the events and personages of the day. He
kept a tight hand over Voltaire. Several _lettres de cachet_ had been
issued against him, and he had declared imprisonment in the Bastille
should punish any future literary imprudence. Voltaire could only keep
up a semblance of kindness and toleration by giving every outward mark
of submission. It was matter of pride to him when he was applied to by
the minister to visit Frederic, and learn his real intentions with
regard to his attack on Silesia. His mission was secret; so that it was
supposed that he had taken refuge in Prussia from some new persecution;
while Frederic himself, not well comprehending his sudden apparition,
after his frequent refusals, guessed that it was connected with
politics, and showed himself for a moment dubious of his integrity. But
this cloud was soon dissipated. The king tried to tempt the poet to
remain. He was firm in his refusal. "I have quitted a brilliant and
advantageous establishment," he writes; "I received the most flattering
offers, and great regret was expressed because I would not accept them;
but how could courts and kings and emolument outweigh a ten years'
friendship: they would scarcely console me, did this friendship fail
me." Nor did friendship alone recal him; he was eager for the applause
of a Parisian audience. Any one who reads his letters, will perceive how
Voltaire was wrapt up in his writings; enthusiasm could alone sustain
him through so much labour. He was desirous that the tragedy of f
Mahomet' should be acted; he was allowed to choose his own censor: he
selected Crebillon, but Crebillon refused the licence; and an intimacy
of thirty years ended in a quarrel.
To compensate for this disappointment, Voltaire brought out this tragedy
at Lille. He found La Noue there, who was well fitted for the part of
Mahomet; and Clairon in her youth, who took the part of Palmyre. During
an interval between the acts, a letter was brought to Voltaire,
announcing the gain of the battle of Molwitz; he rose and read it aloud
from his box. The applause redoubled; and he afterwards said, jestingly,
that the victory of Molwitz had insured the success of "Mahomet." The
tragedy was approved even by the clergy at Lille, and Fleuri, when he
read it, saw no objection to its being acted. It was brought out in
Paris under brilliant auspices; but the clergy formed a cabal; it was
declared to be a covert attack on the Christian religion, and Fleuri
weakly begged the author to withdraw it after the second representation.
[Sidenote: 1743.
Ætat.
49.]
When cardinal Fleuri died, and Louis XV. declared he would have no other
first minister, Voltaire hoped to establish his influence on surer
foundations, through his long-established friendship with the duke de
Richelieu. This libertine, but not unambitious, noble sought to lay the
foundations of his power by any means, however disgraceful. By giving
the king a mistress of his own choosing, he hoped to rule his sovereign;
and while the duchess de Châteauroux lived, he possessed considerable
power. One of the first advantages Voltaire wished to reap was, to
succeed to the seat in the academy, vacant by the death of cardinal
Fleuri.
To understand the importance Voltaire attached to success in this
endeavour, we must consider his views and his position. The chief aim of
his life was to diffuse in France that knowledge and freedom of
discussion which was permitted in England, but which was barred out of
his country with a rigorous and persecuting spirit. At the same time,
desirous of living in his native land, and to reap there the fruits of
his labours in the applause of his countrymen, he wished to insure his
personal security. As a chief means to this end, he believed it
necessary to gain the favour of influential persons about the sovereign,
and to make himself one of a powerful society, such as formed the French
academy. Voltaire understood his countrymen. He knew how a word can
sway--how a jest could rule them. His own temper was vivacious and
irritable. He never spared an enemy. While accusing Boileau and Molière
for holding up the poetasters of their day to ridicule, did any of the
_literati_ attack him, he defended himself with acrimonious sarcasm and
pertinacious abuse. He spared no epithet of contempt, no vehemence of
condemnation, nor any artful manœuvre, so to obtain the advantage.
While he thus sought to annihilate his foes, and to secure himself, the
gates of the Bastille yawned in view, and by the tremour which the sight
inspired, added that bitterness to his sensations which the fear of
disaster inspires. These were the causes of the virulence of his
diatribes--of the sting of his epigrams in which he devotes Piron and
others to everlasting ridicule. It was on this account that he sought to
be a member of the academy.
The moment he began to canvass for the vacant seat in the academy, a
violent cabal was formed to oppose him. Maurepas, secretary of state, an
excellent man, but narrow-minded, was the moving spring of the
opposition. He pat forward a Theatin monk, named Boyer, as his agent.
This man declared that the deceased cardinal's empty chair could only be
filled properly by a bishop. He found some difficulty in finding a
prelate who chose to undertake the invidious part; one was at last
found, and Voltaire lost his election. The same scene was renewed when
another vacancy recurred, during the following year. In some degree the
poet was consoled by the success of the tragedy of "Mérope." The
audience were transported by enthusiasm; they perceived the author in a
box--they insisted on his coming forward. The young and beautiful
duchess de Villars was with him. She was called upon to embrace the
poet; at first she was embarrassed by the singular part she was called
on to act, but, recovering herself, obeyed the call of the pit with the
grace that distinguished a high-born Frenchwoman. Voltaire might well
desire to achieve success with an audience of his countrymen, when such
were the tokens he received of triumph.
The king of Prussia, meanwhile, having exhausted his finances by war,
and gained two provinces, found it eligible to conclude a peace with
Maria Theresa; a peace, detrimental to the interests of France, which
was thus left to carry on the war single-handed. It became matter of
policy to induce Frederic to infringe a treaty scarcely signed. The duke
de Richelieu requested Voltaire to be the negotiator. Again his mission
was secret. He pretended to renounce his country, disgusted by the cabal
carried on by Boyer against him, and he had the appearance of applying
to Frederic for refuge and defence against the injustice he met in his
native country. Voltaire's own account of this negotiation is written in
his usual jesting, sarcastic style; he made a joke of the bishop, his
successful rival; and when Frederic answered by a deluge of pleasantries
on the subject, he took care to make his letters public. The bishop of
Mirepoix complained to the king that he was made to pass for a fool at
foreign courts; but Louis XV. replied that it was a thing agreed upon,
and that he must not mind it. Voltaire remarks that this reply was
opposed to Louis's usual character, and that it appeared extraordinary.
But the king probably spoke in the innocence of his heart, announcing a
mere fact, that the bishop's reputation for talent was to be sacrificed
for the good of the state. Indeed, there is a letter from Voltaire to
his immediate employer, Amelot, secretary for foreign affairs, which
shows that he by no means felt easy with regard to the light in which
Louis might view his conduct, and excuses the style of his
correspondence with Frederic. "There are in his notes and in mine," he
writes, "some bold rhymes, which cannot hurt a king, though they may an
individual. He hopes that I may be forced to accept his offers, which
hitherto I have refused, and take up my abode at the court of Prussia.
He hopes to gain me by losing me in France; but I swear to you I would
rather live in a Swiss village than gain at this price the dangerous
favour of a king."
After some delay, occasioned by the journeys of the king of Prussia,
during which time Voltaire did good service for his court at the Hague,
he arrived at Berlin, and was warmly welcomed. Fêtes, operas,
suppers--all the amusements that Frederic could command, were put in
requisition to please the illustrious and favoured guest. In the midst
of these, the secret negotiation advanced. Voltaire had infinite tact,
and could, like many of his countrymen, mingle the most serious designs
with frivolous amusements, and pursue undeviatingly his own interests,
while apparently given up to philosophical disquisitions or witty
discussions. In the midst, therefore, of easy and jocular conversation,
Voltaire discovered the real state of things, which consisted in the
king of Prussia's desire to embroil Louis XV. with England. "Let France
declare war against England," said Frederic, "and I march." This
sufficed for the subtle emissary. He returned to Paris, and negotiations
ensued which terminated in a new treaty between France and Prussia, and
the following spring Frederic invaded Bohemia with a hundred thousand
men. Voltaire, however, reaped no benefit from his zeal. The king's
mistress, the duchess de Châteauroux, was angry that she had not been
consulted. She managed to obtain the dismission of M. Amelot, secretary
for foreign affairs, under whose direction Voltaire had acted, and he
was enveloped in the disgrace, that is to say, he gained no court
smiles, nor any solid compensation, for his trouble.
His life was now passed between Paris and Cirey--society and solitude.
He and the du Châtelets shared the same house in the capital; their
studies and their amusements were in common. We are told[4] that on one
occasion, when madame du Châtelet went to court, and engaged in play,
during which she lost a great deal of money, Voltaire told her in
English that she was being cheated. The words were understood by others
who were present, and the poet thought it prudent to absent himself for
a time. He asked refuge from the duchess du Maine at Sceaux. Here he
passed two months in the strictest retreat; and when danger was past, he
repaid his hostess by remaining in her chateau, and contributing to her
recreation by getting up plays, and writing for her. "Zadig" and others
of his tales were composed on this occasion. Operas, plays, concerts,
and balls varied the amusements. Madame du Châtelet and Voltaire took
parts in these theatricals. The lady was an admirable actress, as well
as musician: she shone in comedy, where her gaiety, grace, and vivacity
had full play. Voltaire was also a good actor. The part of Cicero in his
own tragedy of "Rome Sauvée" was his favourite part. At other times,
leaving these pleasures, he and his friend retired to Cirey and to
labour. We have an amusing account of several of their migrations, from
the pen of Longchamp, who, from being the valet of madame du Châtelet,
became elevated into the secretary of Voltaire. There is a great
contrast between this man's account, and the letters before quoted of
madame de Graffigny. In both descriptions, we find mentioned the
vivacity and petulance both of the poet and his friend; but the darker
shadows thrown by irritability and quarrelling, do not appear in the
pages of Longchamp; and, above all, the fair disciple of Newton is
delineated in far more agreeable colours. "Madame du Châtelet," he
writes, "passed the greater part of the morning amidst her books and her
writings, and she would never be interrupted. But when she left her
study, she was no longer the same woman--her serious countenance changed
into one expressive of gaiety, and she entered with ardour into all the
pleasures of society. Although she was then forty, she was the first to
set amusement on foot, and to enliven it by her wit and vivacity." Nor
does he make any mention of the violence and ill-humour from which her
guest suffered so piteously. "When not studying," he remarks, "she was
always active, lively, and good-humoured." At Cirey, she was equally
eager to afford amusement to her friends. "When the report of her
arrival," writes Longchamp, "was spread through the neighbouring
villages, the gentry of the country around came to pay their respects.
They were all well received; those who came from a distance were kept
for several weeks at the chateau. To amuse both herself and her guests,
madame du Châtelet set on foot a theatre. She composed farces and
proverbs; Voltaire did the same; and the parts were distributed among
the guests. A sort of stage had been erected at the end of a gallery,
formed by planks placed upon empty barrels, while the side scenes were
hung with tapestry; a lustre and some branches lighted the gallery and
the theatre; there were a few fiddles for an orchestra, and the evenings
passed in a very gay and amusing manner. Often the actors, without
knowing it, were made to turn their own characters into ridicule, for
the greater gratification of the audience. Madame du Châtelet wrote
parts for this purpose, nor did she spare herself, and often represented
grotesque personages. She could lend herself to every division, and
always succeeded."
From this scene of gaiety, at once rustic and refined, the pair
proceeded to the court of king Stanislaus at Luneville. Here Voltaire
employed himself in writing during the morning, and, as usual, the
evening was given up to amusement. The theatricals were renewed; all was
gaiety and good humour. The marquis du Châtelet, passing through
Luneville, on his way to join the army, was enchanted to find his wife
in such high favour at king Stanislaus' court.
[Sidenote: 1748.
Ætat.
54.]
Voltaire left the gay scene to overlook the bringing out of his tragedy
of "Semiramis." In this play he endeavoured to accustom his countrymen
to greater boldness of situation and stage effect. It was necessary to
banish that portion of the audience, the dandies of the day, who, seated
on the stage itself, at once destroyed all scenic illusion, and afforded
too narrow a space for the actors. A formidable cabal opposed these
innovations, headed by Piron and Crebillon; and Voltaire, himself, was
obliged to have recourse to means which had been unworthy of him under
other circumstances, and to place a number of resolute friends in the
pit, to oppose the adverse party. The piece was successful, and the poet
eager to return to Luneville. He was suffering greatly in his health.
During his stay in Paris, he had been attacked by low fever; and his
busy life in the capital, where his days were given up to society, and
his nights to authorship, exhausted the vital powers. Notwithstanding
his suffering, he resolved to set out, and proceeded as far as Chalons,
where he was obliged to give in, and take to his bed. The bishop and
intendant of Chalons visited him; they sent him a physician; but,
without showing outward opposition, Voltaire followed none of his
prescriptions, and endeavoured to get rid of the intruders. He felt his
danger; he entreated his confidential servant, Longchamps not to abandon
him, and, as he said, to remain to cover his body with earth when he
should expire. His fever and delirium increased, and his resolution not
to take the remedies prescribed was firm: every one expected to see him
die; he, himself, anticipated death, and gave his secretary instructions
how to act. On the sixth day, though apparently as ill as ever, he
resolved to proceed on his journey, declaring that he would not die at
Chalons. He was lifted into his carriage; his secretary took his place
beside him; he did not speak, and was so wan and feeble, that Longchamp
feared that he would never arrive alive: but as they went on, he grew
better; sleep and appetite returned; he was much recovered when they
reached Luneville; the presence of madame du Châtelet reanimated him; a
few days with her caused all his gaiety to return, and he forgot his
sufferings and danger.
This appears to have been a very happy portion of Voltaire's life. His
friendship for madame du Châtelet was ardent and sincere. Her talents
were the origin of their sympathy in tastes and pursuits; her gaiety
animated his life with a succession of pleasures necessary to compose
and amuse his mind after intense study; her good sense enabled her to be
his adviser and support when calumny and scandal disturbed, as was
easily done, his equanimity. Voltaire, when writing, was absorbed by his
subject; this enthusiasm inspired and sustained him. It allowed him to
labour hard, and made him put his whole soul into every word he penned.
His friend participated in his eagerness; and by entering earnestly into
all his literary plans, imparted to them a charm which he appreciated at
its full value. This friend he was about to lose for ever; but he did
not anticipate the misfortune.
[Sidenote: 1749.
Ætat.
9.]
A portion of the following year was spent at Paris and Cirey, and they
again visited Luneville; for king Stanislaus had invited them again to
join his court. Pleasure was once more the order of the day. Every one
in the palace was eager to contribute to the king's amusement; and he
was desirous that all round him should be happy. In the midst of this
routine of gaiety, the industry of Voltaire surprises us. He wrote
several tragedies at this period, and his letters are full of
expressions marking the eagerness of authorship, and the many hours he
devoted to composition. Emulation, joined to great disdain for his
rival, spurred him on. He was mortified and indignant at the praise
bestowed on Crebillon by the Parisians; and he took the very subjects
treated by this tragedian, believing that, thus brought into immediate
contrast, his grander conceptions and more classic style would at once
crush the pretender. "I have written 'Catiline,'" he writes, "in eight
days; and the moment I finished, I began 'Electra.' For the last twenty
years I have been rendered indignant by seeing the finest subject of
antiquity debased by a miserable love affair,--by two pair of lovers,
and barbarous poetry; nor was I less afflicted by the cruel injustice
done to Cicero. In a word, I believed that I was called upon by my
vocation to avenge Cicero and Sophocles--Rome and Greece--from the
attacks of a barbarian."
This ardour for composition, and these pleasures, were suddenly arrested
by the afflicting event of madame du Châtelet's death. She died soon
after her confinement, unexpectedly, when all danger seemed past.
Whatever might have been the disputes of the friends, these did not
shake their friendship; and if they clouded, at intervals, the happiness
they derived, they left no evil trace behind. Voltaire was plunged in
the deepest affliction; the expressions he uses mark the truth of his
regrets. "I do not fear my grief," he writes to his friend, the marquis
d'Argental; "I do not fly from objects that speak to me of her. I love
Cirey; and although I cannot bear Luneville, where I lost her in so
frightful a manner, yet the places which she adorned are dear to me. I
have not lost a mistress; I have lost the half of myself,--a soul for
which mine was made,--a friend of twenty years. I feel as the most
affectionate father would towards an only daughter. I love to find her
image everywhere; to converse with her husband and her son."--"I have
tried to return to 'Catiline;' but I have lost the ardour I felt when I
could show her an act every two days. Ideas fly from me; I find myself,
for hours together, unable to write; without a thought for my work: one
idea occupies me day and night." To these laments he adds her eulogy, in
another letter, with which we may conclude the subject. Her errors were
the effect of the times in which she lived, and of an ardent temper. We
would deprecate any return to a state of society that led the wisest
into such grievous faults, but we will not defraud the victim of the
system of the praise which, on other scores, she individually
merited.[5] "A woman," writes Voltaire, "who translated and explained
Newton, and translated Virgil, without betraying in her conversation
that she had achieved these prodigies; a woman who never spoke ill of
any one, and never uttered a falsehood; a friend, attentive and
courageous in her friendship: in a word, a great woman, whom the common
run of women only knew by her diamonds and dress. Such must I weep till
the end of my life."
After this sorrowful event Voltaire established himself in Paris. The
house which he and Madame du Châtelet rented conjointly, he now took
entirely himself. He invited his widowed niece, madame Denis, to preside
over his establishment. At first he continued plunged in grief; he saw
no one but count D'Argental and the duke of Richelieu, who were among
his oldest friends. One or the other, or both, passed the evenings with
him, and tried to distract his mind from its regrets. They sought to
awaken in him his theatrical tastes, which were strong, and which, if
once roused, would effectually draw him from solitude. Voltaire at last
showed sparks of the old fire; other friends were brought about him; he
was implored to bring out his newly written tragedies; he objected, on
the score of the quarrel that subsisted between him and the actors of
the Comédie Français,--he having endeavoured to improve their manner
of acting, and they haughtily rejecting his instructions. This
difficulty was got over by erecting a private theatre in his own house,
and gathering together a number of actors chosen from various private
companies; for, as in the time of Molière, the sons of the shopkeepers
in Paris often formed companies together, and got up theatricals. It was
thus that Voltaire became acquainted with Le Kain, who has left us an
interesting account of his intercourse with the illustrious poet.
Le Kain was the son of a goldsmith. Voltaire saw him act, and,
perceiving his talent, begged him to call upon him. "The pleasure caused
by this invitation," the actor writes, "was even greater than my
surprise. I cannot describe what passed within me at the sight of this
great man, whose eyes sparkled with fire, imagination, and genius. I
felt penetrated with respect, enthusiasm, admiration, and fear; while M.
de Voltaire, to put an end to my embarrassment, embraced me, thanking
God for having created a being who could move him to tears by his
declamation." He then asked the young man various questions; and when Le
Kain mentioned his intention of giving himself entirely up to the stage,
in spite of his enthusiasm for the theatre, Voltaire strongly dissuaded
him from adopting a profession held disreputable in his native country.
He asked him to recite, but would not hear any verses but those of
Racine. Le Kain had once acted in "Athalie," and he declaimed the first
scene, while Voltaire, in a transport of enthusiasm, exclaimed, "Oh!
what exquisite verses! and it is surprising that the whole piece is
written with the same fervour and purity, from first scene to last, and
that, throughout, the poetry is inimitable." And then, turning to the
actor, he said, "I predict that, with that touching voice, you will one
day delight all Paris,--but never appear upon a public stage." At the
second interview Voltaire engaged Le Kain and his whole company to act
at his own theatre, Le Kain himself taking up his residence in the house
of the generous poet. Le Kain owed his success to him, and felt the
warmest gratitude. "He is a faithful friend," he writes; "his temper is
vehement, but his heart is good, and his soul sensitive and
compassionate. Modest, in spite of the praises lavished on him by kings,
by literary men, and by the rest of the world. Profound and just in his
judgment on the works of others; full of amenity, kindness, and grace,
in the intercourse of daily life, he was inflexible in his aversion to
those who had offended him. He was an admirable actor. I have seen him
put new life into the part of Cicero, in the fourth act of 'Rome
Sauvée,' when we brought out that piece at Sceaux, in the August of
1750. Nothing could be more true, more pathetic, more enthusiastic, than
he was in this part." Voltaire instructed the actors when they performed
his own tragedies; his criticisms were just, and given with that
earnestness and vividness of illustration that marked the liveliness of
his sensations. "Remember," he said to an actor who whined out the part
of Brutus, "remember that you are Brutus, the firmest of Romans, and
that you must not make him address the god Mars as if you were saying,
"O holy Virgin! grant that I may gain a prize of a hundred francs in the
lottery." He insisted with mademoiselle Dumesnil that she should put
more energy into the part of Mérope. "One must be possessed by the
devil," said the actress, to declaim with such vehemence."--"You are
right," said Voltaire; "and one must be possessed to succeed in any
art."
Voltaire passionately loved theatrical representations. The tragedies of
Corneille, and, above all, of Racine, inspired him with sensations of
the warmest delight. He wrote his own plays in transports of enthusiasm,
and corrected them with intense labour. But he had a further intention
in erecting his theatre; he aimed at popularity and at court favour, as
a safeguard from persecution, and as insuring his personal safety if he
should excite ministerial displeasure by any philosophical works. It was
for this cause that he endeavoured to propitiate the new mistress of
Louis XV., madame de Pompadour. He had known her before she attracted
the king's attention; and after she became the royal mistress, she
continued for a time on a familiar footing with her old friend. Eager to
form a party, and to insure her own popularity, madame de Pompadour
patronised literature and the arts, and at first showed partiality for
Voltaire; the courtiers followed her example with eager emulation, and
the sovereign himself was induced to regard him with some show of
favour. He named him gentleman in ordinary to his chamber, and
historiographer of France,--places which Voltaire eagerly accepted, and
regarded as so many bulwarks to resist the attacks of his enemies. The
duties of the first-named place were, however, onerous, as they
necessitated a frequent attendance at court; he was permitted to dispose
of it, and he sold it for 30,000 francs; while, as a peculiar mark of
favour, he was allowed to preserve the title and privileges.
He was, moreover, elected member of the academy; but he purchased this
doubtful honour by the sacrifice of much honest pride. He was not
elected till he addressed a letter full of professions of respect for
the church and the Jesuits. No advancement would have induced him to
this act; but he believed that it was necessary to secure his safety
while he continued to inhabit the capital. At the same time, these
concessions embittered his spirit, and added force to his sarcasms and
hostility, when, by expatriation, he had secured his independence. When
we consider, however, that his concessions were made in vain, we regret
that any motive urged him to them; for if truth be the great aim of
intellectual exertions, the more imperative that those who aspire to
glory in the name of truth should rise far above subterfuge and
disguise. While madame du Châtelet lived, he had occupied a more
dignified position; and, in the retirement of Cirey, remained aloof from
the intrigues necessary to curry favour with an uneducated, bigoted
king, and his ignorant mistress. When his accomplished friend died, the
versatile and ambitious poet sailed at first without pilot or rudder.
What wonder that he was wrecked? and he deserves the more praise, when
he retrieved himself after wreck, and attained independence and dignity
in his seclusion in Switzerland.
A member of the academy, and enjoying places at court, Voltaire, for a
short interval, believed that he should reach the goal he desired, and
become the dictator of the literary world, under the protection of his
sovereign. He was soon undeceived: Louis remembered too well cardinal de
Fleuri's lessons, not to regard him with distrust and dislike. Madame de
Pompadour watched the glances of the royal eye, and guided herself by
them. Crebillon was set up as Voltaire's successful rival: he felt his
immeasurable superiority, and was filled with scorn at the attempt made
to bring them on a level. He struggled at first; but still the court and
people called out for Crebillon; and, in a fit of disgust, he accepted
the reiterated invitation of the king of Prussia, hoping that a
temporary absence might calm the attacks of his enemies, and awaken the
partiality of the people.
Frederic received his friend with transports of joy. His undisguised
delight, his earnest request that he would exchange Paris for Berlin
permanently, the charm that his talents spread over the poet's life, and
the security he enjoyed, were all alluring. Frederic spared no
professions of friendship, no marks of real personal attachment; more
than once he kissed the poet's hand, in a transport of admiration. This
singular demonstration of affection from man to man, more singular from
king to author, helped, with many others in addition, to enchain
Voltaire. He, himself, assures us that they turned his head. "How could
I resist," he writes, "a victorious king, a poet, a musician, a
philosopher, who pretended to love me? I believed that I loved him. I
arrived in Potzdam in the month of June, 1750. Astolpho was not better
received in the palace of Alcina. To lodge in the apartment which the
maréchal de Saxe had occupied, to have the king's cooks at my orders
when I chose to eat in my own rooms, and his coachmen when I wished to
drive out, were the least favours shown me. The suppers were delightful.
Unless I deceive myself, the conversation was full of wit and genius.
The king displayed both; and what is strange, I never at any repast
enjoyed more freedom. I studied two hours a day with his majesty; I
corrected his works, taking care to praise greatly all that was good,
while I erased all that was bad. I gave him a reason in writing for all
my emendations, which composed a work on rhetoric and poetry for his
use. He profited by it, and his genius was of more service to him than
my lessons. I had no court to pay, no visits to make, no duties to
fulfil. I established myself on an independent footing, and I can
conceive nothing more agreeable than my situation."
With these feelings, it is not strange that he listened to his royal
friend's request, that he should resign his places in the court of
France, and accept that of chamberlain in Prussia, as well as a pension
for his life and that of his niece, and that he should permanently fix
himself in his royal friend's dominions; yet, while he accepted these
offers, he had many qualms. Madame Denis, his niece, to whom he
communicated his new plans, argued warmly against them. Her letter has
not come down to us; but she evidently took a keen and true view of the
annoyances and mortifications to which he might be exposed. She was
acquainted with her uncle's irritable temper,--his unguarded
conversation when carried away by the spirit of wit,--his vehemence when
struggling against control. She felt, and truly, that a king accustomed
to command was the last person to show indulgence for such foibles when
they clashed with himself. She prophesied that Frederic would, in the
end, be the death of his friend. Voltaire showed this letter to the
king, and he, in answer, wrote one to the poet, the expressions of which
won him entirely. "How," wrote Frederic, "could I cause the unhappiness
of a man whom I esteem, whom I love, and who sacrifices for me his
country, and all that is dear to man? I respect you as my master in
eloquence,--I love you as a virtuous friend. What slavery, what
misfortune, what change can you fear in a country where you are as much
esteemed as in your own, and with a friend who has a grateful heart? I
promise you that you shall be happy here as long as you live."
Voltaire sent this letter to count d'Argental, whom he always named his
guardian angel, as his apology for expatriating himself. "Judge," he
writes, "whether I am excusable? I send you his letter,--you will think
that you are reading one written by Trajan or Marcus Aurelius,--yet I am
not the less agitated while I deliver myself over to fate, and throw
myself, head foremost, into the whirlpool of destiny which absorbs all
things. But how can I resist? How can I forget the barbarous manner with
which I have been treated in my own country? You know what I have gone
through. I enter port after a storm that has lasted thirty years. I
enjoy the protection of a king; I find the conversation of a
philosopher--the society of a delightful man--united in one, who, for
the space of sixteen years, has exerted himself to comfort me in my
misfortunes, and to shelter me from my enemies. All is to be feared for
me in Paris; here I am sure of tranquillity: if I can answer for
anything, it is for the character of the king of Prussia." He wrote with
even more enthusiasm to his niece. "He is the most amiable of men; he is
a king; it is a passion of sixteen years' standing; he has turned my
head. I have the insolence to think that nature formed me for him. There
is a singular conformity in our tastes. I forget that he is master of
half Germany, and see in him only a good, a friendly man."
To establish the poet at his court, Frederic named him his chamberlain,
and gave him the brevet of a pension of twenty thousand francs for
himself, and four thousand for his niece, who was invited to come and
take up her abode with her uncle at Potzdam. Before he accepted these
bounties, it was necessary to obtain permission from his own sovereign,
of whom he was placeman and pensioner. Frederic himself wrote to solicit
the consent of the king of France. To Voltaire's surprise, Louis showed
displeasure. Monarchs are usually averse to any display of independence
on the part of their subjects and servants. He accepted the poet's
resignation of the place of historiographer, which Voltaire had hoped to
keep, but permitted him to retain his title of gentleman in ordinary and
his pension. Yet this was done in a manner that showed Voltaire that if
he were forced to leave Prussia, his position in his native country
would be more perilous and stormy than ever.
He felt, also, deeply disappointed in finding himself obliged to give up
the idea of having his niece, Madame Denis, with him in Prussia. "The
life we lead at Potzdam," he writes, "which pleases me, would drive a
woman to despair; so I leave her my house in Paris, my plate, and my
horses, and I add to her income." Still his niece and his friends were
not content at his throwing himself so entirely into the power of
Frederic, and their suggestions inspired a thousand doubts as to the
prudence of his choice, especially when the severity of the winter made
him feel that the climate was ill suited to his feeble constitution.
However, he manfully opposed himself to the objections raised against
his choice, and the sufferings which the long icy winter caused him to
endure. He devoted himself to authorship. His chief occupation was his
"Age of Louis XIV.," of which he was justly proud. He felt that he could
write with greater freedom while absent from France. "I shall here
finish," he writes, "the 'Age of Louis XIV.,' which, perhaps, I had
never written in Paris. The stones with which I erect this monument in
honour of my country had, there, served but to crush me; a bold word had
seemed a lawless licence, and the most innocent expressions had been
interpreted with that charity that spreads poison through all." Again he
writes: "I shall be historiographer of France in spite of my enemies,
and I was never so desirous of doing well the duties of my place as
since I lost it. This vast picture of so illustrious an age turns my
head. If Louis XIV. be not great, at least his age is. It is an immense
work: I shall revise it severely, and shall endeavour, above all, to
render the truth neither odious nor dangerous."
Besides this great undertaking, he corrected his tragedies. As usual, he
infected all round with his love of the drama. A theatre was established
at court; the brothers and sisters of the king took parts in his plays,
and submitted to his instructions. This was a species of flattery well
suited to turn a poet's head; yet soon, very soon, the dark cloud
appeared in the horizon, and his attention became roused to assure
himself whether indeed he heard the far off thunder of an approaching
storm. These dawnings of fear and distrust are ingenuously detailed in
his letters to his niece.
[Sidenote: Nov.
6.
1750.]
"It is known, then, at Paris," he writes, "that we have acted the death
of Cæsar at Potzdam; that prince Henri is a good actor, has no accent,
and is very amiable; and that pleasures may be found here. All this is
true--but--the suppers of the king are delicious--seasoned by reason,
wit, and science--liberty reigns over them--he is the soul of all--no
ill-humour, no clouds--at least, no storms; my life is independent and
occupied; but--but--operas, plays, carousals, suppers at
Sans-souci--warlike manœuvres, concerts, study, readings; but--but--the
weather, my dear child, begins to be very cold----"
Such were the first expressions of distrust inspired by observing a
certain degree of deceit in the king. He found that he could turn those
into ridicule whom he flattered most to their face; and he also found
that such blowing of hot and cold with the same breath, which is deemed
almost fair in some societies, was fertile of annoyance when practised
by a king whose word is law, whose smiles are the ruling influence of
the day, whose slightest remark is reported, magnified, and becomes the
rule of action to all around; and he began to feel that the chain that
bound him and the king, which he flattered would be worn equally by
both, fell heavily round him only. He became aware that the king was not
the less despotic and self-willed for being a philosopher. In truth,
Frederic and Voltaire had a mutual and sincere love for each other. They
agreed in their opinions, they sympathised in their views. Each enjoyed
the conversation, the wit, the gaiety, the genius of the other; but
Voltaire panted for entire independence: to think, to speak, to write
freely, was as necessary as the air he breathed. To gain these
privileges he had quitted France; and though he passionately loved
flattery and distinction, yet these were only pleasing when they waited
upon his every caprice; and became valueless when he was called upon to
sacrifice the humour of the moment to gain them. The king delighted in
Voltaire's talents; but, then, he wished them to be as much at his
command as a soldier's valour, which deserves reward, but which may only
be displayed at the word of command.
The moment a feeling of injustice on one side, and of assumption of
direction on the other, showed themselves, a thousand circumstances
arose to embitter the intercourse of the unequal friends. The king had a
favourite guest, la Metrie, a physician by profession, the worst,
Voltaire tells us, that ever practised, an unprincipled fellow, but
witty and vivacious; whose good spirits, and bold and infidel opinions,
pleased Frederic, who made him his reader. This sort of man is never
suited to a court. The same restless aspiration after independence that
renders a man an infidel in opinions makes him a bad courtier.
[Sidenote: Sept.
2.
1751.
Ætat.
57.]
"La Metrie," writes Voltaire to his niece, "boasts in his prefaces of
his extreme felicity in being near a great king, who sometimes reads his
poems to him; but, in secret, he weeps with me; he would leave this
place on foot: and I--why am I here? You will be astonished at what I
tell you. La Metrie swore to me the other day, that, when speaking to
the king of my pretended favour, and of the petty jealousy that it
excites, he replied, 'I shall not want him for more than a year longer:
one squeezes the orange, and throws away the peel.'"
These words sank deep in Voltaire's mind; and not less deeply did the
king feel an expression of the irritable poet, who called himself
Frederic's laundress, and said, when he corrected the royal poems, that
he was washing the king's dirty linen. Such heedless speeches, carried
from one to the other by the thoughtless or the malicious, destroyed
every feeling of attachment, and circumstances soon concurred to inspire
both with mistrust, to inspire the weaker with a desire of throwing off
his chains, and the stronger with a more unworthy determination of
adding to their weight.
The first circumstance of any importance that occurred was a pecuniary
transaction between Voltaire and a Jew. Voltaire says, that after the
speech of Frederic, reported to him by la Metrie, he wished to put his
orange peel in safety. Whether his transaction with the Jew concerned
the placing of his money cannot be told; it is enveloped in great
obscurity; however, what is certain is, that it was submitted to a legal
trial, the Jew condemned, and Voltaire entirely exonerated from blame.
The mere fact, however, of an accusation being made against him, and
fault found, was matter of triumph to his enemies. A thousand libels
were circulated in Paris and Berlin, and a thousand falsehoods told.
Frederic, when he heard of the dispute, referred it to the decision of
the law. In this he did well. But he affected to distrust Voltaire; he
forbade him to appear at court till the decision of the judges was
known. Voltaire was far above peculation and pecuniary meanness. The
king committed an irremissible crime in friendship, whether he really
distrusted Voltaire, or merely pretended so to do. But a king of Prussia
is an absolute monarch; all belonging to him are his creatures; and that
one of these should venture out of bounds, either to secure his property
or to augment it, was regarded as a deep offence. Voltaire must be
humbled. Treated like a servant, not a friend, what wonder that the
sensitive poet felt that the orange was squeezed a little too hardly,
and began to earnestly desire to save as much of it as he could. A sort
of reconciliation, however, ensued; again all appeared smiling on the
surface, though all was hollow beneath. Voltaire engaged in printing his
"Age of Louis XIV.," was desirous of finishing it before he quitted
Prussia; meanwhile he had a sum of money to the amount of 300,000
livres, about 15,000_l_., which he wished to place; he took care not to
put it in the Prussian funds, but secured it advantageously on certain
estates which the duke of Wirtemburg possessed in France. Through the
infidelity of the post Frederic discovered this transaction, and felt
that it was a preparation for escape. Accordingly, he made more use of
him than ever as a corrector of his literary works. In spite of all
these disturbances, there was something in the life of Potzdam
peculiarly agreeable to Voltaire. "I am lodged conveniently," he writes,
"in a fine palace. I have a few friends about me of my own way of
thinking, with whom I dine regularly and soberly. When I am well enough,
I sup with the king; and conversation does not turn either upon
individual gossip or general ineptities, but upon good taste, the arts,
and true philosophy; on the means to attain happiness, on the mode of
discerning the true from the false, upon liberty of thought: in short,
during the two years I have spent at this place, which is called a
court, but which is really a retreat for philosophers, not a day has
passed during which I have not learnt something instructive." Thus
Voltaire tried to blind himself, while he really enjoyed the
conversation and friendship of Frederic, and while the cloven foot of
despotism remained in shadow.
Among other modes of civilising Prussia and spreading the blessings of
knowledge, Frederic had established an academy. This was a favourite
creation, and it did him honour. The president was Maupertuis, a man of
some ability, but whose talents were vitiated by the taint of envy. He
had considered himself the first _bel esprit_ at court till Voltaire
appeared. He and the poet had corresponded heretofore, and Voltaire had
not spared flattery in his letters; but he neglected to mention
Maupertuis's name in his speech when he took his seat in the French
academy. This was not an injury to be forgiven; and though Voltaire paid
him every sort of attention, the other could ill brook his superior
favour, especially as Frederic, who had never relished his conversation,
frequently excluded him from the royal suppers, and joined with Voltaire
in making him the object of their endless pleasantries. At first
Voltaire only jested, because he was a wit and could not help it; but
Maupertuis contrived to rouse a more bitter spirit.
He had discovered a new principle in mechanics, that of the _least
power_: this principle met much opposition, and Kœnig, a Prussian
mathematician, not only argued against it, but quoted a fragment of a
letter of Leibnitz, in which this principle was mentioned and objected
to. Kœnig confessed that he possessed only a copy of the letter in
question, acknowledging that the original was lost. Maupertuis took
advantage of this circumstance; he induced the academy, of which he was
president, to summon Kœnig to produce the original; and when this was
allowed not to be found, he proceeded to accuse him of forgery. He got
up a meeting of such academicians as he could influence, by whom Kœnig
was declared unworthy to be any longer a member, and his name erased
from the list.
Kœnig had formerly instructed madame du Châtelet in the philosophy of
Leibnitz. Voltaire consequently knew and esteemed him, and was indignant
at the persecution he suffered; he took his part openly, and was only
restrained from crushing his adversary by Frederic's personal request
not to make a jest of his academy or its president. The seeds of
animosity, however, between him and Maupertuis, long sown, sprung up and
flourished with vigour. Maupertuis contrived to excite a disreputable
person of the name of La Beaumelle to attack the poet. His calumnies
ought to have met with contempt only; but Voltaire was irritated, and
his dislike to Maupertuis increased. The president published a book full
of philosophical follies, which Voltaire satirised unsparingly. He wrote
a diatribe called "Akakia," and read it to the king; Maupertuis was the
butt of a thousand witticisms, and the royal suppers rang with laughter
at his expense. But Voltaire was not content to make a jest of
Maupertuis only in the royal presence, and Frederic, beginning to think
that to attack his president was to attack his academy and also himself,
published two pamphlets against Kœnig, which also inculpated Voltaire.
The poet was indignant. "I see," he writes to his niece, "that the
orange is squeezed; I must now try to save the rind. I am going to write
a small dictionary for the use of kings, in which it will be shown that
_my friend, means my slave; my dear friend, you are becoming indifferent
to me; I will make you happy, I will endure while I need you; sup with
me this evening, you shall be my butt to-night._ Seriously, my heart is
wounded. Speak to a man with tenderness, and write pamphlets against
him--and what pamphlets! Tear a man from his country by the most solemn
promises, and treat him with the blackest malignity. What a contrast!"
Voltaire was not a man to suffer these attacks without punishing them
with a visitation of his unbridled wit. Fearful of attacking Frederic,
he revenged himself on Maupertuis, and published "Akakia."
He belonged to the republic of letters, and did not understand that it
should be ruled by the will of one man. And then, while he vehemently
reprehended those authors who had made their literary enemies the
objects of public satire, he, himself, indulged in the most bitter
attacks. Frederic considered "Akakia" as a satire, deserved by
Maupertuis, and thus a blameless source of merriment at his supper
table, where he had no objection to turn his president into ridicule;
but the publication was quite another affair; by this he considered his
academy, and consequently himself, attacked; and he retaliated by a
still more flagrant outrage. He caused the diatribe to be burnt by the
hands of the hangman in the public square of Berlin. Voltaire had a
right to be deeply incensed by this act. He did not attack the honour or
morality of Maupertuis in his diatribe, but simply ridiculed his
opinions; and though "Akakia" has only that slight merit, dependent on
associations of the day, now lost, which rendered it amusing to a
circle, and was not adapted for general reading nor posterity, still, as
it was not libellous, the act of the king of Prussia was an insolent
exertion of intolerable despotism. He meant, perhaps, to break
Voltaire's spirit by such an insult. Knowing that he could not return to
Paris, he fancied him at his mercy. Voltaire had, however, but one
wish--to escape, and to feel himself once more free. On this outrage he
instantly returned "the king's baubles," as he called them,--the key of
chamberlain, his cross, and the brevet of his pension,--with these
verses:--
"Je les reçus avec tendresse,
Je les renvoie avec douleur,
Comme un amant, dans sa jalouse ardeur,
Rend le portrait de sa maitresse."
Thus trying to soften the acquisition of his freedom to Frederic
himself. He at the same time said that he was ill, and asked permission
to drink the waters of Plombières. The king, desirous of keeping him on
his own terms, replied by sending some bark, and, observing that there
were as medicinal waters in Silesia as at Plombières, refused
permission for his journey.
Voltaire had but one other resource: he asked permission to see the
king. They met, and the pleasure they took in each other's society
seemed at once to obliterate the recollection of offence and wrong. It
is said that Voltaire appeared before the king with "Akakia" in his
hand; on entering the room, he threw it into the fire, saying, "There,
sire, is the only remaining copy of that unhappy hook which caused me to
lose your friendship." The king, in his German simplicity, fancied that
the poet spoke the simple truth; he rushed to the fire to save the
pamphlet from among the burning fagots. Voltaire struggled to poke it
in. Frederic at length drew out the half-burnt pages in triumph. He
embraced his friend. They supped together. "A supper of Damocles,"
Voltaire calls it; but to the king it was one of triumph, since it
appeared to be the sign that he had bent Voltaire's spirit to pass over
the indignities heaped on him, and secured him as a submissive courtier
for ever. As a token of his renewed servitude, he gave him back "the
baubles." Maupertuis, himself, was not spared by the friends, who, as
far as wit could go, sacrificed him at the shrine of their
reconciliation. Voltaire, however, had but one end in view. He used his
regained influence to obtain permission for a journey to Plombières,
promising to be absent only a few months--a promise he did not mean to
keep. But as Francis I. broke the treaty which Charles V. forced him to
make in prison in Madrid, so might Voltaire consider any promise he made
to Frederic void, while the frontiers of Prussia were guarded by an
hundred and fifty thousand men, and independence had become necessary to
his existence.
Voltaire exulted in escaping from the palace of Alcina--as he named the
abode of Frederic; but he did not think it prudent to venture to Paris,
where his enemies were in vigour, and strengthened by the displeasure
with which Louis XV. regarded the poet's having exchanged his court for
that of Frederic. Instead, therefore, of taking refuge in his own
country (if the subject of an arbitrary monarch can be said to have a
country), he remained some time at Leipsic. Here he received a
ridiculous challenge from Maupertuis, which only tended to add zest to
his pleasantries upon him; and he then proceeded to the court of the
duchess of Saxe Gotha, a most excellent and enlightened princess, "who,
thank God," says Voltaire, "did not write verses." He breathed again
without fear, believing that he hail secured his freedom. He continued
his journey to Frankfort, where he was met by madame Denis. The bad
state of Voltaire's health rendered a woman's presence and attentions
necessary; and he was proud also of the heroic sacrifice it seemed in
those days when a lady, enjoying the pleasures of Parisian society,
quitted them to attend on a sick old uncle, even though that uncle were
Voltaire. Here a sort of tragi-comic adventure ensued, to the temporary
annoyance of the poet, and the lasting disgrace of the king of Prussia.
Frederic's angry feelings were roused by several just causes of
annoyance. He learned that "Akakia" was published in Holland, and he
remembered the scene of its pretended destruction by its author with
indignation. He was angry, also, that the poet had escaped, and was no
longer liable to the effects of his displeasure, and fear of ridicule
added poignancy to these feelings. Frederic at once wished to punish his
former friend, and to shield himself from the shafts of his ridicule.
Voltaire had taken with him a volume of Frederic's poems, privately
circulated and given to him. The king feared that his corrector might
strip his verses of their borrowed feathers, and deliver up the
unfledged nurslings to the laughter of the world. He sent orders to his
agent at Francfort to demand back this volume, as well as the baubles
before returned and restored. His agent was a Jew of low character, and
totally illiterate. He proceeded against Voltaire, as if he had been a
servant suspected of running away with his master's plate. The precious
volume which Freitag called _L'Œuvre de Poésie du Roi son Maître_,
had been left at Leipsic. Voltaire and madame Denis were kept under
strict arrest till this unfortunate book arrived at Francfort; and as
there are always ill-omened birds who scent ill fortune, and take
advantage of it; so, now, a bookseller of the Hague, whom Voltaire had
employed, many years ago, to print the "Anti-Machiavel" of Frederic,
brought forward a balance of twenty crowns with interest and compound
interest, which the poet was forced to pay. At last, after a
disagreeable and strict imprisonment of nearly a month's duration,
Voltaire and his niece were allowed to depart.
Thus ended the treaty of equal friendship between king and poet. The
pettiness of the details is striking. We find neither the magnanimity of
a hero in one, nor the calmness of a philosopher in the other. Voltaire
had the excuse that he avenged his injured friend Kœnig in his satire
on Maupertuis. He had dreamed of independence in a palace; and from the
moment he discovered his mistake he was eager to be free. Frederic,
meanwhile, was taught by his enemies to regard him as a restless,
intriguing Frenchman. He had written to him, at the beginning of their
quarrel: "I was glad to receive you. I esteemed your understanding, your
talents, your acquirements; and I believed that a man of your age, weary
of skirmishing with authors and exposing himself to the storm, would
take refuge here as in a tranquil port. First, you exacted from me, in a
singular manner, that I should not engage Freron to correspond with me,
and I had the weakness to yield. You visited the Russian minister, and
talked to him of affairs in which you had no right to interfere; and it
was believed that I commissioned you. You had a dirty transaction with a
Jew, and filled the city with clamour. I preserved peace in my house
till you arrived; and I warn you, that if you have a passion for
intrigue and cabal, you have addressed yourself very ill. I like quiet
people; and if you can resolve to live like a philosopher, I shall be
glad to see you; but if you give way to your passions, and quarrel with
everybody, you had better remain at Berlin. * * * * I write this letter
with unpolished German good sense, which says what it thinks, and
without adopting equivocal terms and soft palliations to disfigure the
truth."[6] This letter shows that Frederic believed himself to be in the
right, and had conceived a bad opinion of his friend. We all know the
height to which misunderstandings can rise when fostered by malicious
and interested persons. We cannot wonder that men of quick tempers like
Frederic and Voltaire should disagree; but it was to be lamented that
they made their pettish quarrels a spectacle for all Europe.
Voltaire had now a new life to fix upon. He was eager to secure his
entire independence. The tranquillity he had at first enjoyed in Prussia
made him feel the value of peace. This he could never find in his own
country, and he henceforth looked upon expatriation as the only means of
securing his tranquillity. Chance assisted him in forming the choice of
an abode, which, from the independence it afforded, placed him in a high
and dignified position in the eyes of all Europe. He had at first
entertained the plan of establishing himself in Alsatia, in which
province he spent two years, after leaving Prussia, occupied in writing
the annals of the empire; but he was disturbed by the attacks of the
Jesuits, who were angry because they had failed in an endeavour to
convert him. He found that he could not visit Paris with safety; and he
hesitated where to establish himself. Meanwhile, his health being, as
ever, bad, he was advised to try the waters of Aix, in Savoy.
In his way thither he passed through Lyons. Cardinal Tencin refused to
receive him, on account of his being out of favour at court. Voltaire
was piqued; but the inhabitants of Lyons compensated for the insult.
They entertained him with public honours; got up his tragedies, that he
might be present at the representation, and receive the enthusiastic
applause of an audience who gloried in the opportunity of thus rewarding
the author of works which excited so much admiration. Proceeding from
Lyons to Savoy, he passed through Geneva, and here he consulted
Tronchin, a physician, whom every one looked on as holding life and
death in his hands. Tronchin dissuaded him from trying the waters, but
promised to restore his health if he would make some stay near him.
Voltaire gave readier faith than could have been expected from a
ridiculer of the medical art. He consented to remain in the
neighbourhood of Geneva; and, finding that it was an established law
that no Catholic might purchase land in Protestant Switzerland, it
pleased his whimsical mind instantly to buy an estate in the territory
of Geneva.
[Sidenote: 1755.
Ætat.
61.]
Add to which motive, he fully appreciated the advantages he must derive
from living out of France, yet in a country where French was spoken, and
where liberty of speech and of the press had hitherto reigned
undisturbed. His house, named Les Delices, was beautifully situated. He
describes it as commanding a delightful view. The lake on one side, the
town of Geneva on the other; the swift swelling Rhone formed a stream at
the end of his garden, fed by the Arve and other mountain rivers. A
hundred country houses with their gardens adorned the shores of the lake
and of the rivers; and the Alps were seen afar off,--Mont Blanc and its
range, whose picturesque snow-clad peaks for ever presented new aspects,
as the clouds or the varying sunlight painted them. A philosopher, blest
with affluence, might well be happy in such a seclusion. Soon after his
arrival, Voltaire wrote the fragment of his autobiography, to explain
his quarrel with the king of Prussia. These memoirs are one of his most
entertaining works. The playful sarcasm, which characterises every page
he ever wrote, in this production reaches home, yet can scarcely be said
to sting. He laughs at Frederic and his _Œuvres des Poésies_; he
laughs at his own illusions; and then lingers with fondness on the
retreat he had at last found from the tumult of society and the
friendship or enmity of kings. He congratulates himself on having made
his own fortune, and confesses that this was done by speculations in
finance. "It is necessary to be attentive to the operations to which the
ministry, always pressed and always changing, makes in the finances of
the state," he observes. "Something often occurs of which a private
individual can profit without being under obligations to any one; and it
is vastly agreeable to fabricate one's own fortune. The first step is
troublesome, the rest are easy. One must be economical in one's youth,
and in old age one is surprised at one's wealth. Money is at that time
more necessary, and that time I now enjoy. After having lived with
kings, I am become a king in my home. I possess all the conveniences of
life in furniture, equipages, and good living. The society of agreeable
and clever people occupy all the time spared from study and the care I
am forced to take of my health. While I enjoy the most pleasant style of
life that can be imagined, I have the little philosophic pleasure of
perceiving that the kings of Europe do not taste the same happy
tranquillity; and I conclude that the position of a private person is
often preferable to that of royalty."
These words were singularly verified in the renewal of his
correspondence with the king of Prussia. Frederic had begun it by
sending him an opera he had founded on "Mérope."
[Sidenote: 1756.
Ætat.
62.]
Soon after the coalition was formed against Prussia, which, victorious
at first, brought Frederic to the position of rebel against the empire.
The loss of a battle reduced him to extremities; and, rather than submit
to his enemies, he resolved to commit suicide. He wrote a long epistle
in verse announcing his intention: Voltaire answered it in prose, and
combated his idea by every argument that seemed most likely to have
weight. Frederic was in some sort convinced; he dismissed the idea of
self-destruction; but he resolved to fall on the field of battle, unless
the victory was decided in his favour.
This more heroic resolution was rewarded by the gain of two battles, in
which scarcely a Prussian fell, and the defeat of the enemy was
complete. Frederic wrote triumphantly to his friend to announce his
victories.
[Sidenote: 1758.
Ætat.
64.]
Soon after, Voltaire was applied to by cardinal Tencin, who had refused
to receive him at Lyons, to forward letters which were to negotiate a
peace. The wily philosopher consented: he was aware that the cardinal
would fail, and he was malicious enough to wish to enjoy the sight of
his mortification. The cardinal did fail, and more disgracefully than he
expected; and the disappointment cost him his life. "I have never been
able to understand," Voltaire observes, "how it is that people are
killed by vexation, and how ministers and cardinals, whose hearts are so
hard, retain sufficient sensibility to die from the effects of a
disappointment. It was my design to mortify and laugh at, not to kill
him."
Voltaire had secured his safety, and could give himself up to that
ardent love of study, that restless aspiration for fame, that eager
endeavour to overthrow the superstitions (and, unfortunately, more than
the superstitions, the religion) of Europe, and that more noble
resolution to oppose all abuses, and to be the refuge and support of the
oppressed, which animated his soul through a long life chequered by
physical suffering. In his retreat of Les Delices, he brought out his
historical work on the "Manners and Spirit of Nations." He composed
several of his best tragedies; he wrote "Candide," a book rendered
illustrious by its wit and penetrating spirit of observation, in spite
of its grossness and implied impiety, which are the reigning blemishes
of Voltaire's writings. As usual, also, he erected a theatre in his
house. Added to his habitual love for theatrical amusements, he hoped to
impart a taste for them to the Genevese, and so to weaken that ascetic
spirit of repulsion of intellectual pleasure to which, whether enjoined
by monks or recommended by Calvin, he was hostile.
All, however, was not labour, peace, and amusement. The publication of
the poem of the "Pucelle" threatened a renewal of the persecutions of
which he had been the victim in his earlier days. Several forged verses
in ridicule of Louis XV. and madame de Pompadour had been foisted into
the surreptitious edition that appeared, and it was with difficulty that
his friends proved that he was not the writer. Voltaire, indeed, was
always in a state of inky war. A man who had provoked the priesthood of
Europe, and whose talent for perceiving and pourtraying the ridiculous
was unequalled and unsparing, could not fail in creating a host of
enemies. Satires, epigrams, and libels rained on him. In his retirement
of Les Delices, he might, if he had chosen, have been insensible to
these attacks; but not one but found their way; he answered all, dealing
about his shafts dipped in sarcasm and irony, and spreading abroad a
sort of terror that served as a wholesome check to his enemies. A word
or line from his pen marked a man for ever. Several among those thus
attacked were forced to hide themselves till a new victim was immolated,
and their own disgrace forgotten. In his "Life of Molière," speaking of
the epigrams with which Boileau and Molière attacked, and, it is said,
caused the death of Cotin, Voltaire called this the sad effect of a
licence rather perilous than useful, which is more apt to flatter the
malignity of men than to inspire good taste; and in his "Essay on
Satire," he severely blames Boileau for naming the poets whom he
censures. Yet, with blind inconsistency, Voltaire never spared an enemy.
He conceived that, if attacked by, he had a fair right to annihilate, as
he well could, the stinging gadflies of literature. The society of Paris
was kept alive by his multitudinous epigrams. This engendered a baneful
spirit of sarcasm, and spread abroad an appetite for injuring others by
ridicule, slander, and jests that wound. They rendered society more
heartless and more cruel than ever.
Voltaire, himself, was visited by the effects of the disturbed state of
feeling he helped to engender. He had hoped to find a safe asylum in the
Genevese territories. But his attacks on their prejudices created a host
of enemies. He began to feel that the dark shadows of persecution were
gathering round.
[Sidenote: 1762.
Ætat.
68.]
He found that, although his presence in Paris would not be permitted, he
might, in safety, take up his abode in a remote part of France. He
purchased, therefore, the estate of Ferney, on the French territory,
within a short distance of Geneva; and thus with a foot, as it were, in
two separate states, he hoped to find safety in one if threatened with
hostility in the other.
He was more fortunate than he anticipated. The persecutions he
afterwards endured were reduced to little more than threats, and were
less than might be expected by a man who first raised the voice of
hostility to, and resolved on, the destruction of a system of religion
supported by a powerful hierarchy which was in possession of half the
wealth of the nations who professed their faith, and which was regarded
as the bulwark of their power by the monarchs of Europe. Voltaire's poem
on the law of Nature, and his version of Ecclesiastes, were burnt in
Paris as deistical and blasphemous, although the latter had no fault but
that of turning the sublime into commonplace. A poem on the earthquake
at Lisbon was also produced at this time; and "Candide" was written and
published. To collect together the most dreadful misfortunes, to heap
them on the head of a single individual, and in one canvass to group all
of disastrous that a fertile imagination can paint, and present this as
a picture of life, does not seem at first sight the most worthy
occupation of a philosopher. Voltaire himself, though he had met
reverses, was a living refutation of "Candide." But as, in truth,
whether by sudden reverse or the slow undermining of years, all human
hope does fade and decay, as life proceeds to its close; so Voltaire,
now nearly seventy years of age, might, on looking back, consider
disappointment and sorrow as the mark of humanity; and, by showing these
ills to be inevitable, inculcate a philosophical indifference. Still the
tone of "Candide" is not moral, and, like all Voltaire's lighter
productions, is stamped with a coarseness which renders it unfit for
general perusal. In addition to these minor productions, Voltaire
laboured at the correction and enlargement of his historical work on the
"Manners and Spirit of Nations,"--one of the greatest monuments which
his genius achieved.
While Voltaire was at Berlin, d'Alembert and Diderot had set on foot the
project of the "Encyclopédie." Their plan was, to write a book which
would become indispensable to every library, from its containing the
most recent discoveries in philosophy, and the best explanations and
details on every topic, and this mingled with an anti-catholic spirit,
that would serve to sap the foundations of the national religion.
Voltaire contributed but few, and those merely literary, articles to
this work--whose progress, however, he regarded with lively interest.
The outcry against the "Encyclopédie" was of course prodigious; every
one who did not belong to the party formed by the lovers of innovation
rose against it. Parliament and clergy pronounced its condemnation, and
succeeded so far in suppressing it, that the editors were obliged to
continue it clandestinely. They, however, did not submit without a
struggle: a literary war was declared, which raged furiously. Voltaire
was considered at the head of the liberal party, and he gave his mighty
aid to turn the opposers of his opinions into ridicule. One after the
other, they sank under the shafts of his wit, and were forced to take
shelter in retirement from the ridicule with which his epigrams had
covered them. Voltaire considered his thus abetting his friends a sacred
duty. "I belong to a party," he wrote, "and a persecuted, party, which,
persecuted as it is, has nevertheless gained the greatest possible
advantage over its enemies, by rendering them at once odious and
ludicrous."
It is pleasant to turn from these matters, which often display the
self-love and intolerance of the philosophers of the day, to such acts
as stamp Voltaire as a generous man, full of the warmest feelings of
benevolence, and capable of exerting all his admirable faculties in the
noblest cause,--that of assisting and saving the unfortunate. A great
niece of Corneille lived in indigence in Paris. A friend of hers
conceived the happy thought of applying to Voltaire for assistance; and
that which he instantly afforded, at once rescued her from privation and
care. His answer to the application deserves record. "It becomes an old
follower of the great Corneille to endeavour to be useful to the
descendant of his general. When one builds chateaux and churches, and
has poor relations to support, one has but little left to assist one,
who ought to be aided by the first people in the kingdom. I am old. I
have a niece who loves the fine arts, and cultivates them with success.
If the young lady of whom you speak will accept a good education under
my niece's care, she will look on her as a daughter, and I will be to
her as a father." This offer was of course gratefully accepted. The
young lady was clever, lively, yet gentle. Voltaire himself assisted in
her education. "I do not wish to make her learned," he writes, "but
desire that she should learn how to conduct the affairs of life and to
be happy." He was rewarded for his exertion by his protégée's docility
and gratitude. As a means of obtaining a dowry for her, he wrote his
elaborate commentary on Corneille's works, and published it, with an
edition of the great tragedian's works, by subscription--inducing the
monarchs and nobles of Europe, through his mighty influence, to send in
their names, and thus fabricated a fortune for the orphan.
Soon after, another and more important occasion offered itself for
serving his fellow creatures, and he acquitted himself of the task with
resolution and success.
The frightful spirit of persecution of the Huguenots, engendered by the
revocation of the edict of Nantes, by Louis XIV. and his
dragoon-missionaries, still survived in the provinces; and not only
embittered the minds of the ignorant, but influenced the legal
authorities, and led them always to associate the ideas of crime and
Protestantism together. Jean Calas had been a merchant of Thoulouse for
forty years. He was a Protestant--an upright and good man, and by no
means bigoted. One of his sons was a convert to Catholicism; but, far
from showing displeasure. Calas made him an allowance for his
maintenance. A female servant who had been in his family for thirty
years was a Catholic. One of his sons, named Marc-Antoine, committed
suicide. He was a young man of a restless, sombre, discontented
disposition; he disliked trade, and found himself excluded by the laws
against his religion from entering on any profession. He read various
books on suicide--conversed on the subject with his friends--and one
day, having lost all his money in play, resolved on the fatal act. The
family supped together; they had a guest with them--a young man only
nineteen, named Lavaisse, known for his amiable and gentle disposition.
After supper, Marc-Antoine left them; and when, shortly after, Lavaisse
took his leave, and the father went down stairs to let him out, they
discovered his son hanging from a door: he had undressed himself, folded
up his clothes, and committed the act with the utmost deliberation. The
family were seized with terror. They summoned medical aid and officers
of justice; their cries and terror gathered a crowd about the house. The
only error they committed was, that, knowing the horror in which suicide
was held, they at first declared that the unfortunate man had died a
natural death. The falsehood of this assertion being at once detected,
the most frightful suspicions were the consequence.
The people of Thoulouse were peculiarly fanatical--they regarded
Protestants as monsters capable of any crime: a whisper was raised that
Jean Calas had murdered his son. A story was quickly fabricated and
believed. It was alleged that Marc-Antoine was on the point of abjuring
Protestantism, and that his family and Lavaisse had murdered him, to
prevent him from putting his design into execution. A thousand other
details were swiftly invented for the purpose of adding terror to the
scene. The chief magistrate of Thoulouse, named David, excited by these
rumours, and paying no attention to possibility or proof, without even
proceeding with legal forms, threw the whole family of Calas, their
Catholic servant, and Lavaisse into prison. In the frenzy of the moment,
they turned the supposed victim into a martyr, and buried him in the
church of St. Etienne, as if he had already abjured his faith, and died
in consequence. One of the religious confraternities of the town
celebrated his funeral with pomp; a magnificent catafalque was raised to
his honour, on which was placed a skeleton, who was supposed to
represent Marc-Antoine, which was made to move; it held a pen, with
which it was supposed to sign the act of abjuration. The people, excited
by their priests, were transported with fanaticism: they invoked the son
as a saint; they demanded the execution of the father as a murderer.
The details of the trial of the unfortunate man accused of murdering his
own son were not less frightful and unjust: of twelve judges, six
acquitted him--it required a plurality of voices for his condemnation.
Two judges were terrified into retiring; others were gained over; a
majority of two was obtained, and the unfortunate Calas broken on the
wheel.
The whole circumstances were full of contradiction and absurdity. Calas
was sixty-eight years of age,--a kind father and a good man. If he had
committed the murder, the whole of his family must have been equally
guilty, as it was proved that they spent the evening together, and that
he had never quitted them for a moment. The judges paused, however,
before they condemned mother, brothers, sisters, the youth, their guest,
and their Catholic servant; they deferred their trial till after the
death of the old man, under the pretence that he might confess under
execution. Calas died in torture, however, protesting his innocence; and
the judges were perplexed what to do next. At first they pronounced a
sentence of acquittal; but, feeling that this decision was in too
glaring contradiction with that which condemned the father to the wheel,
they practised on the weakness of Pierre Calas to induce him to become a
Catholic: fear led him to show signs of yielding, at first; but the
weakness was temporary, and he fled from the monastery in which he had
been induced to take refuge. The unfortunate widow, Lavaisse, and the
servant were liberated. Deprived of fortune, covered with infamy,
reduced to destitution, the wretched family took refuge in Geneva. Their
case was mentioned to Voltaire; he sent for the surviving victims to
Ferney; he questioned them rigorously; the mere fact that the parliament
of Thoulouse had condemned the father, and liberated those who, had a
murder been committed, must have been accomplices, sufficed to show that
the sentence was unjust, and the execution of the unfortunate old man a
legal assassination. He obtained the documents of the proceeding from
Thoulouse; he found the narration of the Calas faithful in all its
parts, while their appearance and words bore the stamp of undeniable
truth. He was struck with horror, and exerted that energy which formed
his prominent characteristic to obtain justice for them,--an undertaking
which must strike any one familiar with narratives of judicial
proceedings in France, at that time, as full of nearly insuperable
obstacles. He interested the duke de Choiseul, a man of known humanity,
in their favour. The duchess d'Enville was then at Geneva, having come
to consult the famous Tronchin. She was an amiable and generous woman,
and superior to the prejudices and superstition of the age. She became
the protectress of the Calas. The family were sent to Paris; the widow
demanded a trial, and surrendered herself to prison. Voltaire was
indefatigable in drawing up memoirs and papers in their justification.
He did what no other man could have done: he roused all Europe to take
interest in their cause, and kept alive the memory of their wrongs by
writings that at once pourtrayed their sufferings and argued in favour
of toleration,--a word which then appeared synonymous with blasphemy,
and even to this day is not imprinted with sufficient depth in the minds
of men. The legal proceedings were carried on at his expense. These
extended to a great length. Two years passed before a definitive
judgment was pronounced; "so easy is it," remarks Voltaire, "for
fanaticism to condemn and destroy the innocent, so difficult for reason
to exculpate them." The duke de Choiseul had named a tribunal which was
not implicated with the tortuous and intolerant policy of the French
parliaments, to try the cause. But endless formalities succeeded one to
the other. The spirit which Voltaire had raised in their favour was
fervent in Paris. Persons of the first distinction visited the accused
in prison, and every one vied with the other in administering
consolation and support. In England a large subscription was raised in
their favour. At length the day of their acquittal arrived. The judges
unanimously pronounced that the whole family was innocent, and the
memory of the unfortunate father was redeemed from infamy. All Paris was
alive with joy and triumph: the people assembled in various parts of the
town; they were eager to see the persons to whom justice was at last
done; they clapped their hands in triumph when they appeared; the judges
addressed the king to supplicate him to repair the pecuniary losses of
the family, and the sum of 36,000 livres was given for this purpose.
Voltaire, in his seclusion among the Alps, heard of the success, and of
the enthusiastic joy with which his countrymen hailed the triumph of
innocence; he had a right to look on himself as the cause, not only of
the justice at last done to the wronged, but of the virtuous sympathy
felt by all Europe in their acquittal. He, whose sensations were all so
keen, felt deeply the gladness of victory. He knew that many blessed his
name; he felt himself to be the cause of good to his fellow-creatures,
and the epithet of the saviour of the Calas was that in which, to the
end of his life, he took most pride and joy. His letters at the moment
of the final decision show the depth of his emotion.
[Sidenote: 1765.
Ætat.
71.]
"Philosophy, alone, has gained this victory," he writes; "my old eyes
weep with joy." To conclude the history, David, the magistrate whose
fanaticism and cruelty hurried on the death of the miserable old man,
was deprived of his place; struck by remorse and shame, he lost his
reason, and soon after died.
Voltaire, known as the protector of the innocent, was soon called upon
to render a similar service for another family. A girl of the name of
Sirven had been carried off from her Protestant family, and, according
to the barbarous custom of the times, was shut up in a convent; where,
not yielding to conversion as readily as was expected, she was treated
with such severity that in a fit of desperation she threw herself into a
well and was drowned. Instead of punishing the priests and nuns for the
effects of their persecution, her family was accused of her death. They
had time to escape, but were condemned to death for contumacy. The
unfortunate father and mother resolved to apply to Voltaire. Reduced to
destitution, they were forced to make the journey on foot, and presented
themselves in a miserable state at Ferney. Voltaire was eager to raise
his voice in their favour, though he was aware that the public, having
lavished all their pity on the Calas would listen coldly to a new story.
The spirit of toleration, which, nevertheless, he had spread abroad,
served him in this case, as the enthusiasm of compassion had in the
other; such delays, however, occurred, that the unfortunate mother died
while the cause was yet pending. He could not obtain that the case
should be tried in Paris. The accused were obliged to surrender to the
parliament of Thoulouse. The principal people of that town had become
eager to exonerate themselves from the charges of persecution and
injustice which their former conduct had raised. The trial was carried
on impartially, and Sirven was acquitted. Seven years, however, had
elapsed before this tardy act of justice was completed.
Another instance of religious intolerance, more frightful in some of its
details than the preceding, roused Voltaire to combat the sanguinary
clergy of his country with renewed zeal. But in this instance he could
not save the victims already immolated by the malignancy of private
enmity, and the cruel bigotry of public tribunals.
Some very young men resident at Abbeville had rendered themselves
notorious for the freedom of their religious opinions. They read and
praised with enthusiasm various infidel books then in vogue. They had
been known to sing blasphemous songs at their supper table; and once, on
returning home late at night after a drunken frolic, one struck with his
cane a wooden crucifix placed by the road side. These acts, committed,
as they were, by boys under twenty, deserved blame, and even it might be
deemed punishment, but punishment suited to their few years and
consequent thoughtlessness; but it was a frightful exaggeration to
consider them criminals in the eye of the law, especially as none
existed in France against misdemeanours of this nature, and they could
only be punished by an act of arbitrary power. This was exerted to
punish them with a barbarity which is supposed to characterise the
Spanish inquisition alone; though if we read the history of the Gallican
church, we find that the priests of its powerful hierarchy were behind
those of no nation in the spirit of sanguinary and merciless
persecution. Unfortunately, in the present instance, one of the
principal actors in this foolish scene, a boy of seventeen, had a
personal enemy. A rich and avaricious old man of Abbeville, named
Belleval, had an intrigue with madame de Brou, abbess of Villancour.
This lady's nephew, the chevalier de la Barre, came to pay her a visit;
he and his friends were in the habit of supping in the convent, and he
was considered the successful rival of Belleval. This man resolved to be
revenged. He spread abroad in Abbeville the history of their blasphemous
conversations; he excited the spirit of fanaticism against them among
the populace, and raised such clamour in the city that the bishop of
Amiens thought it necessary to visit it for the purpose of taking
informations with regard to the circumstances reported to him. Belleval
busied himself in collecting witnesses, and in exaggerating every
instance of folly committed by these youths. Unfortunately, not only the
populace and priests of the city, but the tribunals by whom the cause
was tried, seconded too frightfully his iniquitous designs; although the
very fact of the misconduct of the abbess, by bringing the Catholic
religion into disrespect among these boys, ought to have pleaded in
their favour. The young men were condemned to a cruel death. Amongst
them was numbered Belleval's own son; this was unexpected by the
informer; and, in despair, he contrived that, he should escape, together
with two of his young associates. The remainder were not so fortunate.
La Barre, a youth, scarcely seventeen, condemned to undergo the torture
and to have his tongue cut out, and then to be decapitated, underwent
his sentence. When too late, the people of France awoke to a just sense
of horror at the cruelty committed. Voltaire was transported by
indignation. "You have heard," he wrote to d'Alembert, "the account from
Abbeville. I do not understand how thinking beings can remain in a
country where monkeys so often turn to tigers. I am ashamed to live even
on the frontier. This, indeed, is the moment to break all ties and carry
elsewhere the horror with which I am filled. What! at Abbeville,
monsters in the guise of judges, sentence a child of sixteen to perish
by the most frightful death--their judgment is confirmed--and the nation
bears it! Is this the country of philosophy and luxury? It is that of
St. Bartholomew. The inquisition had not dared to put in execution what
these Jansenist judges have perpetrated."
Voltaire's horror could not save the victim, for the evil was committed
before the news of the trial reached him. The populace, it is true, even
before the execution of the victims, returned to their senses, and
Belleval was held in such execration that he was forced to fly from
Abbeville, to avoid being torn to pieces. But the king and parliament of
Paris refused to repair their fault towards the survivors. Voltaire did
what he could. He recommended one of the victims who had fled, the
chevalier d'Etallonde, to the king of Prussia, whose service he entered;
and he endeavoured to open the eyes of government to the justice and
propriety of repairing its crime. But the duke de Choiseul feared to
act, and the parliament of Paris was a bigoted and intolerant body.
To his honour, we find that he was unwearied in his endeavours. When
Louis XVI. succeeded to the crown, and a milder reign commenced, he
renewed his exertions. D'Etallonde had, from good conduct, been promoted
in the Prussian army. He invited him to Ferney, and endeavoured to
interest the ministers of Louis in his favour, and to prevail on them to
revoke his sentence: in vain; the government had not sufficient justice
to avoid a fault, nor humanity to desire to repair it.
Such were the crimes committed in the outraged name of religion, that
animated Voltaire with the desire of wresting the power of doing ill
from the hands of the priesthood of his country, and which made him the
unwearied and active enemy of a system which sanctioned such atrocities.
In the present instance, something of fear added a sting to his
feelings. The "Philosophical Dictionary," a work he denied having
written, but of which, in reality, he was the author, was mentioned
among the books, a respect for which formed one of La Barre's crimes,
and it was burned in Paris, while exertions were made to denounce and
punish him as the author. These failed; but they embittered Voltaire's
enmity. He spread abroad the history of the enormities, which the
perpetrators, ashamed too late, were desirous of hushing up. Lalli, a
barrister, who was accused of having a principal part in the nefarious
proceeding, wrote to Voltaire at once to excuse himself, and threaten
the author. Voltaire replied, by an anecdote in Chinese history. "I
forbid you," said the emperor of China, to the chief of the historical
tribunal, "to mention me." The mandarin took out his note book and
pen--"What are you doing?" said the emperor. "I am writing down the
order which your majesty has just pronounced."
As some sort of compensation for these acts of horror and cruelty,
Voltaire heard of the banishment of the Jesuits from France. This
community had long reigned paramount in that kingdom; one of the society
was, by custom, always selected as confessor of the king. It had
signalised itself by every possible act of intolerance and persecution.
The Jansenists, the Huguenots, and the Quietists were exiled,
imprisoned, and ruined, through their influence. France was depopulated.
In bitterness of spirit, the truly pious and wise of the kingdom,
Boileau, Racine, Pascal, Fénélon, Arnaud, and a long list more, knew
that their zeal for a pure religion exposed them to persecution.
Voltaire disliked the Jansenists, and ridiculed the Quietists; but he
was too just not to revolt from persecution; and though, from the
prejudices of early education, he was inclined to look favourably on the
Jesuits, he rejoiced in their fall from the power which they misused,
and their expulsion from a country, so many of whose most virtuous
inhabitants they had visited with exile and ruin.
In writing Voltaire's life, we have too often to turn from acts denoting
a benevolent and generous spirit, to others which were inspired by
self-love, and a restless spirit that could not repose. Among these, his
conduct to Rousseau has disgraceful prominence. It is true that the
citizen of Geneva had provoked him first; but Rousseau was the victim of
the system of tyranny which Voltaire so fervently deprecated. Even if
his intellects were not impaired, he had, from the unfortunate
susceptibility of his disposition, and the misfortunes that pursued him,
become an object of commiseration, at least to one who sympathised in
his opinions and views. But once attacked, Voltaire never forgave. He
could not be injured, yet he avenged the intended injury. Had he
confined his ridicule and blame of Rousseau to conversation and letters,
it had, considering his influence in society, been sufficient revenge;
but when, to a great degree excited by Rousseau, those troubles and
tumults occurred in Geneva, from which Voltaire was so far the sufferer,
that he thought himself obliged to sell his property of Les Delices, he
made the tumults the subject of a licentious and burlesque poem, in
which Rousseau was held up to ridicule. The disgrace, however, recoiled
on himself. His most enthusiastic friends blamed his conduct, and
disliked his poem.
Voltaire ran a more fortunate career than befalls most men. He was rich,
and he had been wise enough to adopt a system that insured his
independence. At a distance from the capital, he was in reality removed
from the cabals of literature, the turmoils of society, and from the
excitement, so often attended by disappointment, that belongs to the
life of a literary man of high reputation. He led what he himself terms
a patriarchal life; his niece was at the head of his household. The
niece of Corneille, adopted by him, had married M. Dupuis, a gentleman
of some fortune in the neighbourhood of Geneva, and resided in his
house. No foreigner ever passed from France to Italy without paying a
visit to Ferney. All those of any note or merit were received with
cordial hospitality, and the chateau was never free from guests: above
fifty persons of different grades--masters, guests, and
servants--inhabited it. In the midst of this turmoil, Voltaire led a
laborious life. His health was feeble. During the winters, which the
neighbourhood of the eternal snows render peculiarly severe, he was
nearly always confined to his bed. But physical suffering never tamed
his spirit. From the bed of sickness, he sent abroad various writings,
some in support of the best interests of humanity (as in the cases of
Calas, &c.), others historical and poetic, and not a few replete with
that malicious pleasantry that caused him to be universally feared.
[Sidenote: 1766.
Ætat.
72.]
Few things occurred to interrupt the tenour of his life. At one time,
his niece, madame Denis, and his protégés, monsieur and madame Dupuis,
left him to visit Paris, and he was left for nearly two years alone in
his retreat. A thousand reports were current as to the cause of this
separation; but, in time, it became acknowledged that Voltaire's own
account of it was true. "I have been," he wrote to madame du Deffand,
"the innkeeper of Europe for fourteen years, and I am tired of the
trade. I have received three or four hundred English, who are so fond of
their country, that not one has recollected me since their departure,
except a Scotchman, of the name of Brown, who has written against me. I
have had French colonels, with their officers, who have remained a
month, but who serve their king so well, that they have never written to
me. I have built a chateau and a church. I have spent five hundred
thousand francs in these pious and profane works; and my illustrious
debtors in Paris and Germany, conceiving that these acts of magnificence
did not become me, have thought proper to curtail my means to teach me
wisdom. I found myself suddenly almost reduced to philosophy. I have
sent madame Denis to urge the generous French; I have taken the generous
Germans on myself. My seventy-four years and continual illnesses condemn
me to seclusion and moderation. This life cannot suit madame Denis, who
acted against the grain in coming to live with me in the country. She
needs perpetual company and pleasures to make her endure this desert,
which, according to the Russians themselves, is for five months of the
year worse than Siberia. Madame Denis had need of Paris; the niece of
Corneille had greater need, as she only saw it at an age and in a
situation which did not permit her to become acquainted with it. I made
an effort to separate myself from them, that they might enjoy the
pleasures of the capital."
After a visit to Paris of nearly two years, they returned to him again.
A visit to Ferney was an event in a traveller's life. In personal
intercourse, Voltaire was, according to the testimony of the king of
Prussia, and of every other contemporary, and singularly delightful and
entertaining. "You are agreeable in conversation, and instruct and amuse
at the same time. You are the most fascinating creature in the world;
and, when you choose, no one could resist loving you: your wit and
genius are so graceful, that, even while you offend, every one is ready
to forgive you." This is the description that Frederic gives of him. Nor
did age diminish the lustre of his wit, the vivacity of his spirit, or
the alternate gaiety and impressive charm of his conversation. It was
only at a distance that his tendency to what the French call
_tracasserie_--an inherent love of disturbance--and the vehement,
uncourteous, and unfair manner with which he carried on a dispute, made
his contemporaries, while they viewed him with wonder and delight, yet
alternately fear and censure him. He appeared particularly amiable to
those who sought his protection, for he was ever generous in pecuniary
points, and lavish of his praises to literary men, as long as they paid
worship at his shrine. His intercourse with Marmontel illustrates this
subject, and we shall extract his account of his visit to Ferney, as
giving a vivid picture of the vivacity, and whimsical and capricious
disposition, of this singular man; who in age and suffering was as
energetic, active, and enthusiastic as a youth just entering warm and
undeceived on the scene of life.
Marmontel had several years before been excited by him to venture on a
literary career in Paris. On his arrival, Voltaire received him with a
cordiality that warmed the young man's heart; his purse and house were
open to him. Nor did he stop at mere offers; he encouraged him in his
arduous endeavours, and he showed paternal joy in his success. These are
real and absolute virtues in a great man. There is so little
encouragement to literary ambition abroad in the world, especially in
this country. Those who hold the place of judges in the literary world
(including in this class those whose trade is criticism as well as
amateurs) are so afraid of compromising their reputation; and the rest
of society dare not pronounce an opinion for themselves; so that, except
in those instances in which, by a happy hit or servile fosterage of
prejudices, popular favour is gained, and a speedy sale of an edition
gives undeniable proof of success, authors of promise do not meet with
the tithe of the encouragement necessary to sustain them hopeful and
glad in their laborious career. Voltaire's sensitive heart felt that
praise and sympathy were the proper food of the young aspirant, and as
necessary as food, in keeping up that buoyant and confiding spirit which
alone enables him to develope all his powers; he displayed, therefore,
in voice and manner, and in actions, such earnest sympathy as served as
the dearest reward and encouragement to the author. His kindness to
Marmontel was unalterable, but their intercourse was broken off by his
expatriation. Marmontel, accompanied by a friend, visited him at Les
Delices soon after his arrival in Switzerland. "Our welcome," he
narrates, "was the most singular and original in the world. Voltaire was
in bed when we arrived: he held out his arms, and wept with joy, as he
embraced me. 'You find me dying,' he said, 'and you come to restore, or
to receive my last sigh.' My companion was frightened at this
commencement; but I, who had heard Voltaire declare himself dying a
hundred times before, made him a sign not to be alarmed. In fact, a
moment afterwards, the dying man made us sit by his bedside. 'My
friend,' said he to me, 'I am delighted to see you--especially at a time
when I have a man with me whom you will be glad to hear. It is M. de
l'Ecluse, formerly surgeon-dentist to the late king of Prussia, now
possessor of an estate near Montargis; he is a delightful man. Do you
not know him?'--'The only M. de l'Ecluse I know,' I replied, 'was an
actor at the comic opera.' 'That is he, my friend--the very man. If you
know him, you have heard him sing the song of the Remouleur, which he
acted and sang so well.' And then, with his bare arms and sepulchral
voice, Voltaire began to imitate l'Ecluse. We laughed heartily; but he
continued, seriously,--'I imitate him badly--you must hear M. de
l'Ecluse--it is truth itself--how delighted you will be! Go and see
madame Denis. Ill as I am, I shall rise to dine at table. The pleasure
of seeing you has suspended my sufferings, and I feel quite alive
again.'
"Madame Denis received us with that cordiality which is the charm of her
character. She presented M. de l'Ecluse to us, and at dinner Voltaire
encouraged him by the most flattering praises to give us the pleasure of
hearing him. We appeared charmed--need was--for Voltaire would not have
forgiven faint applause. Our subsequent ramble in his garden was
employed in talking of Paris--the newspapers, the theatres, the
'Encyclopédie,' and the unhappy 'Le Franc de Pompignan,' the butt of
all his jests. His physician, he said, having ordered him to hunt him
every day for two hours, he charged me to assure our friends that they
should receive a fresh epigram every day; and he was faithful to his
promise. On our return from our walk, he played at chess with M.
Gaulard, who respectfully allowed him to win; then we talked of the
drama, and of the revolution in acting brought about by Mlle. Clairon. I
exhausted all the little eloquence I possessed to inspire him with the
same enthusiasm that I felt myself for this actress; and I was enjoying
the impression I appeared to make, when, interrupting me, he exclaimed
with transport--'That is exactly like madame Denis--she has improved
most astonishingly. I wish you could see her play Zaire, Alzire,
Idamè--it is the perfection of talent.' Madame Denis compared to
Clairon! My ardour was checked in a moment; so true it is that taste
accommodates itself to the objects it possesses. In the evening, I drew
Voltaire out about the king of Prussia. He spoke with a sort of lofty
magnanimity; like a man who disdained an easy revenge, or as a lover
pardons a mistress, whom he deserts, for the indignation and blame she
expresses. The conversation at supper turned on the literary men he most
esteemed; and it was easy to discern those whom he really loved--it was
those who made the most public boast of his friendship. Before we went
to rest, he read us two new cantos of the 'Pucelle,' and Madame Denis
remarked to us that this was the only day since his arrival at Les
Delices that he had passed without shutting himself up in his study
during some portion of it. The next day we had the discretion to leave
him during a part of the morning to himself. I told him that we would
wait till he rang. He was visible at eleven o'clock, but was still in
bed. 'Young man,' said he to me, 'I hope you have not renounced
poetry: let me see what you have lately written.' * * * Before dinner he
took me to pay some visits in Geneva; and, speaking of his intercourse
with the Genevese, he said, 'It is agreeable to live in a country whose
sovereigns send to ask you to lend them your carriage when they come to
dine with you.' His house was open to them, they passed whole days
there. * * *
"In the evening, at supper, our kings and their mistresses were the
subjects of conversation; and Voltaire, while making a comparison of the
gallantry of the old court and the present one, displayed that abundant
memory from which nothing interesting escaped. From madame de la
Vallière to madame de Pompadour, the anecdotic history of the two
reigns, with that of the regency between, passed in review with a
rapidity and a brilliancy of design and colouring quite dazzling.
However he reproached himself for having robbed M. de l'Ecluse of
moments which he said he could have rendered far more diverting, and
begged him to repair his fault by giving us some scenes of the
'Ecosseures,' at which he laughed like a child.
"The next was our last day. As we were to depart early on the following
morning, we agreed with madame Denis and messieurs Hubert and Cramer to
prolong the pleasure of being together, by sitting up and conversing
till the hour of departure. Voltaire insisted on making one of us: in
vain we pressed him to go to bed; more wakeful than ourselves, he read
us several cantos of 'Joan.' I was delighted; for, if Voltaire, in
reading serious poetry, affected, as it appeared to me, too monotonous a
cadence, and too marked an emphasis, no one ever recited familiar and
comic verses with so much native grace and tact: his eyes and smile had
an expression I never saw in any other man. Our mutual adieu moved us to
tears; more on my part, indeed, than his, as was fit; for, in addition
to my gratitude, and the many causes I had for being attached to him, I
left him in exile."
Marmontel's account relates to Voltaire's early residence in the
neighbourhood of Geneva. Madame de Genlis visited him in 1776. Being at
Geneva, she wrote to propose paying him a visit. The poet replied
graciously. "When I received his answer," she continues, "I was seized
with sudden fright. I remembered all I had heard related of those who
paid Ferney a first visit. It is the custom, especially for young women,
to tremble, grow pale, and even faint, on perceiving Voltaire: they
throw themselves into his arms, they weep, and show an agitation which
resembles the most passionate love. This is the etiquette of a
presentation at Ferney; and M. de Voltaire is so used to it, that calm
and politeness must appear either impertinent or stupid.
"I left Geneva in time, according to my calculation, to arrive at Ferney
just before Voltaire's dinner hour; but my watch was wrong, and I did
not discover my error till I arrived. There is no awkwardness more
disagreeable than to be too early when going to dine with those who know
how to occupy their mornings. Wishing really to please a celebrated man,
who was kind enough to receive me, I dressed myself with elegance, and
never before wore so many feathers and flowers. I took with me a German
painter, M. Ott: he was very clever, but with very little literary
knowledge, and, above all, had never read a line of Voltaire; but he
felt the desirable enthusiasm only by hearing of him. He was in a state
of ecstacy on approaching Ferney. I admired and envied his transport. We
entered the drawing room; it was empty. The servants seemed surprised
and hurried; the bells rang, and all gave signs of the truth, that we
had arrived an hour too soon. We saw, at the end of the room, an oil
painting magnificently framed; we hurried to examine it; and, to our
great surprise, found it was a mere daub, representing Voltaire with a
glory round his head, with the family of Calas kneeling before him,
while he trod under foot his enemies Freron and Pompignan. The picture
was the invention of a bad Genevese artist, who made a present of it to
Voltaire. But it seemed the silliest thing in the world to hang it up in
his drawing room. At length the door opened, and madame Denis and madame
de Saint Julien entered; they announced that Voltaire would soon appear.
Madame de Saint Julien was very amiable, and is passing the summer at
Ferney. She calls Voltaire 'my philosopher,' and he calls her 'my
butterfly.' She proposed a walk to me, and I was delighted; for I felt
embarrassed at the idea of seeing the master of the house, and was glad
to delay for a few minutes the formidable interview. We went on the
terrace, from which the magnificent view of the lake and mountains might
have been seen, had they not had the bad taste to raise a trellice,
covered with a thick foliage that concealed all, so that the view was
only to be perceived through little openings too small for my head; and,
besides, the trellice was so low, that my feathers caught every moment.
I was obliged to stoop, and this fatiguing attitude was ill suited to
enable me to enjoy the conversation of madame de Saint Julien, who,
short, and in a morning dress, walked at her ease, and conversed
agreeably. At length we were told that Voltaire was in the drawing room.
I felt so harassed and frightened that I would have given the world to
have found myself in my inn at Geneva; but my companion, judging me by
herself, drew me along quickly. We returned to the house. As soon as I
had collected myself we entered, and I found myself in the presence of
Voltaire. Madame de Saint Julien invited me to embrace him, saying that
it would please him. I addressed him with the respect due to his genius
and his age. He took my hand and kissed it, and I know not why, but I
was touched by this act of common gallantry coming from him.
"During dinner, M. de Voltaire was by no means agreeable; he appeared to
be continually angry with his servants, calling to them so loudly that I
started. I had been told beforehand of this habit, so singular before
strangers; but it was evident that it was merely a habit, for the
servants neither appeared surprised nor troubled. After dinner, knowing
that I was a musician, Voltaire asked madame Denis to play. She had a
method which reminded one of the music of the days of Louis XIV. She had
just finished a piece of Rameau, when a little girl of seven years old
entered, and threw herself into Voltaire's arms, calling him papa. He
received her caresses with sweetness; and, seeing that I looked on the
picture with extreme pleasure, he told me that this was the daughter of
the descendant of the great Corneille, whom he had adopted. Several
visitors from Geneva dropped in, and afterwards he proposed a drive, and
he and his niece, madame de Saint Julien, and myself entered the
carriage, and he took us to the village to see the houses he is
building, and the charitable establishments he has founded. He is
greater here than in his books, for so ingenious a goodness appears in
all, that one wonders that the same hand which wrote so much blasphemy,
could form such noble, wise, and useful works. He shows this village to
all strangers, but unpretendingly. He speaks of it with kindness and
simplicity; he mentions all that he has done, but with no appearance of
boasting. On returning to the chateau, the conversation was very
animated: it was night before I took my leave.
"The portraits and busts of Voltaire are all very like; but no artist
has painted his eyes well. I expected to find them brilliant and full of
fire; and they are, indeed, the most expressive of intellect that I ever
saw; but they are full, at the same time, of softness and inexpressible
tenderness. The very soul of Zaire shone in those eyes. His smile and
laugh, which is very malicious, changed at once this charming
expression. He is very decrepit; and his old-fashioned dress makes him
look older. He has a hollow voice, which produces a singular effect,
especially as he is in the habit of speaking very loud, although he is
not deaf. When neither religion nor his enemies are mentioned, his
conversation is simple, unpretending, and delightful. It appeared as if
he could not endure the expression of opinions differing from his own on
any point. On the slightest contradiction his voice became shrill and
his manner decided. He has lost much of the manners of the world: and
this is natural; ever since he has lived on this estate no one visits
him but to cover him with flattery. His opinions are oracles; all around
is at his feet. The admiration he inspires is the continual subject of
conversation, and the most extravagant exaggerations now appear ordinary
homage. No king has ever been the object of such excessive adulation."
Voltaire, however, though he liked flattery, often avoided it, by not
receiving the guests that poured in. Madame Denis did the honours of the
house; and many a traveller, who had gone far cut of his way to visit
the Man of the Age, left the chateau without seeing him. It was thus he
treated the comte de Guibert, esteemed in those days as a young man of
promising talents, but who is best known to us as the object of
mademoiselle de l'Espinasse's attachment. Guibert, after passing five
days at Ferney, left it without seeing its master. Arriving at Geneva,
he sent him four verses, which wittily, though somewhat blasphemously,
expressed his regret. The wit pleased; the blasphemy, perhaps, pleased
still more, as showing him to be of his own way of thinking; and
Voltaire instantly sent after him, invited him back, and treated him
with kindness and distinction. Many anecdotes are told of the bad
reception he gave others. But as every one, and in particular every
pretender to literature, thought it necessary to visit Ferney, no wonder
that he was often pushed to extremities by their intrusion and
pretensions, and, impatient and whimsical as he was, got rid of them, as
the humour dictated, by open rudeness or covert ridicule.
The astonishing vivacity and energy of Voltaire's temperament led him to
create, like Don Quixote, giants with whom to fight; but he was not
always moved by the heroic benevolence that animated the Spanish knight,
but by childish or more blameable whims. He had built a church at Ferney
(the one belonging to the parish being mean and in disrepair), and went
to mass, for the edification of his tenantry. After mass he delivered an
exhortation against theft (some of the builders of his church having
been guilty of carrying off old materials), which, being against all
canonical rules, scandalised the congregation and incensed the priest.
The bishop of the diocese, an ignorant, intolerant man, hearing of the
desecration, applied to the king of France for a _lettre de cachet_
against Voltaire. His request was not listened to; but the imagination
of Voltaire was set on fire by the intelligence; nor can we wonder,
considering that he had entered the Bastille, as a prisoner, three
different times. He burnt a vast quantity of papers; he dismissed every
guest; and remained alone with his secretary and father Adam, an
ex-Jesuit, who resided with him. At first he thought it would be
necessary to fly; but soon his restless fancy suggested another mode of
defending himself. The bishop, carrying on the war, forbade any of his
inferior clergy to confess, absolve, or administer the communion to the
seigneur of Ferney. Considering his avowed and contemptuous disbelief in
Christianity, it had been more dignified in Voltaire to abstain from
participating in its mysteries; but he had not the most remote idea of
the meaning and uses of dignity. His impetuosity, his love of the
ridiculous, his determination to vanquish and crush his enemies, by
whatever means, were paramount to any loftier sentiment of calm disdain.
He said, "We shall see whether the bishop or I win the day."
Accordingly, he feigned illness, took to his bed, and insisted on
receiving religious consolations as a dying man. The priest of the
parish refused to comply for a length of time; and Voltaire, to gain his
point, signed a paper declaratory of his respect for the Catholic
religion. The whole scene was indecorous,--insulting to the priest, and
unworthy of the poet. He gained his point at last, and frightened the
curate so much that he fell ill and died; while his conduct in the
church, his angry expostulations with the clergy, and his confession of
faith became the wonder and gossip of Paris.
It is more pleasing to contemplate the good deeds of this versatile and
extraordinary man, whose activity astonished his contemporaries[7], and,
considering his infirmities and age, seem almost superhuman. The civil
troubles of Geneva caused a number of exiles. The fugitives, destitute
and suffering, were received at Ferney, and treated with hospitality and
generosity. Voltaire's first idea was to found the little town of
Versoi, on the banks of the lake of Geneva. He applied to the duke de
Choiseul for protection and funds. These were at first granted; but the
disgrace of the minister ruined the infant town, and its founder was
obliged to restrict his exertions to his own colony at Ferney. He caused
commodious houses to be built, and the place, which was before a
miserable hamlet, inhabited by peasants in the last degree of penury,
became a pleasant village, filled by industrious artisans, who carried
on a considerable trade in watchmaking. It is to this village that
Voltaire led madame du Genlis, and the sight of it filled her with
respect for his enlarged views and benevolent heart.
Nor was this the only place that owed the blessings of prosperity to
him. By most persevering and courageous representations he induced the
chancellor Maupeou to enfranchise the peasants of a territory among the
mountains of Jura, who were serfs to the monastery of St. Claude, and
suffered the most unendurable grievances from the feudal laws still in
force. Afterwards, when Louis XVI. came to the throne, he asked for
various exemptions from taxes from the minister Turgot for the town of
Gex, which flourished in consequence, till Turgot was exiled, his
ordinances cancelled, and the town was ruined. His colony fell under the
same ban, and he shared the general loss. He was grieved, but not
disheartened. "It is true," he wrote to his valued and steady friend the
comte d'Argental, "that I have had the folly, in my eighty-third year,
to commence an undertaking above my strength. I must abandon it, and
wait till I grow younger. My strange fate, which led me from Paris to
the frontiers of Switzerland, and forced me to change a filthy hamlet
into a pretty town, a quarter of a league long, follows me; she does not
restore my youth, but crushes me with the stones of the houses I have
built. A change of ministry in France has deprived my colony of all the
advantages I had obtained; and the good I have done my new country has
turned to mischief. I put the last drop of my blood into this useful
establishment, without any view except that of doing good--my blood is
lost, and all I have to do is to die of a consumption." He wrote to
another friend: "Ferney, which you saw a wretched village, has become a
pretty town. I scarcely know how this has been brought about; but I know
that it has ruined me. It was ridiculous in so insignificant a man as me
to build a town."
The correspondence which this undertaking necessitated was immense. To
this occupation he added a dispute on the merits of Shakspeare, in which
an entire want of taste and of knowledge, and a superfluity of flippancy
and insult, were the prominent features. It raised a laugh among a few,
but did no honour either to his cause or himself.
What, at its outset, seemed a more tranquil and happy reign, had begun
in France. The latter days of Louis XV. were utterly disgraceful. He had
dispersed the parliament, it is true, which, by its prejudices and
injustice, had become odious; but it was replaced by another, which
reformed no abuse, while it was conspicuous only for servile submission
to the royal authority. Enlightened and popular ministers--Choiseul and
Turgot--were exiled to make room for men of the old leaven, who had no
apprehension of the growing necessities of the times; while his
thrusting upon the court a low-born and infamous mistress, completed the
degradation of the king's position: and the society of Paris, opposed to
that of the court, acquired influence and dignity. The first acts of
Louis the Sixteenth's reign, being to recal the disgraced and popular
ministers, and to exhibit every token of sympathy for the distresses of
the subject, inspired hope. Voltaire ardently desired to revisit the
capital, to feel himself among his friends, and to enjoy the sensation
which his presence, after so long an absence, would not fail to create.
The inhabitants of Ferney saw their benefactor depart with tears. He
promised to return in six weeks; and so firmly intended to keep this
resolution, that he put no order into his affairs or papers before his
departure, thinking it not worth while, as his absence would be so
short.
[Sidenote: 1788.
Ætat.
84.]
On the 10th of February he arrived in the capital, accompanied by
monsieur and madame de Villette and madame Denis. Madame de Villette was
a protégée of Voltaire. She had been destined for a convent by her
parents; and, in despair, wrote to the patriarch of Ferney to extricate
her from such a fate. He offered her a home in his house. She was
gentle, beautiful, and clever. M. de Villette, a gentleman of fortune,
fell in love with and married her. She went by the name of Belle et
Bonne among her friends. Voltaire had the peculiarity, which usually
attends men of genius, of gathering about him a society composed
principally of women, and she was a chief favourite.
Voltaire brought with him his newly written tragedy of "Irene." He had
the notion indelibly impressed, that, to secure his position in Paris,
he must acquire popularity; and that a successful tragedy was the sure
means of acquiring it. In the present instance he did not need such
support. No conqueror, returned from enslaving a province, was ever
received with such enthusiastic marks of triumph. La Harpe well
observes, that the generation who had witnessed Voltaire's earlier
struggles and clouded fame, had nearly died away; all those born during
the space of the last forty years found the world full of his fame. His
persecutions, his mode of life, his attacks on religion and on persons,
the mischief he had caused, and the good he had done, were the chief
topics of interest: more than all, the brilliancy of his genius dazzled,
its versatility delighted mankind. Even his pettishnesses, his whims,
his follies, ever varying and upheld by him with earnestness and vigour,
kept alive public attention. That this man, the subject of all tongues
and all pens, should emerge from his seclusion among the Alps, and, in
his eighty-fifth year, come to take his part in society, and gather the
applause of a theatrical audience, excited, nearly to frenzy, the
curiosity, the admiration, and interest of every inhabitant of Paris.
Condorcet, who witnessed his arrival, in his "Life of Voltaire," madame
du Deffand, in her "Letters to Horace Walpole," and Grimm, in his
"Literary Correspondence," give a vivid picture of this last triumphant
but fatal visit to Paris. He arrived in good health; though his first
note to madame du Deffand said, "I arrive, dying; and only wish to
revive to throw myself at your feet." He received all his friends with
cordiality and gaiety, and delighted them with the charm that belonged
to his manners. All Paris pressed to see him; his apartment was never
empty: he received more than 300 persons, one after the other, and had
something witty and agreeable to say to all. Meanwhile, as he was in
reality afflicted by a weakening and very painful disease, his more
familiar friends began to tremble for the result of this new and
exciting scene. "I paid him my second visit yesterday," writes madame du
Deffand, "on the 22d of February. It was not so agreeable as the first.
We were received by his niece, who is certainly the best woman in the
world, but the most tiresome; by M. de Villette, who is the dullest man,
and his young wife, who, they say, is amiable, and goes by the name of
Belle et Bonne with Voltaire and his friends. We did not find him in the
drawing-room; he was shut up with his secretary, and begged me to wait.
His friends told me that he was overwhelmed with fatigue; that he had
read the whole of his tragedy that afternoon to the actors, and had made
them rehearse, and was so exhausted that he could scarcely speak. I
wished to go away; but they detained me, and Voltaire sent me four lines
he had made on his statute by Pigal, to engage me to remain. After a
good quarter of an hour he came in. He said that he was dead--that he
could not speak. I offered to leave him; but he would not let me. He
spoke to me of his play. He has no other subject in his head: it has
caused him to come to Paris, and it will kill him if it does not
succeed."
Nor was his tragedy his only subject of anxiety. He was told that Louis
XVI. had asked, on hearing of his arrival, if the interdiction to his
residence in Paris had ever been taken off. A question which seemed to
show his disapprobation; but the young queen and her friends, and the
count d'Artois, were borne away by the stream of fashion and friendlily
inclined. A few days after his arrival he fell ill. His mode of life in
Paris was very different from that which he led at Ferney; there he was
subject to none of the calls of society; he saw few visitors, and left
madame Denis to do the honours of the house--enjoying in his own person
the most entire liberty, passing the greater part of his day in bed, or
in study; at other times walking in his grounds and over his estate,
directing the improvements and enjoying the pleasure of creating his
colony, and witnessing its prosperity. His new mode of life deranged his
health, a vomiting of blood came on, and his life was in danger. The
vivacity of the French disposition was shown at this moment. All Paris
was in alarm. The priests gathered round--Voltaire thought it right to
quiet them by making a profession of faith. How far the all-seeing and
infinitely pure Being can be propitiated by a falsehood on the lips of a
dying man, may be considered doubtful; but the clergy thought more of
their own temporal victory than the higher questions of religion and
morality. These might have been satisfied by a declaration given by
Voltaire to a friend, which said, "I die worshipping God, loving my
friends, not hating my enemies, and detesting superstition." Nor was
this the only disquiet that attended his sick-bed: his friends
quarrelled round it concerning the physicians who attended, and
wrangling and dissension--the fruits of the vanity, not the affection,
of his friends--disturbed the peace necessary for his convalescence.
The vital principle was still strong, and he recovered. He made use of
his renewed strength to visit the academy, and to be present at the
representation of his tragedy. The enthusiasm was at its height. He was
almost crushed to death both at the Louvre and the theatre,
notwithstanding the exertions of the soldiers to keep a passage clear.
The academicians received him rather as the sovereign of literature than
as an equal. At the theatre his reception was still more flattering. His
bust was crowned on the stage, and the audience were in a transport of
delight; tears of enthusiasm and joy marked the feeling of the
spectators, who saw his attenuated figure with sorrow, and every one was
eager to offer him assistance when he left the theatre. His triumph
failed only in that the court still looked askance on him; and his very
presence in Paris was rather connived at than permitted. Still the
manifestations of public favour might satisfy a man even insatiable of
applause. He was deeply touched. "They wish to smother me with roses,"
he exclaimed, as he felt his feeble frame sink from exhaustion.
At this moment, at the very zenith of human glory,--when the whole
population of the then most civilised capital in the world seemed to
breathe his name only, to see him only in the world, to crowd round him
in admiration and triumph,--and while their cry, "There is the saviour
of the Calas," rewarded him for his benevolent exertions,--then, had he
retired to his tranquil seclusion at Ferney, he might have prolonged his
existence. But this he was not permitted to do. Madame Denis was
heartily tired of the mountain solitude, which, as Voltaire grew older
and more averse to show himself, became a complete seclusion. He
earnestly desired to return; but, day after day, the solicitations of
his friends induced him to prolong his stay. His secretary, Wagner,
gives a lively picture of the struggles between him and his niece. The
physician, Tronchin, had begged Voltaire to return to Ferney. "You must
feel," he said, "that a tree transplanted at eighty-four years of age
must perish." "Am I able to support the journey?" asked the old man.
"Yes, I answer for it on my head," said Tronchin; and Voltaire, charmed
with the prospect, gave instant orders for his departure. Madame Denis
argued against it. "I must return," he replied. "I adore the country; it
gives me new life. You, who detest it, can remain here, and amuse
yourself." "Who told you that I hated it?" asked his niece. "My
experience," he replied quickly and sternly.
The cabals which formed the spirit of French society in those days
multiplied to keep the old man in Paris. He was induced to buy a house;
but he made the purchase more for madame Denis than himself, and said
"that instead of a dwelling he had bought a tomb." He still persisted,
while he was in Paris, in attending the academy, where he wished to
introduce the plan of a new dictionary, and in interesting himself with
theatrical concerns. He drank coffee to support himself when he felt his
strength failing; and this producing fever and pain, he took opium to
procure calm. Soon his illness took a dangerous turn, and no remedies
could alleviate it; a mortification came on, which caused him
unspeakable agonies. At length, he fell into a state of exhaustion and
torpor, and died on the 30th of May, 1778.
According to the scandalous custom of the French clergy, impediments
were raised to his decent interment. To baffle these, his death was kept
secret for several days. A grave was denied him in the parish where he
died, and the body was transported to the Abbey de Scellieres, in the
diocese of Troyes, belonging to his nephew, and buried in the church. A
stone was placed above, bearing the words, only--"CI-GIT VOLTAIRE." At
the same time orders were issued by the government forbidding the
newspapers to comment on his death either for praise or blame; the
actors to represent his plays; and the masters of schools to allow their
pupils to learn his verses. Such arbitrary and puerile acts always
destroy themselves, and add to, instead of detract from, the reputation
of the man against whom they are levelled.
Other governments showed more liberality. Catherine of Russia, who had
corresponded with him, and whom he had held up to the admiration of the
world, openly mourned his death. His old friend Frederic of Prussia
caused his academy to hold a meeting in his honour, during which an
elaborate eulogium, written by himself, was pronounced.
The character of Voltaire is displayed in the preceding pages. He was a
zealous, a warm, and constant friend. When Thiriot acted weakly and
injuriously--sending to Frederic of Prussia the libels published against
his friend--madame du Châtelet and others implored him to renounce him;
but Voltaire, while he reproved, let no word of unkindness escape. In
later days, d'Alembert wrote to tell him that the duke de Richelieu was
acting a false part by him, and prevented his plays from being acted.
Voltaire could not be touched in a more sensitive place; but he replied,
"that such might be true, but that he could not quarrel with a friend
whom he had known for fifty years." He was, it is true, a rancorous
enemy--never pardoning, but visiting any injury done him with the
severest retaliation of sarcasm and ridicule. He was singularly
benevolent and generous. His letters are crowded with instances. His
exertions in favour of the oppressed have been partly recorded in the
preceding pages; it would require many more to commemorate every
instance of his active and enlightened benevolence. When, on the death
of Louis XV., he thought he could get annulled the sentence against the
chevalier d'Etallonde, he procured his leave of absence from the king of
Prussia, supplied him with money for his journey to Ferney, and kept him
there a year, while he vainly exerted his utmost influence in his
favour. He bitterly deplored his failure. The spectacle of injustice
filled him with anguish. His mind endured torture from the sense of
injury done others, and he felt it imperative to prevent or repair
crime. The sight, the idea only, of a triumphant or unpunished
oppressor, excited the liveliest emotions of compassion and indignation
in his sensitive and proud spirit. His private benevolence was not less
active. The bookseller Jore, whose imprudence and want of fidelity had
endangered his liberty, applied to him in distress, and was relieved,
with expressions of kindness. A friend died in Paris; his wife, who had
been living separate from him, seized on all he left, and an old and
faithful servant was left destitute. Voltaire instantly made her an
allowance. We might multiply such instances; and while this sad world is
filled with the needy, the afflicted, and the oppressed, it is
impossible not warmly to admire a man who sympathises in the necessities
of his fellow-creatures and alleviates their sufferings.
The great and lasting blame attached to him arises from the inveterate
and bitter hostility he expressed to Christianity. The texture of his
mind partly occasioned this. He was incapable of understanding or
feeling the sublime, the simple, and the pure. The poetry of the Bible
was a dead letter to him; and this may be the more readily accounted
for, as the living French poet, La Martine, whose nature is pious and
reverential, mentions that he never felt its sublimity till a few years
ago, when translated by his friend M. de Genoude. Impurity and grossness
was also a part of Voltaire's nature; and these led him to depreciate
the beauty of the Saviour's character, and the morality of the gospel.
The French clergy of those days must bear, however, much of the blame.
Voltaire ardently desired to crush a church which, in power, showed
itself utterly devoid of the principles of Christianity. Arnaud,
Fénélon, the recluses of Port Royal, and the Quietists, had been its
victims. Racine, Boileau, men of highly moral and pious characters, were
injured and calumniated; and this because they did not belong to the
reigning party in the church. What wonder, then, that Voltaire and his
friends were led to despise men who made their religion the pretence for
indulging their worst passions, and were even induced to think ill of
the system of which they proclaimed themselves the sole fitting
supports. Let Christians be real disciples of the Gospel, and men like
Voltaire will neither have the power nor the will to injure the religion
they profess.
We have no space for elaborate criticism of Voltaire's works. We have
alluded to many in the progress of this biography. His "Historical Essay
on the Manners and Spirit of Nations," in spite of its mistakes in facts
and errors of opinion, is a monument of vast genius. His "Age of Louis
XIV." is a beautiful work, though we are not sure that his mode of
dividing the subject is the best. Many long chapters, devoted to the
narration of wars, unmixed by the detail of individual passions or
public struggles, which are thrown into separate portions of the work,
break and weaken the interest.
His plays have not the loftiness of Corneille, nor the soft tenderness
of Racine; but many of them possess much passion and power. His poetic
faculties, such as they were, decayed soonest; his latter tragedies are
weak and poor compositions. As a didactic poet, he ranks low; as an
epic, he is not considered in these days to take any rank at all; as a
burlesque, grossness and indelicacy occasion his verses to be read only
by those whose praise is not worth having; as a critic, he was unfair
and uncourteous, always ready to make ridicule stand for argument, and
not unwilling to advance what was false, when the truth did not
sufficiently support him. Thus he could translate a speech of Falstaff,
declaring that it was meant to be tragic, because it occurred in a
tragedy. His lighter productions are among his best, and, though sullied
by his peculiar defects, are full of genius. The great characteristic of
Voltaire is, that he scarcely ever penned a line that is not instinct
with spirit and life and genius. If you open by chance any volume of his
works, you will be struck at once by the strength and felicity of his
expressions--the vivacity of the sentiment--the penetration with which
he detects the false--the wit which gives sparkle and point to all he
says. He was, it is true, of the second order of minds, but first among
the second; and such was his perfection in his art, as far as it went,
that he contrived, while living, to fill a first place, and will always
receive a larger share of attention and praise than his intrinsic merits
deserve.
[Footnote 1: His own high opinion of the "Henriade" is manifested in
certain verses he wrote on the subject, which may be mentioned as proof,
at once, of his vanity and his entire inability to understand and
appreciate poetry. These verses, indeed, only embody, in a few lines,
his "Essay on Epic Poetry," in which he proves that absence of
imagination is the chief merit of a poet.]
[Footnote 2: That we may be impartial, we quote the opinion expressed of
this poem by a modern French critic. Barante, in his "Essay on French
Literature of the Eighteenth Century," remarks, "Voltaire has most
fallen in his reputation as an epic poet. He flattered himself in vain
that he had bestowed an epic on France. Such a work could not be
produced in the times in which he lived, nor with a character like his.
For epic poetry we need the lively and free imagination of the first
ages: knowledge must not have weakened faith, enthusiasm of feeling, nor
the variety and vigour of character. . . . . By a serious and melancholy
character, and pure and true feelings, and the memory of adversity
brooded over in solitude, an epic might be rendered as touching as it
has been rendered sublime, and interest might stand in place of
imagination. But if Virgil secluded himself from the influence of the
court of Augustus, Voltaire was far from avoiding that of the court of
the regent. He composed an epic poem with the same degree of interest as
would have sufficed to enable him to write an epistle in verse. He
fancied that an epic consisted in certain forms agreed upon, in
prescribed supernatural agency. He fulfilled these rules, and believed
that he had achieved a great work. He was not aware that it is not a
dream, a recital, and the introduction of divinities, that constitutes
an epic poem; but an elevated and solemn imagination; and, above all,
simplicity and truth, under whatever form. The Iliad does not resemble
the Odyssey in the arrangement of its parts: these poems have nothing in
common, except the epic spirit." So far the enlightened critic speaks.
Then, to soothe ruffled French vanity, he adds, "Nevertheless, it cannot
by denied that the 'Henriade' contains great beauties; the poetry is not
epic, but is sometimes elevated and pathetic."]
[Footnote 3: The love of scandal, which belongs to humanity, always
busies itself in exaggerations. In a virtuous and primitive state of
society, slight peccadilloes serve the turn of the backbiter; the
inventions grow with the necessity of surpassing the fact. If the regent
had been a Quaker, he would have been accused of kissing any favoured
lady by stealth: being unfortunately a profligate, he was accused of
incest; the next step beyond the fact which it was necessary for slander
to make.]
[Footnote 4: Mémoires de Longchamp.]
[Footnote 5: It is difficult to decide on madame du Châtelet's
character. With regard to the immorality of her liaison with Voltaire,
we will merely refer to the clever preface of the English editor to
madame du Duffand's correspondence with Horace Walpole, in which the
stale of society in that age is so well described; and only remark, that
such was the system, that a devoted and enduring friendship for so great
a man was considered highly respectable, even though that friendship
militated against our stricter notions of social duties; it not being
considered the business of any one to inquire into, or concern
themselves with, a question that related only to the persons immediately
implicated. With regard to madame du Châtelet's general character, she
was unpopular through the vehemence of her temper, and even the ardour
with which she devoted herself to study. She had several of the faults
attributed to literary women, which arise from their not having the
physical strength to go through great intellectual labour without
suffering from nervous irritation In other respects she was evidently
generous and sincere. Her judgment was sound; her common sense clear and
steady. She was witty and vivacious, and had as much to bear from
Voltaire's petulance, whimsicalness, and vehemence, as he from her more
imperious temper.]
[Footnote 6: When the correspondence was renewed between Frederic and
Voltaire, they could not help alluding to the past, and their
expressions show that each thought himself in the right. Voltaire says,
"I am unutterably surprised when you write that I have spoken harshly to
you. For twenty years you were my idol, '_je l'ai dit à la terre, au
ciel, à Guzman même_;' but your trade of hero, and your situation of
king, do not render the disposition tender: it is a pity, for your heart
was made for kindness; and were it not for heroism and a throne, you
would have been the most amiable man in the world." Frederic replied,
with greater force, "I well know that I adored you as long as I thought
you neither mischievous nor malicious: but you have played me so many
tricks, of all kinds. Let us say no more; I have pardoned you. After
all, you have done me more good than ill. I am more amused by your
works, than hurt by your scratches."]
[Footnote 7: Lettres de Madame du Deffand à Horace Walpole, vol. II.]
ROUSSEAU
1712-1778.
It is impossible to imagine a character in stronger contrast with
Voltaire, than that of Rousseau. They possessed but one quality in
common. It is difficult to know what to call it. In ordinary men it
would be named egotism, or vanity. It is that lively and intimate
apprehension of their own individuality, sensations, and being, which
appears to be one of the elements of that order of minds which feel
impelled to express their thoughts and disseminate their views and
opinions through the medium of writing;--men of imagination, and
eloquence, and mental energy. This quality is good as long as it renders
an author diligent, earnest, and sincere; it is evil when it deprives
him of the power of justly appreciating his powers and position, and
causes him to fancy himself the centre, as it were, of the universe.
Rousseau was its victim; it was exaggerated till his mind became
diseased; and one false idea becoming fixed and absorbing, a sort of
madness ensued. He was too alive to the sense of his own actions and
feelings; and as he had committed many faults, not to say crimes, the
recollection of these, joined to his sincere love of virtue, produced a
struggle in his mind full, of misery and remorse.
Jean Jacques Rousseau was born at Geneva, on the 28th June, 1712. His
birth cost the life of his mother, and was, he says, "the first of his
misfortunes." His father was a watchmaker, and clever in his trade--it
was all he had to subsist upon. Jean Jacques was born weakly, and with
some organic defect, that rendered the rearing difficult and precarious.
A sister of his father devoted herself to him. According to his own
account, his childish years were happy. Loved and caressed by many
relations, and watched over by his aunt, he was indulged without being
spoiled. His father taught him to read, after the business of the day
was over. That his attention might be excited, the long romances of
Scudéri and the elder Crebillon were put into his hands. His father
shared the pleasure he took in this occupation, and parent and child
often sat up all night to indulge in it: a taste for the romantic, and a
precocious knowledge of the language of passion and sentiment, were thus
impressed upon the boy. When the collection of romances was ended, they
turned to other books. They had a good collection, being a portion of
the library of his mother's father, a minister of the church. The
"History of the Church and the Empire," by Le Seur; Bossuet's "Discourse
on Universal History;" Plutarch's "Lives;" Ovid's "Metamorphoses;" the
works of Molière, La Bruyère, and Fontenelle, were among them. The boy
read to his father as he sat at work.
[Sidenote: 1720.
Ætat.
8.]
"I thus," Rousseau writes "imbibed a singular taste, perhaps unexampled
at my age. Plutarch, above all, became my favourite reading, and the
pleasure I took in it cured me somewhat of my love for romances, and I
soon learnt to prefer Agesilas, Brutus, and Aristides, to Oorondates,
Artamenes, and Juba. These delightful books, and the conversations to
which they gave rise between my father and me, formed that independent
and republican spirit, that proud untameable character, impatient of
yoke and servitude, which has tormented me through life, in situations
ill adapted to foster it. "With my thoughts continually occupied by Rome
and Greece,--living, so to speak, with their great men, born myself the
citizen of a republic, and the son of a father whose strongest passion
was love of his country,--I warmed by his example--I fancied myself
Greek or Roman--I became the man whose life I read. The account of acts
of constancy and intrepidity which struck me caused my eyes to flash,
and gave expression to my voice. One day, as I was relating at table the
history of Scævola, the listeners were frightened to see me advance and
hold my hand above a brazier to represent his action."
These happy days, which, had they continued, might have blotted many
pages of error and suffering from Rousseau's life, ended too soon. The
darling of all, he lived in an atmosphere of love. He had one elder
brother, who, treated with negligence, ran away, and took refuge in
Germany. Not long after, his father had a quarrel with a French officer;
and rather than submit to the short, but, as it appeared to him, unjust,
imprisonment with which he was menaced in consequence, expatriated
himself, leaving his little son with his sister, who had married his
wife's brother; and the family was thus doubly related. Jean Jaques was
now sent, together with a young cousin, to board at Bossey, with a
minister named Lambercier. His life here was more pleasurable than
generally falls to the lot of childhood;--the boys had their hours of
tuition, and their hours of play--they quarrelled and made it up--they
had their childish schemes, their holidays,--they were happy. Rousseau,
in his "Confessions," well describes how these days of innocence and
childish enjoyment were disturbed by an unjust punishment. The injustice
sunk deep into the children's minds,--it despoiled their country home of
all its charm; and this circumstance deserves mention, as it will always
be found that the more children are treated with kindness and
familiarity, the more necessary it is to guard against the slightest
show of injustice. At a great school, accusation and punishment are
often the effect of accident, and the boys lay less store by them; they
are not pregnant with disgrace or shame,--many others, like themselves,
are subject to the like, and it appears simply as one of the common
hardships of life. But in domestic education they feel themselves to be
a portion of the whole; and if that whole be harmonious, a discord, an
act of tyranny, that falls peculiarly on themselves, makes a frightful
impression; it appears to enfranchise them from the tacit vow of
obedience under which they before lived, and causes them to regard their
elders as treacherous enemies.
Leaving their country pension, the boys continued to lead a happy life
at the house of Bernard, who was an engineer. He brought up his son to
the same profession, and Rousseau shared his cousin's lessons. At length
it was decided that he must adopt some calling, by which to earn his
livelihood: he was placed with a _greffier_, or attorney; but he
disliked the employment, and neglected his duties; he was dismissed, and
apprenticed to an engraver. Here he appears to have been neglected by
his relations; and the vulgarity and violence of his master had the
worst effect on his character. There was that in Rousseau, which is
often found in the early years of genius,--detestation of
control--rebellion against all forced application. Eager to occupy
himself, if allowed the choice of employment; revolting from a routine,
in which his own purposes and inclinations were not consulted; it is one
of the Sphinx's riddles, not yet divined, how to break in the daring and
aspiring spirit of youth to the necessities of life, without exciting
discontent and rebellion. The heart opening at that age more warmly to
the affections, nature seems to point out the way,--but who in society,
as it is formed, takes nature for a director?
Beaten, maltreated, hard worked, Rousseau became idle, timid, and lying.
It is strange, but true, how, in the little republic of Geneva, money is
perhaps more the main spring of existence than in larger states, and how
early the children of the artizans are subjected to the grinding evils
of penury. Brought up to earn their subsistence as soon as is
practicable, the parents are eager to cast them wholly on their own
exertions: and the numerous class of young people, male and female,
decently born and bred, who, in that city, live by attendance in shops,
by the needle, or the workman's tool, suffer much of the excess of
labour and poor living to which the inferior classes in our
manufacturing towns are subject.
Rousseau, timid of heart, but with an imagination that warmed him to
daring, was led into mischievous scrapes: the very ardour of his
disposition occasioned his faults: he was treated like a vulgar
apprentice, and he fell into the vices of such a position, without at
the same time blunting that eagerness and romance that formed the
essence of his character. In the midst of disgraceful scrapes, his love
of reading returned. He had none of those fixed principles which would
lead him to give due time to the work required of him by his master, and
his leisure to his books; a new volume in hand, every other occupation
was sacrificed to it;--he was beaten and ill-treated for his negligence;
he became obstinate and taciturn, but never gave up his point. His
books, and the day-dreams founded on them, which fabricated and painted
a thousand romantic scenes, filled his heart in solitude; real life was
replete with indignity and suffering; in reverie, he was enterprising,
noble, and free.
Sunday--the day of leisure and liberty--was spent in rambles and games
with his comrades. It is the law of Geneva to shut the gates early in
the evening, and they are not opened on any pretence for any one till
the following morning. The lad, once or twice too late, was punished
severely for his negligence. On the third occasion he resolved rather to
run away than to encounter the menaced chastisement. His last act was to
send for his cousin Bernard, to take leave of him: the boy did not press
him to stay--did not offer to mediate for him; he returned to his
parents, while Rousseau turned his steps from his native city--a vagrant
and a beggar.
No such aspect of things presented itself to the wanderer himself;--he
was in his own eyes a hero in search of adventures;--he dreamt of all of
brilliant and festive of which he had read in his romances, and while he
slept under the roofs of peasants with whom he was acquainted, and who
received him with cordial hospitality, his reveries pictured castles and
enamoured damsels, a fortune the gift of love, and lasting happiness the
effect.
Rousseau was unfortunate at the outset. He had wandered about till he
found himself at Confignon, in Savoy, a place two leagues distant from
Geneva. He paid the curate, M. de Pontverre, a visit. His own account of
his motives is suspicious: he says that he was anxious to see the
descendant of men who figured in the history of the republic; that M. de
Pontverre received him well, asked him to dinner, and invited him to be
converted to the Roman catholic religion; and that he had not the heart
to say nay to his kind entertainer. There is--and there was in those
days still more--a great spirit of proselytism kept up among the
priesthood of Savoy, hovering, as they do, close to a nest of heresy.
Still, we cannot help imagining that the scheme was Rousseau's own, and
that he presented himself as a willing convert--expecting thus to be
made much of, and introduced in triumph to the houses of the catholic
nobility. At any rate, M. de Pontverre behaved ill: he ought to have
felt that it was more for the youth's permanent advantage to send him
back to his friends, mediate for his pardon, and exhort him to regular
and virtuous courses; and that to make a proselyte of him, and thus
render his relations entirely hostile, and him an object of disgrace in
his native city, while it opened no future career for earning an honest
livelihood, was the worst step in the beginning of life that a young man
could take. But M. de Pontverre, as a priest, thought differently;--if
he did not invite the youth to abjure the religion of his country, he
facilitated a scheme that sprang from any feeling rather than piety.
Rousseau felt his pride fall, when his host told him that he would give
him a letter to a charitable lady living at Annecy, who would forward
his views. He saw, however, no other resource against starvation; and he
yielded. Furnished by the curate with a letter, he set out--his head
full of princesses, palaces, and castles, and in great hopes that some
fortunate adventure would present a more brilliant prospect than the one
before him. None occurred. He arrived at Annecy; he saw madame de
Warens; and in her and her kindness found embodied one of those romances
of real life, which, if of less fairy and glittering hue to the eye, are
equally magic-like to the heart, and do not less serve to alter the
course of existence, and to metamorphose the soul.
The comtesse de Warens was a native of Vevay, in the Pays de Vaud: she
had married when very young; and having no children, and not being happy
in her marriage, she took occasion, when the king of Savoy, Victor
Amadeo, was at Evian, to cross the lake, throw herself at his feet, and
claim his protection as a convert to Catholicism. The king, who was
zealous in the cause of his religion, received her graciously, and
settled on her a pension of 1500 Piedmontese livres. She was much loved
at Vevay, and there was some danger of her being rescued against her
will: to preserve his proselyte, the king was obliged to have her
escorted to Annecy by a detachment of guards; where, under the direction
of the titular bishop of Geneva, she abjured protestantism. She had
lived for six years at Annecy, and was eight and twenty, when Rousseau
first saw her. She was beautiful, and, above all, an expression of
angelic sweetness and benevolence beamed in her face, that inspired him
at once with hope, confidence, and gratitude. She felt the folly of the
step he had taken; but, surrounded by priests and spies, she feared to
show compassion, or to give him good advice; the few words she did say,
to induce him to return to his father, were of no avail. Yet it was not
easy to find the means of subsistence for him. At length one of her
guests proposed that he should go to Turin, and enter the hospital
established for the instruction of proselytes, where he could remain
until his abjuration, when it might be supposed some charitable person
would come forward to his assistance. Sad and humble was the prospect
held out; but there appeared to be no other resource except to return to
Geneva,--an alternative he obstinately rejected. Some respectable
persons were found who were going to Turin, and he accompanied them. The
journey was performed on foot, and lasted nine days--nine happy
days--when casting away all thought of the future, unincumbered by
luggage, his expenses attended to by others, he wandered among the
valleys of the Alps, crossed their summits, and beheld the happy garden
which Piedmont presents to the traveller, just emerging from the snows
of Savoy. The recollection of this delightful journey often made him
wish to renew it in after life--and a pedestrian tour always appeared to
him one of the chief happinesses of existence.
Once established in the hospital, he began to feel the importance of the
step he was about to take. His conscience told him that he was making a
traffic of religion, and he dimly appreciated the sin and disgrace of
such a proceeding. Brought up in a bigoted calvinist city, he had been
taught a holy horror for catholic ceremonies; still he fancied there was
no escape: false shame--fear of starvation--a determination not to
return to Geneva, caused him to silence his better thoughts. Yet he was
eager to delay the fatal act;--he argued with the priests employed to
teach him a new religion; and it was found necessary to provide one
especially, who was capable of mastering the catechumen's objections by
the arms of logic and learning. Finding that he could not answer the
priest's arguments, Rousseau began to think that he might be in the
right; and he yielded with good grace to the act of abjuration. After
being received into the catholic church--after being absolved by a
father inquisitor for the crime of heresy--twenty francs, collected at
the church door, were put into his hands; he was recommended to be
faithful to his new religion, and to lead a good life; and then he was
dismissed, and found himself--the doors of his late abode closed
behind--friendless and alone in the streets of Turin. Newly recovered
liberty, however, at first sufficed to inspire him with happy
sensations; and the very sight of the well-built and well-peopled
streets filled him with hopes for the future. Where there were so many
rich and great, there could not fail, he thought, to be found a thousand
eligible resources against want.
The resources he really found were in ill accord with the pictures his
imagination formed. He was obliged to hire himself as a servant. At
first he served a fair shopkeeper; and then became the attendant of an
old countess Vercelli, with whom he lived till her death, which occurred
only three months after. It was on this occasion that he committed that
fault, remorse for which pursued him till his death. During the illness
of his mistress he had abstracted a riband from her wardrobe, with the
intent of bestowing it on a maidservant of the house. The riband was
missed, sought for, and found on him. False shame led him to deny the
theft; and, when more closely questioned, he declared that the stolen
riband had been given to him by the very girl on whom he had intended to
bestow it. The two were confronted; the innocent servant implored him
with tears to retract his falsehood, but he resolutely maintained his
story. He was believed. He tells this tale in his "Confessions;" he
declares that the avowal cost him more pain than any other--that remorse
never ceased to pursue him--the image of the injured girl, reproaching
him for the wrong he had done her, often haunted his dreams--it weighed
on his conscience as the most atrocious crime. He had sought merely to
shelter himself, and false shame prevented his retracting the accusation
once made; but the thought of his victim driven to want and infamy by
his lie made him often look on his after sufferings as but the just
retribution of his crime. This is one of the laws of life. The shadows
of our past actions stalk beside us during our existence, and never
cease to torment or to soothe, according as they are ill or good, that
mysterious portion of mind termed conscience.
Rousseau was now again thrown back upon independent poverty. His time
was not all lost: he frequented the society of an excellent man, a
Savoyard abbé, M. Gaime, who enlightened his mind as to his real
duties, instructed him in the better part of religion, and corrected his
false estimate of society. These lessons were often forgotten, at least,
inasmuch as they ought to have served as guides for conduct; but they
were as dew upon a field; in due time, the hidden seeds of thought, then
sown, sprang up. While thus unemployed, and not looking beyond the hour,
the nephew of his late mistress sent for him, and told him that he had
found a situation: he was to become a domestic in a noble family of
Turin: this was a fall for the youth's pride, but he had no other
resource against want.
He was treated with infinite kindness by the various members of the
family: he distinguished himself by his intelligence; and the younger
son, who was destined for clerical honours, became interested for him:
he questioned him as to his acquirements; and, finding that he had
received the rudiments of education, undertook to teach him Latin. He
might now have been happy: had he shown himself steady, he would have
been advanced by his protectors. The Italians, satisfied with the
acknowledged distinctions of rank, have no ridiculous pride, and are
ready to treat inferiors on an equality, if their education raises them
to their mental level. Many careers, closed against the ignoble in
France, were open in Italy; and these were offered to Rousseau's view as
spurs to his ambition. He was won for a brief period; but, though he
dreamt of climbing, he did not like going up the ladder--and a caprice
ruined all. He fell in with a merry fellow, who had been his fellow
apprentice in Geneva, and who was about to return to that city.
Rousseau, charmed by his wild gay spirits--allured by the attractions of
a mountain journey made on foot, with the idea of madame de Warens in
the misty distance--threw up his situation with a careless show of
ingratitude that disgusted his protectors, and set out again a beggar,
but rendered wildly happy by the project of travelling among the valleys
and over the mountains of Savoy, with a little toy fountain as all his
treasure; round which he believed the peasants would gather, and pay for
their amusement by their hospitality. The fountain was soon spoiled; but
they had a little money, and enjoyed their rambles till the sight of
Annecy recalled Rousseau to the realities of life.
Madame de Warens had, however, none of that rigid uprightness which
thrusts the young into misery because their untaught impulses lead them
astray. She received the wanderer with simple kindness. "I feared you
were too young," she said, "for this journey; I am glad, however, that
it has not turned out as ill as I expected." She received him into her
house, and with maternal care sought to find some permanent occupation
for which he was fitted. For some time her endeavours were vain. He was
pronounced to be incapable of being able even to learn Latin enough for
a country curate. Her heart must have been indeed warm with natural
charity, not to have been chilled by these rebukes of any vanity she
might have felt in patronising the outcast. A taste which Rousseau
developed for music at length afforded her some hope. She placed him
with M. le Maître, music master to the cathedral choir.
[Sidenote: 1729.
Ætat.
17.]
Here he remained for a year studying the art. M. le Maître, however,
had a quarrel with a canon of the cathedral; and, to revenge himself,
absconded with his case of music on the eve of the holy week, when his
services were most wanted. Unable to dissuade him from this folly,
madame de Warens permitted Rousseau to aid and accompany him in his
flight. He did not go far: at Lyons poor Le Maître fell into an
epileptic fit; and Rousseau, frightened, hastily gave him in charge to
the bystanders, made his own escape, and returned to Annecy. This, he
says, is his "second painful confession." It is here mentioned, as well
as his first, to show--as in the more heinous one that follows--that
Rousseau's real defect was a want of moral courage to meet any menacing
and uncertain evil, and absence of fixed principle to enable him to
conquer this defect, and to recognise the omnipotent claims of duty. He
returned to Annecy, and found that madame de Warens had departed for
Paris. Thrown on his own resources, he felt uncertain as to the means of
gaining his bread. He was asked by madame de Warens' maid-servant to
accompany her to Fribourg, her native place; she also being left without
explanation by her mistress. A wandering life of some years commenced
with this journey. In writing this portion of Rousseau's biography, we
labour under the disadvantage, that we but abridge details, which he
gives with all the glow and charm of romance and the interest of
reality--while, limited in space, we can scarcely do more than mark
epochs;--we pass over, therefore, the history of his adventure at
Lausanne, where he pretended to furnish a concert of musicians with a
piece of music of his own composition, although ignorant of the first
principles of the art. Still he had studied music for some time, and had
a taste for it,--and this led him to endeavour to earn his livelihood by
teaching it. He remained for nearly two years at Neufchâtel, exercising
the calling of music master: the temptation held out by a sort of Greek
swindler led him to give up his career: he engaged himself to this man
as interpreter, but was rescued out of his hands by M. de Bonac, the
French ambassador, who treated him with great kindness, and gave him an
introduction at Paris to be tutor to a young gentleman who had just
entered the army. This scheme did not succeed. Rousseau was disgusted by
the treatment he met; he left his employer, and returned to Savoy on
foot: he had reached Paris in a similar manner.
[Sidenote: 1733.
Ætat.
21.]
Arriving at Chambery, he found madame de Warens returned. She presented
him on the instant to the intendant-general of the province, who gave
him employment as clerk, or, as he was styled, secretary, in an office
instituted to make a census of the estates of the nobles of the country.
And thus, he says, after five years, which had elapsed since his flight
from Geneva--after many follies and many sufferings, for the first time
he began to earn his livelihood in a creditable situation. He was still
a mere boy--or rather, had just arrived at that age where boyhood ceases
and manhood begins.--He had led a precarious life. The kindness of
madame de Warens was all in which he could put his trust; and that had
failed him during the space of nearly two years. Want had frequently
stared him in the face. He could gain bare necessaries only by his own
exertions. Of a romantic unsteady disposition, any stable position,
holding out positive remuneration and demanding regular conduct, was
swiftly abandoned; while he also, through some strange conformation of
mind, appeared incapable of using the genius then in embryo within him,
for the acquirement of such knowledge as would have insured him an
honourable position. Thus the precious years of youth wasted away
imperceptibly, and all that he gained, apparently, as of account for
future years, was a knowledge of music. It may be that this wandering,
desultory, precarious existence, fed by romantic dreams and burning
affections, was best adapted to develope his peculiar talents--but it
certainly was not such as to form habits of mind conducive to happiness.
It engendered a sort of bold and restless self-confidence, founded
rather on that which he could do without, than on that which he could
attain it inspired mistrust or disdain for the assistance of others as
being of no ultimate avail to his welfare; he acquired through it a
capacity of living for the present day, without care for the coming one;
and an inability to endure restraint, even when restraint was an
imperious duty;--in short, a restless sense of unused liberty.
Independence is assuredly the basis of true genius--but then it is that
which holds fast by duty;--this last better portion was not developed in
Rousseau till a later day--and then in so imperfect a manner, and
tainted by so much, first of whim, and lastly of madness, that he reaped
little benefit from the lessons of experience.
He continued to fulfil his duties as secretary for two years; and showed
his aptitude for things beyond, by making a study at the same time of
arithmetic and geometry. But his steady course of life was suddenly
interrupted. An illness confined him to his chamber, and during this
time Rameau's treatise on harmony fell into his hands. It served still
more to develope a passion for music of which he had already given many
tokens. He prevailed on madame de Warens to give a weekly concert; he
became absorbed in the art--neglected his office--and at length proposed
to his protectress to give up his situation, that he might devote
himself entirely to the study of composition. She struggled against a
scheme which offered little prospect of future good, and was to be
followed by the immediate sacrifice of a respectable position and habits
of sober industry.
[Sidenote: 1735.
Ætat.
23.]
Rousseau's ardour caused him to prevail; and he became music master at
Chambery, that he might earn a livelihood while he prosecuted his
studies. He was thus thrown among the best society of the town; and
found it far more agreeable to teach well-born and agreeable young
ladies, than to spend eight hours a day in a close dark office, in
company with under-bred uncombed clerks. Fortunately, where the salt of
intellect prevails, nothing but absolute slavery of mind to an absorbing
and uninstructive pursuit can prevent a man of talent from turning the
various events of life to profit. Among his pupils was a M. de
Conzié--a man of some talent, but with no real taste for the art which
Rousseau was to teach: conversation was therefore usually substituted
for the lesson; and Rousseau, led by him to read Voltaire's works,
acquired something of the tone of the literature of the day, and felt
himself rapidly carried away into the very heart of philosophical
discussions;--he himself began to desire to write with elegance, charmed
by the brilliant style of his great contemporary.
It is impossible to dwell upon the minutia of his life for the five
following years; they were important--they led him through early
manhood, and during their course he developed his taste for the
acquirement of knowledge--educating himself intellectually and morally,
as well as he could, by the light of little else than his own natural
reason.
At first, his head was perpetually full of projects for advancement. He
made many little journeys to Lyons, Geneva, and Niort, for the sake of
prosecuting schemes, which he believed to be fraught with advantages;
but which failing each in turn, he returned penniless to his home with
madame de Warens. By degrees, however, he fell into a bad state of
health. Feeling an inexplicable weakness pervade his frame, he believed
he had but a short time to live, and lost his desire for advancement in
the languor and bodily inaction produced by disease. His protectress,
for the sake of securing a friend at the court of Savoy, rented a house
of a Piedmontese noble at Chambery, which no one else would take, being
close and damp. In the summer, she escaped from this species of prison
to a small country house. Les Charmettes, near Chambery. There, in
solitude and tranquillity, Rousseau gave himself up to study.
Mathematics and Latin were his principal occupations: he worked hard:
there was an inaptitude to remember in him which made knowledge
difficult to acquire; but he acquired the power of reflection--he learnt
to distinguish his ideas--he recognised moral principles and
philosophical truths--he penetrated deeply into the secret springs of
human action. Man's nature was often exposed as a map before him--and he
knew its various bearings and powers--although he was ill able then, as
ever, to control its impulses as they existed within himself.
The confidential domestic of madame de Warens died; and Rousseau, in
some sort fulfilling his avocations, discovered the ruin into which his
protectress was plunged, through her love of scheming, and the ready ear
she gave to every quack and swindler who sought her for the sake of
plunder. It became his desire to save her; and, if that were impossible,
to make such a fortune as would enable him to be of use to her in his
turn.
It is not our intention to enter into the details of Rousseau's
connection with this lady. To any one who loves to make a study of human
nature, the "Confessions" are an invaluable book, and disclose the
secret of many hearts to those who have courage to penetrate into the
recesses of their own. But, to be useful, they must be read as they are,
with the author's observations and minute anatomy of motive; and a mere
abridgment would disgust without advantage. It is not to-day that we
have learnt, that it is not true, that when a woman loses one virtue she
loses all. The true distinctive virtue of woman's nature is her
promptitude to self-sacrifice, and a capacity to bind up her existence
in the happiness and well-being of the objects of her attachment.
Experience shows us, that as far as a woman does this, and is neither
worldly nor depraved, she preserves, in spite of error, the more lovely
qualities of her nature. Personal fidelity is the purifier and preserver
of the affections; and whoso fails in this, either man or woman,
degrades human nature--the glory of which is to ally the sensations of
love to the emotions of the heart and the passions of the soul. If we
examine the conduct of madame de Warens by this rule, we find her
wanting; and whether she be a real personage, and did and felt as
Rousseau describes, or an imaginary being, we may pass judgment on her,
and assert that the event proves that depravity of conduct led her to
fail in fulfilling the duties which the affections impose.
Rousseau, having somewhat recovered his health, returned to his projects
for worldly advancement, and his journeys that carried him hither and
thither in search of it. On one occasion he visited Montpellier for the
sake of consulting a physician; he returned--his hopes of renovated
health gone, his resolve to dedicate himself to his benefactress
strengthened. He returned, to find another in his place--his friend's
heart changed--the paradise he cherished desecrated. He did not the less
resolve to serve her. "Reduced," he writes, "to form a fate for myself
independent of her, and not being able even to imagine such, I sought it
wholly in herself--and I did this so entirely, that I succeeded in
almost forgetting myself. The ardent desire of seeing her happy absorbed
all my affections. In vain did she separate her happiness from mine; I
saw it in hers, in spite of her. Thus the virtues whose seed were in my
soul, and which study had matured, began to germinate with my
misfortunes, and waited but for the operation of adversity to bud
forth." This exalted state of mind, however, could not last. Finding his
rival totally unworthy of his attempts to educate him, and that he was
plunging the unfortunate madame de Warens deeper in inevitable ruin, he
hurried from the scene. The employment of tutor to the children of M. de
Mabli, at Lyons, was offered him; he undertook it; but soon became
disgusted. At a distance, the tranquil happiness of Les Charmettes
recurred to his memory; he began to fancy that he was in fault--that he
had but to return to find love and peace. He did return, and the
illusion was dispelled for ever. For a short time he gave himself up to
study, while he revolved a thousand projects for his future life. Music
was still a favourite pursuit. He had invented a method of noting music
which he considered more facile and perfect than the one in use. He
believed that, if known, it would be generally adopted; and that, if he
took it to Paris and showed it to the professors, they would at once
perceive its advantages, and his fortune would be made. His imagination
speedily warmed with the idea, and he hurried to execute it. "I had
brought," he writes, "some money with me from Lyons; I sold my books to
acquire a sum sufficient for my journey. My design was taken and
executed within the space of fifteen days. In short, full of magnificent
ideas--and ever the same in all times--I left Savoy with my system of
music, as before I had quitted Turin with my toy fountain."
Rousseau pauses--his biographers usually pause--at this epoch, when he
was about to enter on a new life,--leaving the country and solitude for
the busy capital of France. He was nine and twenty; his character was
formed. The love of adventure, which had first caused his flight from
Geneva, had turned into a love of scheming. While censuring madame de
Warens for this turn of mind; he little felt how entirely--he
participated in it. His life was made up of schemes; which his ardent
disposition exalted into passions. The genuine impulses of his soul
were; his genius, developed in authorship; his passionate heart; which
wasted its fondest impulses on one (madame d'Houdetot) who loved
another. These were not schemes; but his stoicism--his hermitism (if
this word he allowed)--his independence carried to an extravagant pitch;
were all schemes; and succeeded; consequently; as ill as possible. "With
this scheming head; a heart yet full of romance; and a mind stored
beyond his own knowledge with observation and sagacity; he left every
old friend; every old association; and plunged; poor and unknown; into a
new life, in the most civilised and most profligate city in the world.
[Sidenote: 1741.
Ætat.
29.]
Rousseau entered Paris this time, as it appeared to him, under good
auspices. He found a friendly and cordial welcome from several French
ladies, to whom he had letters of introduction. His system of noting
music was examined, eulogised, and neglected by the Academy; and Rameau
detecting a radical defect, its inventor cast it aside; but he found
employment as secretary to madame Dupin and M. Franceuil; and better
prospects opened themselves when he was appointed secretary to M. de
Montaigu, ambassador to Venice.
[Sidenote: 1743.
Ætat.
31.]
Here the influence of an evil destiny was manifest. Had the ambassador
been a man of honour and sense, Rousseau might have passed a happy life,
fulfilling an honourable career; but M. de Montaigu was avaricious to a
degree that made him sacrifice propriety as well as dignity to his
saving propensities. "The character of this ambassador," says Bernardin
de Saint Pierre, "is well known. I have heard from good authority
several traits of his avarice. 'Three shoes,' he often said, 'are
equivalent to two pair, because one is sooner worn out than the other;'
and he therefore always had three shoes made at a time." This man,
silly, insolent, and grasping, crushed the last ambition of Rousseau. He
treated him with such indignity that he was forced to leave him.
Plundered and ill treated, while every one at Venice at the time was
eager to furnish testimonials of his excellent conduct--and his
dispatches had merited high praise--he received no compensation from the
court he served. The iniquitous maxim of the French government, never
publicly to acknowledge the misconduct of those whom it employed, joined
to the circumstance that Rousseau was not a Frenchman, sufficed to
render his representations of no avail. This thoroughly, and with
reason, disgusted him from seeking employment under a system where all
worth was trampled on by rank and wealth.
He returned to Paris, and was kindly received by all his friends, with
one exception only, of a highborn lady, who could not imagine that a
_roturier_ had any right to quarrel with a noble. His friends madame
Dupin and M. Franceuil continued their employment; the latter
subsequently endeavoured to place him advantageously as cashier in his
office, he being farmer-general; but Rousseau could neither rest nor
sleep while the money-chest was under his care; and falling ill in
consequence, gave up his situation. M. de Franceuil was somewhat
alienated by this act; he began to think that there were no means of
befriending a man who shrunk from a lucrative and easy employment.
On his first arrival from Venice, Rousseau enjoyed the intimate
friendship of an enlightened Spaniard, a man of noble nature and great
powers of mind. They agreed to live under the same roof, and allied
themselves in the closest friendship. D'Alcuna was recalled to his
native country, and Rousseau felt the void. He had been accustomed to
domestic society, and in addition he felt that he needed the kind
attentions of a woman, and this want led to the fatal act from which
sprung so many of his misfortunes.
In his native country, or in England, Rousseau would, under the
influence of public opinion, probably have married. He would not have
been content in forming so solemn a tie without being satisfied with the
connections of her who hereafter was to share his life; he would have
desired still more to assure himself of the qualities of her heart and
mind. Unfortunately his residence in Savoy and in Paris had deprived him
of all primitive simplicity in his principles of moral conduct; and he
had none of that fastidious taste that made him shrink from the society
of the vicious. For purposes of economy he dined at a sort of
table-d'hôte frequented by persons lost to all sense of decency;
refinement was out of the question. He found a poor girl there, who was
too modest for the depraved and brutalised men who frequented the house.
Rousseau took her part, ties of kindness were formed between them, and
it appearing a matter of convenience to himself, he induced her to
become his mistress.
Therese le Vasseur was not an ill-conducted girl on certain points; she
was always faithful, as far as is known, to her tie to Rousseau; but she
was not only ignorant and illiterate, but wanting in common
understanding. Rousseau boasts that she could give excellent advice on
emergencies; but this common sense did not lead her to resist the
influence of her mother, a low cunning woman; while Rousseau, not liking
to have the burden of her destiny, future as well as present, thrown
wholly on himself, felt no inclination, at the commencement of their
intercourse, when alone it was possible, to separate her from
association with her family, which tended to keep her vulgar-minded and
artful.
Even in his Confessions, where Rousseau discloses his secret errors, he
by no means appreciates the real extent of his misconduct on this
occasion. He allied himself to a girl whom he despised too much to allow
her at first even to share his home; he took her as a sort of
convenience, and when inconveniences arose from the connection, he was
disposed to get rid of them on the easiest possible terms. Theresa was
about to become a mother. According to the profligate code of French
morals, this fact would dishonour her; though the illicit intercourse,
if not openly acknowledged, did not. Rousseau did not like to multiply
ties between himself and his mistress and her family: he was needy: he
had heard young men of rank and fortune allude vauntingly to the
recourse they had had on such occasions to the Foundling Hospital. He
followed their criminal example.
He at first acted, he says, without serious examination of the morality
of his conduct; but when he commenced author, he gave attentive
consideration to the point, and satisfied himself that he did right, and
continued his course of conduct. Five of his children were thus sent to
a receptacle where few survive; and those who do go through life are
brutified by their situation, or depressed by the burden, ever weighing
at the heart, that they have not inherited the commonest right of
humanity, a parent's care.
It is insulting the reader to dwell on the flagrancy of this act. But it
is a lesson that ought to teach us humility. That a man as full of
genius and aspiration after virtue as Rousseau, should have failed in
the plainest dictates of nature and conscience, through the force of
example and circumstances, shows us how little we can rely on our own
judgment. It shows too, that a father is not to be trusted for natural
instincts towards his offspring; for the mother wept, and it needed the
control of her own mother, and strong necessity, to induce the
weak-minded and misguided girl to consent to part with her offspring.
We say little of Rousseau's vain excuses as to the probable destiny of
his children. They were better, he says, brought up by the public, than
rendered rogues by madame le Vasseur, or led into evil courses as
dependants on madame d'Epinay and the maréchale de Luxembourg. This
futile reasoning does not need elaborate refutation. Rousseau talks of
public care, as if that were, in such a place as a Parisian foundling
hospital, aught else but public desertion. The poor children in all
probability died in their infancy.
Rousseau was indeed short-sighted. Brought up in virtue and honour, as a
man of his talents ought to have brought up his offspring,--or genius
were a vainer gift even than it is,--these children might have clustered
round him in his days of desolation, have cheered his house with smiles,
and been a help and support in his age. He would not have felt
friendless, nor been driven to suicide by the sense of abandonment and
treachery. He indeed sowed the wind, and reaped the whirlwind. France
was on the eve of a sanguinary revolution. The social state of things
was about wholly to change. Who knows of what use Rousseau's sons might
have been to check barbarous outrages, to teach justice, or display
fortitude? Such ideas are vain, but will present themselves. Our first
duty is to render those to whom we give birth, wise, virtuous, and
happy, as far as in us lies. Rousseau failed in this,--can we wonder
that his after course was replete with sorrow? The distortion of
intellect that blinded him to the first duties of life, we are inclined
to believe to be allied to that vein of insanity, that made him an
example among men for self-inflicted sufferings. We now dismiss this
subject. It was necessary to bring it so far forward as to show the evil
effects of so bad a cause; it is too painful to dwell further upon.
By degrees Rousseau overcame his dislike to its being known to his
friends that he had formed this sort of connection with Theresa, and he
made common household with her. This species of intercourse was looked
upon in a different light in France than in England. She was regarded as
Rousseau's housekeeper, and respected as such; and no one thought that
they had a right to scrutinise their real relations, or to censure them.
This had been praiseworthy as a proceeding founded on tolerant and
charitable principles; but when we find that this kindly-seeming society
was a Moloch, whom to pacify, little children were ruthlessly
sacrificed, the whole system takes a revolting and criminal aspect from
which we turn with loathing.
However, to go back to narrative. Rousseau instituted Theresa his
housekeeper, assisted in the maintenance of her relatives, and found, in
the convenience and attention which these domestic arrangements brought
with them, a great alleviation to his physical sufferings.
[Sidenote: 1749.
Ætat.
37.]
This same year was memorable on another and important score. Among his
Parisian friends, there was none to whom he was more attached than
Diderot, a man of an amiable disposition, and possessed of greater
abilities in the eyes of those who personally knew him, than he has
developed in his writings. Some people in power were displeased at
certain personal allusions in his "Letter on the Blind." According to
the nefarious system of the old regime, the result was, a _lettre de
cachet_, and his being imprisoned in the keep of the castle of
Vincennes. Rousseau was penetrated by indignation and anguish. He
fancied that his friend would never be liberated; he figured to himself
all that a man of ardent and yet feeble temperament would suffer in
solitary confinement. He wrote to implore madame de Pompadour to exert
her influence, either to procure his liberation, or to admit of him,
Rousseau, being shut up with him. On all occasions he was energetic in
representing the unmerited sufferings to which his friend was exposed.
After a period, the confinement of Diderot was mitigated. The castle and
park of Vincennes, on parole, were given him for a prison, with liberty
to see his friends. Rousseau hastened to avail himself of this
permission, and frequently walked to Vincennes to pass the afternoons in
relieving the solitude of his friend. The way was long, the summer
sultry, his pace slow. He read as he walked along; and once took with
him the "Mercure de France" to beguile the way; as he looked it over, he
fell upon the question proposed by the Academy of Dijon, as the subject
for the prize of the following year--"Whether the progress of the arts
and sciences had tended to corrupt or purify the manners of men." The
words touched a chord that revealed a power, latent in his heart,
undreamt of before. The scroll of society unrolled itself before him,
such as he found it, blotted and tainted, in the city of the earth that
boasted to be the most advanced in the cultivation of the arts and
sciences. And beside it he placed a picture of pristine innocence,--of
man enjoying the full development of his physical powers; living for the
day as it rose, untouched by care, unbewildered by intellectual
speculations,--by vanity, emulation, or pride;--man liberated from the
control of opinion and the tyranny of his own unreasonable desires.
Words descriptive of such a state poured into his mind; expressions of
burning eloquence seemed to cluster on his lips, and to demand a voice.
Before he could transfer his thoughts to paper, much was lost; but
enough remained to gain for him the reputation of being one of the most
eloquent authors that ever lived.[8]
The eloquence with which he represented the evils of civilisation, and
the blessings of a state of nature, as he called it, fascinated every
reader. The freshness and energy of his style charmed; the heart he put
into his arguments served instead of reason, and convinced. The
opponents of his system were sufficiently in the wrong, to make him
appear absolutely in the right. Yet, in point of fact, nothing can be
more unnatural than his natural man. The most characteristic part of
man's nature is his affections. The protection he affords to woman--the
cares required by children; yet Rousseau describes his natural man as
satisfying his desires by chance,--leaving the woman on the instant;
while she, on her side, goes through child-bearing, child-birth, and
child-nurture alone. Much may be granted to the strength that human
beings enjoy in savage life; much to the little needed by the
inhabitants of those happy isles where food grows beneath their feet;
but, in all, man has ever been found (except in one or two cases, where
the human animal descends below brutes), the protector of women, and the
source of his children's subsistence; and among all societies, however
barbarously constituted, the gentler and nobler individuals among them
have loved their wives and their offspring with constant and
self-sacrificing passion. Let us advance civilisation to its highest
pitch, or retrograde to its origin,--and let both bring freedom from
political and social slavery; but in all let us hold fast by the
affections: the cultivation of these ought to be the scope of every
teacher of morality, every well-wisher to the improvement of the human
race. Poor Rousseau, who had thrust his offspring from parental care to
the niggard benevolence of a public charity, found some balm to the
remorse that now and then stung him, by rejecting the affections out of
his scheme of the state of natural man.
His work had a sudden and prodigious success; and as the ideas that
inspired it disclosed a new and intellectual world to him, so did the
favour of the public open a new scene of life. It was soon after writing
this essay, that M. de Franceuil offered him the place of cashier. The
uneasiness he felt, and other circumstances, combined to give him a fit
of illness. During the delirium of fever, and during the reveries of
convalescence, he formed a plan for securing his independence. He
believed that he had but a few years to live; and he saw no prudence in
working for a fortune he could never enjoy. He resolved therefore to
renounce his place of cashier, to give up that of secretary to madame
Dupin, and to gain his subsistence by copying music. In Paris, men of
letters, frequenting the highest society, often live in the most frugal
manner, and need only the wherewithal to buy their daily bread. Rousseau
determined to reduce himself to this situation, to limit his expenses to
bare necessities, and to guard the independence he coveted, by
decreasing his wants. His friends heard of his resolution with
incredulity, surprise, and subsequent disapprobation. The family of
Therese le Vasseur were dependent on him, and he thus condemned them
also to indigence. Rousseau was not to be moved. His new reputation as
an author caused him to be sought by the most chosen societies of Paris;
his idea of adapting his manners and life to his theories gave piquancé
to his appearance and society. "I avow," he says, in his second letter
to M. de Malesherbes, "that the name I acquired by my writings greatly
facilitated the plan I adopted. It was necessary that I should be
thought a good author, to become with impunity a bad copyist, and to
find work notwithstanding; without the first title, I might have been
disregarded in the other; and though I can easily brave ridicule, I
should have supported contempt with difficulty." As it was, all he did
seemed to increase his reputation. He was considered eccentric,--but he
was sought as a man of genius.
[Sidenote: 1750.
Ætat.
38.]
Another circumstance concurred to raise him to the pinacle of fashion.
This was the success of the "Divin du Village." He had before composed
an opera; but the envy of Rameau had robbed him of the fame: the "Divin
du Village" was all his own. It was represented at Versailles before the
king and assembled court, and received with enthusiasm. It became the
topic of conversation in Paris; he was invited to be presented to Louis
XV.; and it was supposed that a pension would be conferred on him.
Independence, pride, false shame, all concurred to make him renounce the
intended honour and emolument: his friends reproved him severely, but he
was not to be shaken. Still he made a few hundred louis by the piece,
and was thus, with his frugal habits, placed above want for several
years to come.
The academy of Dijon proposing another question--the Origin of
Inequality among Men. Rousseau seized the opportunity of further
developing his opinions, and of asserting still more boldly the
superiority of what he termed the natural man over the nurslings of
civilisation.
[Sidenote: 1754.
Ætat.
42.]
He soon after visited his native town. He dwells slightly on the motives
of this journey: a wish to revisit the scenes which he had quitted a
penniless adventurer, and to enter Geneva attended by the celebrity he
had already gained, were no doubt principal motives. Theresa and his
friend Gauffecourt accompanied him. He saw madame de Warens sunk in a
low abyss of poverty; he implored her to leave Savoy, and to take up her
abode with him in Paris; she refused, and he left her, never to see her
more. While at Geneva he abjured the Roman catholic religion, and
entered again the protestant church. The pedantic clergy of Geneva were
very desirous that he should make a speech on the occasion; Rousseau
would not have been sorry to comply, but he broke down at the outset. He
was treated with great distinction by the most distinguished of his
fellow citizens, and the design soon suggested itself of his
establishing himself entirely among them; a place of librarian, worth
about 50_l_, a year, was offered him, to secure the respectability of
his situation.
After some time spent in revisiting scenes dear through youthful
association, and of entrancing beauty in themselves, he returned to
Paris; and here he was assailed by many doubts as to his plans for the
future. The idea of residing an honoured and distinguished citizen in
his native town, so flattering at first, began to lose its charm. In his
heart he doubtless felt that the sort of inquisitorial and pedantic tone
that reigned in Geneva, clothed in the garb of virtue and reason, was
more likely to shackle the free expression of his genius than the
versatile society of Paris. Voltaire also had just taken up his
residence at les Delices. Without any taint of envy, Rousseau might
naturally shrink from living under his shadow. Older than him, rich, of
established reputation, arrogant beneath all his playfulness, and so
mischievously meddling, that even the king of Prussia found him a
troublesome inmate, a very little knowledge of the world would have told
Rousseau that they could only agree, when in vicinity, through continual
deference on his part; and the views they took of the social system were
so different, and both were by disposition so eager to disseminate their
respective opinions, that deference was out of the question, and open
hostilities must have been the consequence.
Still Rousseau doubted, and was disturbed. Madame d'Epinay relates the
nature of his deliberations, which betray great foresight and prudence.
"Rousseau is perplexed," she says; "nor am I less, with regard to the
advice that he asks of me. He has received letters pressing him warmly
to return and live in his native country. 'What ought I to do?' he said,
'I neither can nor will reside in Paris, I am too miserable. I should be
glad to visit and to pass several months in my republic; but the
propositions made me are of a nature to fix me there; and if I accept
them, I must remain. I have some acquaintance, but no friends. These
people scarcely know me, and they write to me as a brother; this I am
aware is the result of the republican spirit, but I distrust such warm
friends. On the other hand, my heart warms at the idea, that my country
invites me; but how quit Grimm, Diderot, and yourself?'"
Madame d'Epinay was, when left to herself, a woman of generous impulses
and an affectionate heart. She conceived a method of cutting the gordian
knot, and acted on it at once. At the entrance of the forest of
Montmorenci, there was a small house belonging to M. d'Epinay, called
the Hermitage. M. d'Epinay was adding a new wing to the chateau; his
wife persuaded him to allow some of the workmen to enlarge and fit up
this house: all was executed with zealous speed. She then offered
Rousseau the dwelling with all the grace a woman puts into an obligation
she confers; she was desirous, at the same time, of adding to his
income; but he at once refused the latter proposition, while he accepted
the first. He could not help being deeply touched by so kind and tender
a mark of affection. The active attention she paid to the details of his
removal, when all was arranged, taking him and his two gouvernantes in
her carriage, and herself giving them possession, were marks of real
attachment and sympathy.
[Sidenote: 1756.
Ætat.
44.]
Rousseau found the spot exactly calculated to please him: however much
the society of Paris might be necessary at times to entertain, he had
been bred in the country; his young and happy days had been passed
there, and he could not view a secluded abode in the midst of forest
glades, and the advance of spring, as it clothed the landscape with
verdure, without a burst of transport. The house was small, but neat and
comfortable; and that all was the gift of friendship rendered it
inestimable in his eyes.
It is difficult not to dwell, as he has done, on the delight he
experienced during the commencement of his abode at the Hermitage. At
first he could only enjoy the woodland walks; the budding of the trees;
the balmy winds of opening spring; the aspect of nature. He deliberated
as to his occupations; he arranged his papers. He still considered
copying music as the calling by which he was to gain his bread; but he
revolved many literary projects. The editing the manuscripts of the
Abbé de Saint Pierre; an original work he named "Les Institutions
Politiques;" a metaphysical discussion on the effects of external
circumstances on the human mind; and, to crown all, a system of
education, on which he had been requested to occupy himself, by a lady
to whose sons he had at one time acted as tutor;--such were his
schemes--the subject of his meditations during his walks. These
meditations were, however, soon merged into reveries and day-dreams,
that absorbed his heart and soul. The long summer days passed beneath
the shades of the forest, recalled the wanderings of his youth, and the
passions that had warmed his young heart.--A settled life with Theresa;
the cares and discontents he had endured in Paris, his literary
occupations and theories, engrossing his thoughts, had banished love.
Now, in his solitary rambles, as his memory reverted to the illusions of
bygone years, his imagination fired, his heart swelled, his being became
absorbed. No real object presenting itself, he created chimerical
beings, on whom he exhausted the most passionate sentiments, the most
brilliant imaginations. His day-dreams became extatic: he was drunk with
an abstract love for one who lived only as he painted her, in the form
most delightful to his thoughts: he charmed himself by figuring various
situations--by addressing letters to her--by fancying those he received
in return. He checked himself in his vague reveries, and gave a form and
place, a name and a habitation to his creations: the lover and beloved,
and the friend dear to both, were imaged and placed in a spot carefully
selected as beautiful in itself, and associated with his fondest
recollections. Julie, Claire, and Saint Preux, lived and loved at Vevay,
beside his native lake, in the midst of the most majestic and lovely
scenes that exist on earth.
The winter was passed tranquilly; he occupied himself by completing and
copying the first two parts of the "Nouvelle Heloise." When spring
returned he again delivered himself up to his entrancing reveries, and
wandered in the woods, as he composed the latter parts of his work. In
these there reigns a sort of paradisaical peace--a voluptuous yet
innocent transport of acknowledged bliss, that charms the reader, as it
inspired the writer. That to be thus engrossed by ideas of passionate
love, however we may imagine that we can restrain them within proper
bounds, leads at last to the errors of passion, cannot be doubted.
Rousseau instinctively felt this truth when he made death the
catastrophe of his novel; not so much to mar the scene, as to prevent
sin and remorse from defacing it still more; he felt it in his own
person, when his unguarded and softened heart was suddenly possessed by
a passion the most vehement and unfortunate that ever caused a frail
human being to thrill and mourn.
The countess d'Houdetot was the sister of M. d'Epinay, and was married
to a young noble, who had been given her as a husband in her youth, in
the way marriages were made in France, neither knowing nor caring for
the other. He was an insignificant person, very fond of money, and
totally neglectful of his wife. The usual course in such marriages was,
that the wife should have a lover, and if the husband were content to
shut his eyes, and she continued constant to one person, she was looked
on as living respectably. Madame d'Houdetot was not even pretty; but she
had a look of youth, preserved by the ingenuousness of her mind and the
kindness of her heart. Every one loved her. Gay, gentle, full of
tenderness, and admirably true and sincere; she added to these qualities
a giddiness of disposition--a childish but bewitching frankness--a wit
that never hurt, but always charmed, as springing from the natural
gladness of an innocent heart; and, protected by these genuine virtues,
she escaped the contamination of Parisian society. Her lover, M. de
Saint Lambert, was a man distinguished for his talents, moving in the
highest society, a gallant soldier, an admired poet, a handsome man; his
attachment, according to the code of morals of the society to which they
belonged, reflected honour on its object.
She came several times, at the desire of Saint Lambert, to visit
Rousseau at the Hermitage. He had desired her to go, believing that the
ties of friendship established between the three would be of mutual
benefit; and Rousseau being aware of their attachment, the openness of
heart that reigned in the intercourse was another attraction. She spoke
of her lover with enthusiasm: Rousseau listened, and before he was
aware, felt for her all that she expressed for another. When, after her
departure, he turned his thoughts to Julie, hitherto the idol of his
imagination, he found her image displaced by that of madame d'Houdetot,
and with a pang recognised the new power that possessed him.
Sophist, as on many occasions Rousseau undoubtedly was, he reasoned on
his feelings till the very causes that ought to have made him resolve to
crush the nascent passion, were changed by him into motives for
fostering it. He had enounced a severe code of morality, and called the
permitted liaisons of Parisian society by the harsh name of adultery;
and it would have been base indeed to have been tempted into forming
such himself. There was no danger of this. Madame d'Houdetot loved
another, superior to himself in all qualities that attract, with warmth
and truth. He duped himself, therefore, by the vain sophism, that he
only injured himself by nourishing an unreturned passion.
Could he have confined it to his own heart, the injury would have been
great enough; disturbing his peace, wrecking the little of proud
consolatory thoughts which he preserved. But from the first he avowed
his love to its object, and continued to pour the fervent expressions it
inspired into her ear; secure in the mistaken notion, that as he did not
seek to win her, but only to unburden his heart, the indulgence was
innocent. He says that he should blame madame d'Houdetot for listening,
had he been young and good-looking: still he was not so very old;
perhaps suffering added years to his appearance; but at all events the
lady acted with great imprudence. Her artless noble character lifts her
far above unworthy suspicion; but she was thoughtless and inexperienced;
the dupe of mistaken compassion. She allowed Rousseau to visit her
frequently; to write to her; to pour out the declarations of his love;
never feeling inclined to participate in his sentiments, she yet wished
to preserve his friendship and to enjoy his society. For four months
they were continually together. He walked over to her house at
Eaubonne--they met half-way--they rambled together in the neighbouring
country. Such unguarded conduct excited remark. Madame d'Epinay, to say
the least, was exceedingly annoyed that her sister-in-law should thus
expose herself to calumny. We have two accounts of these unfortunate
events, one by Rousseau, the other from her pen. She passes rather
slightly over them, but expresses even disgust; she was aware, she says,
of her sister's innocence, but pained by her imprudent conduct. Theresa
became violently jealous; and while she tried to pacify her, she blamed
those who so needlessly excited her jealousy. Rousseau, on the contrary,
accuses her of the utmost baseness; of fostering remark; of writing to
Saint Lambert a garbled and false statement of facts; of exciting
Theresa's jealousy, and even instigating her to steal any letters she
might find, and betray them to her. There is, probably, exaggeration in
this; at the same time it is plain that the intercourse between Rousseau
and madame d'Houdetot was the chief topic of conversation at the chateau
of her sister-in-law; that they were greatly blamed; and it is certain
that Saint Lambert received an anonymous letter, informing him of what
was going on. Probably Therese or her mother wrote it; we can hardly
suspect madame d'Epinay of so base and vulgar a proceeding. It is
remarkable that these accounts not only differ materially in
circumstances, but that the notes of madame d'Epinay, as given by her,
are written in quite another tone from those quoted in the Confessions.
As whenever Rousseau's copies have been collated with the originals,
they have been found faithful, we suspect the lady of falsifying hers.
In fact, while Rousseau gains our confidence, even while we perceive
that he acted a highly blameable part, there is a studied, though
apparently negligent, glozing of facts in madame d'Epinay's which
excites suspicion.
Saint Lambert did not suspect madame d'Houdetot; but he thought that
Rousseau was highly blameable for declaring love for her; and that she
was very unwise in listening to him. He interfered, though with kindness
and consideration for his unhappy rival; the intercourse was broken off.
Rousseau, with a heart worn by passion, and bursting with the struggles
that tormented it, was thrown back on himself, to find his friends
alienated, his home disquieted, and sympathy nowhere.
Many other circumstances contributed to his unhappiness; circumstances
which would scarcely enter into the history of any other man as eminent
as Rousseau; apparently trifling, but rendered important through his
sensitive and umbrageous disposition. He had two intimate male friends:
Diderot, whom he had known many years, and to whom he was sincerely
attached; and Grimm. Diderot was a singular man, and enjoyed during life
more reputation than has afterwards fallen to his lot. He had great
talents, joined to a sensibility, which was real in him, but which
produced a style in France, that may be termed the ejaculatory, the most
affected and tiresome in the world. His opinions became feelings; these
feelings engrossed him; he was in a perpetual state of exaltation and
enthusiasm about trifles. As an instance, we are told, that at one time
he could not sleep at nights, because Virgil had not praised Lucretius,
till at length he found a verse in the Georgies--
"Felix qui potuit rerum cognosccre causas;"
and interpreting it into an encomium on the great metaphysical poet of
antiquity, he regained his tranquillity. He had a tender heart, but
though he possessed some genius, he had not understanding enough to
serve as an equilibrium. Rousseau was in very bad hands as regarded the
_gouverneuses_, as he called them. The mother of Theresa was a grasping,
artful, gossiping, selfish old woman. Rousseau was poor; she complained
to his friends, and Diderot and Grimm thought it right to make her a
small allowance. They did this unknown to their friend, and were
certainly wrong; for there is nothing more improper than to interfere
secretly with the household of others. Giving this money, they thought
they had a right to interfere further. The le Vasseurs, mother and
daughter, had no desire to pass the winter, away from their Parisian
acquaintance, in the forest of Montmorenci. They complained bitterly,
and Diderot wrote to remonstrate with Rousseau. To read his letter, you
would imagine that his friend thought of wintering at the North Pole;
his earnestness on stilts on such a petty occasion ought to have excited
a smile; it gave birth to a storm in the breast of the sensitive
philosopher--this was at last appeased--but still the thunder growled.
The unfortunate passion of Rousseau for madame d'Houdetot at first made
him solitary and abstracted--then miserable. Every demonstration of
suffering was interpreted as springing from melancholy engendered by
solitude.
His other friend, Grimm, was German, who had appeared in Paris in an
obscure situation, as tutor to the children of the count de Schomberg.
Rousseau was one of his first acquaintance; their common love of music
brought them together. Grimm was a man of ambition as far as society
went. His personal affectations did not stop at brushing his nails,--a
mark of effeminacy indignantly related by Rousseau,--but by painting his
cheeks white and red, which gained for him the nickname of Tyran le
Blanc. Rousseau introduced him to madame d'Epinay. This lady was
suffering bitterly from the infidelity of her lover Franceuil;--she
permitted herself to be consoled by Grimm; who, while he became _l'ami
de maison_, seems to have determined that he should be single in that
character. He did all he could to undermine Rousseau with madame
d'Epinay, inducing her to resent his faults, his sensitiveness, his
imperious calls for sympathy and service, which she had hitherto
regarded with affectionate indulgence. She was slow to submit to the
law, and placed him in the Hermitage against Grimm's will;--to eject him
from this abode was the aim of his false friend.
Of course, there are a thousand contradictions in the various accounts
given of these quarrels; and we seek the truth rather from the letters
written at the time, if these be not falsified. Grimm accused Rousseau
of being in love with madame d'Epinay: he denies this; and at least,
when he loved madame d'Houdetot, he no longer cared for her
sister-in-law. Was she piqued by his coldness, as Rousseau insinuates;
or was it merely that she yielded more and more to Grimm's
representations that he was a dangerous person? The final cause of her
quarrel, as she relates, was his speaking of her detractingly to
Diderot, who refused to be acquainted with her. There seems some
foundation for this accusation. She accuses him of speaking falsely; and
there are certainly traces of his having spoken unreservedly. This was
inexcusable, admitted as he was familiarly, and covered with benefits
and kindness;--especially to one to whom she was a stranger. Grimm
pushed things to extremities: he kept madame d'Epinay firm in her
resentment; he embittered Diderot's feelings. The latter acted with his
usual exaggerated and absurd sentimentality. Madame d'Epinay was very
ill, and resolved on going to Geneva to consult the famous Tronchin.
Diderot wrote a violent letter to Rousseau, insisting on his
accompanying her, and saying, that, if his health did not allow him to
bear the motion of a carriage, he ought to take his staff and follow her
on foot. There is no trace that madame d'Epinay wished him to accompany
her; on the contrary, she was doing all she could to throw him off.
Rousseau felt himself outraged by this letter--he fell into a transport
of rage--he complained to every body, and took the resolution of
quitting the Hermitage. When it came to the point, winter setting in, he
found this inconvenient; and wrote to madame d'Epinay, then at Geneva,
to mention his intention of staying till spring. In her answer, she very
decidedly tells him that he ought not to delay his departure so long.
Why this abrupt and rude dismissal? Did it spring from Grimm's advice;
or did she really feel resentment arising from the knowledge that he had
either traduced her, or revealed her secrets to Diderot? On careful
examination, we own, we incline to the latter opinion, and cannot
exculpate Rousseau.
What a pitiful and wretched picture of society does all this present!
People of refinement, of education, and genius,--Rousseau, a man so
richly gifted with talent--Diderot, enthusiastic on the subject of every
social duty--Grimm, a man of sense--madame d'Epinay, a woman of talent,
whose disposition was injured by the state and opinions of society, but
who was naturally generous, confiding, and friendly,--yet each and all
acting with intolerance and bitterness. The passions were the sources of
these dissensions,--Rousseau's for madame d'Houdetot--Grimm's for madame
d'Epinay;--but why should not these feelings have inspired toleration
and kindness? They were fostered unfortunately by temper and vanity.
Each had microscopic eyes for the faults of the other--neither could
perceive his own. Had they at once dismissed their mutual cavillings,
reproaches, and explanations, and gone their own way in silence and
toleration, they might have been unhappy,--for such must be the result
of illicit love,--but they had not presented to all the world, and to
posterity, so humbling a proof of the worthlessness of talent in
directing the common concerns of life.
Rousseau, of course, at once quitted the Hermitage. He had a horror of
entering Paris: he was greatly embarrassed as to where to go, when M.
Mathas, procureur-fiscal to the prince of Condé, hearing of his
uncomfortable situation, offered him a small house in his garden of Mont
Louis, at Montmorenci: he accepted it at once, and removed thither. But
his soul was still in tumults; still passion convulsed his heart, which
would not be at peace. He desired to establish a friendship between
himself, St. Lambert, and madame d'Houdetot; but they drew back--from
the alleged motive that "Rousseau's attachment was the talk of Paris,
and that therefore she could not have any intercourse with him." It was
likely enough that the old woman, le Vasseur, or twenty others, might
have been the cause of this gossip; but Rousseau chose to fix the blame
on Diderot, and to quarrel with him outright. Strange that these
sensitive men should have so little real affection in their nature that,
for the sake of personal offences, real or imagined, they could at once
throw off those whom they had loved, as they pretended, so well and so
long; showing how much more deeply rooted and engrossing was _self_,
than the interests and intercourse of their friends. A few years after,
Diderot sought to be reconciled to his former friend; he engaged a
mutual acquaintance to mediate between them. Rousseau declined his
advances. He replied:--"I do not see what M. Diderot, after seven years'
silence, all at once demands of me. I ask nothing of him--I have no
disavowal to make. I am far from wishing him ill--and am yet further
from doing or saying aught to injure him. I know how to respect the ties
of an even extinguished friendship to the end; but I never renew
it--that is my inviolable maxim." Rousseau was in exile and misfortune
when Diderot made this advance, which was honourable to him; he was
doubtless piqued by the refusal; but we cannot excuse him when, many
years afterwards, after the death of his friend, he attacked him in one
of his works. It would have been better to forget. And gladly would we,
in spite of the publicity given, have passed over these details--but
that they formed an intrinsic portion of the picture of Rousseau's life;
and were the cause why, in after times, he became suspicious even to
madness--miserable even to death.
[Sidenote: 1758.
Ætat.
46.]
With the new year, Rousseau, quitting the Hermitage, began a new life;
as much as an entire casting away of old friends, and seeking fresh
ones, can change the tenor of existence. But Rousseau was ever the same.
His passions, masked even to himself by their intensity, ruled his
destiny; and it was a miserable one. The semblance of tranquillity,
however, awaited him at first; and he gave himself to study and
authorship uninterruptedly. The "Encyclopædia" undertaken by d'Alembert
and Diderot engaged the attention of the literary world: it was made the
vehicle of their opinions, and the engine for propagating them. Voltaire
was residing at the Délices. He was disgusted by the pedantic, austere,
puritanic tone of society at Geneva: he considered the drama as an
admirable means of enlightening and refining a people; and, in concert
with him, D'Alembert, in his article on "Geneva," wrote in favour of the
establishment of a theatre in that city, where hitherto it had been
forbidden. Rousseau, in his dreams of primitive innocence, considered
this as an innovation on the simple manners of his country-people; and
he took up his pen in opposition. He wrote with fervour and eloquence:
he detailed the miseries resulting from a sophisticated state of
society; and argued that the drama, by treating concerning, nourished
the passions, and weakened the principles of morality. In the state in
which society was in Paris, he had many arguments in his favour; and he
might well consider the introduction of libertinism and luxury as
pernicious, contrasted even with the narrow, bigoted spirit reigning at
Geneva. The eloquence of his letter gave it vogue. In a note appended,
he announced his rupture with Diderot,--accusing him at the same time of
betraying him. This was fairly regarded as an unwarrantable attack,
though he imagined it to be an act of heroism. It was an error, to make
the public a confidant in their quarrel; and the doing so arose from the
belief that all the world was occupied with him: but it was worse
publicly to accuse a former friend.
Rousseau does his best, in the "Confessions," to show how contented and
happy he was in his new abode--the number of friends he still
retained--and his delight at being still at a distance from Paris. He,
with proper pride, boasts of his contempt for party spirit, and the
formation of cabals in literature, in which Paris was rife. Nothing
debases literary men more than owning dependence, for praise or blame,
on aught but the public at large.
Not far from his abode of Mont Louis was the chateau of Montmorenci,
where the marshal duke de Luxembourg, with his family, usually passed
the summer. On their first visit after his arrival, they seem courteous
messages and invitations; but Rousseau, with proper pride, shunned
advances, the nature of which he did not fully comprehend. This
occasioned further demonstrations. The duke visited him--he became an
habitual guest at the château--rooms were furnished for him in a sort
of pleasure-house, or smaller château, in the grounds--and he was
treated by the whole family with all that cordial and winning grace
peculiar to French persons of rank in those days. He read the "Nouvelle
Heloïse" and "Emile" to the duchess, who paid him the most flattering
attentions. Both she and her husband displayed warm interest in his
fortunes; and the noble, amiable character of the marshal was a pledge
that such would prove neither treacherous nor evanescent. They were
serviceable, without impertinent interference--kind, without pretension.
This may be considered a happy period in Rousseau's life. The works on
which his fame is chiefly founded were finished or composed during these
years. The "Nouvelle Heloïse" was published at the end of 1760. With
all its errors, this novel is full of noble sentiments and elevated
morality--of true and admirable views of life--and an eloquence burning
and absorbing. Its success was unparalleled. Parisian society, engrossed
by intrigues and follies, yet felt at its core that passion was the root
even of these--depraved and distorted as passion was by their social
laws and opinions; and, thus brought back to its natural expression,
they were carried away by enthusiastic admiration. The women in
particular, who are always the losers in a system of heartless
gallantry,--since they seldom, if ever, cultivate a love of pleasure
destitute of sentiment--as is the case with a number of men,--were
charmed by a book which increased their influence by exalting love.
Another interest was excited by the notion generally spread, that the
book contained the history of the author's early life. Rousseau was
identified with St. Preux, and gained by the idea. This work was
followed by the "Emile,"--a book that deserves higher praise. That he
adopted certain views from Locke and others, who had previously written
on education, does not in the least deteriorate from its merit; that, as
a system, it is full of faults and impracticability takes little from
its utility. He shows the true end of education; and he first explained
how children ought to be treated like younger men, not as slaves or
automata. His success in casting an odium on the habit of putting
infants out to nurse--his admirable aphorism, that children ought to be
rendered happy, since childhood is all of life they may ever know--his
exhortations to prepare the pupil to be a man in the first place,
instead of considering him as a noble or gentleman in embryo--are among
the most admirable of his principles. Others may regard the work
disparagingly; but every parent who in any degree superintends the
education of his offspring--every mother who watches over the health and
welfare of her babes--will readily acknowledge the deepest obligations
to the author of "Emile."
It fills the soul with bitterness to think that this admirable work,
whence generations of men derive wisdom and happiness, was the origin of
violent persecution against the author; and, by expelling him from his
home, and exposing him bare to the assaults of his enemies, drove him
into a state of mind allied to madness, and devoted him to poverty and
sorrow to the end of his life.
The printing and publishing of the work had been greatly assisted, not
only by the duke and duchess de Luxembourg, but by M. de Malesherbes, a
man of known probity and kindness of disposition. Rousseau had a
quality, belonging to the warm of heart, and unknown to the cold and
dull,--that of desiring to confide in, and to be fully known to, those
whom he respected and loved. The benevolent attentions of M. de
Malesherbes, even to the whims and groundless suspicions of a man who,
from his state of health, believed himself to be dying, and feared to
leave his unpublished works in the hands of enemies, evinced that warmth
and truth of sympathy which is the golden treasure of human nature,
wherever it be found. Won by his benevolence, Rousseau addressed four
letters to him, explaining and describing his opinions, motives, and
conduct. These letters are, as it were, an introduction to the
"Confessions." They are written with the same persuasive eloquence, and
passionate love for the good and beautiful, that reigns in the last
parts of the "Nouvelle Heloïse," and forms their charm.
He had been ill during the publication of the "Emile," and rendered
vehemently anxious by delays of the press. At length the book
appeared;--but it bore a stamp to intimidate his admirers and silence
their public applause; and it was therefore received more silently than
any other of his works. The Confession of the Vicar of Savoy is a
declaration of pure deism; and, in particular, is levelled against
various pernicious errors of Catholicism. The great foundation stone of
papacy is auricular confession, which enables the clergy to put all sins
against the ordinances of the church in the first class; and to look on
falsehood, treachery, and intolerance, as virtues, when exercised for
its sake. The Confession allies religion and morals--makes the Gospel a
rule of conduct; and, though it doubts the mysteries of the Christian
faith, it speaks of them with reverence, but in a protestant spirit,
totally at variance with Catholicism. This portion of his book excited
remark, and exposed the author to the persecutions of the French
priesthood.
But Rousseau felt perfectly secure. There was nothing said in the
Confession of the Vicar of Savoy that had not appeared before in the
last part of the "Nouvelle Heloïse." He had himself, notwithstanding
these considerations, been exceedingly averse to publishing his work in
France: the method then, with any book bringing forward forbidden
opinions, being to publish it at Brussels, which sheltered the author
from the French laws. But the duchess of Luxembourg and M. de
Malesherbes persuaded him to let them undertake an edition in France;
and it was brought out at their instigation, against his own conviction:
they, therefore, were responsible for his security; and he did not
entertain the slightest doubt but that they would provide against his
incurring any evil consequences.
It was as the shock of an earthquake, therefore, when, a few days after
the publication of the "Emile," he was disturbed in the middle of the
night by a message from the duchess of Luxembourg, saying that a decree
of arrest of his person would be executed on the following morning, at
seven o'clock, if he remained, but that, if he fled, he would not be
pursued; and begging him to come to her immediately. It was greatly to
the interest of the duchess to get Rousseau away, that the whole affair
might be hushed up; since any examinations would betray her connivance
in the publication. Rousseau was aware of this.
[Sidenote: June.
15.
1762.
Ætat.
50.]
He saw the duchess agitated;--he felt that, however much
he might wish to shield her during his examination, any mistake on his
part might compromise her; and he knew his habitual want of presence
of mind. He consented at once to fly--he was not allowed to
deliberate; the morning was given to preparations and adieus; at four
o'clock in the afternoon he departed. His friends were safe--he
alone the sufferer.
His first idea was to establish himself in his native town; but this
plan was speedily deranged. Nine days after the decree of the parliament
of Paris, the council of Geneva, instigated by the French government,
sentenced the "Emile" to be burnt, and its author to be imprisoned if he
entered their territory. Rousseau might well feel disdain and
indignation for the folly and intolerance of his country-people; nor was
it in human nature for his heart not to ferment with resentment and
scorn at the universal attack levelled against him from all sects, all
parties, all countries, on account of a book whose chief pretension was
to bear the stamp of impartial truth, and to become (and he succeeded in
his attempt) highly beneficial to the human race. Its fault is that it
is anti-christian; but the most devout follower of our Saviour, if
charitable, must be impressed by the sincerity of the author, and
respect the love of truth that dictated his declarations.
Rousseau had arrived at Iverdun, in the canton of Berne. Exiled from
Geneva, he resolved to remain there. He had friends; and a house was
offered him, which he had accepted--when he heard that the council of
Berne had sent an order desiring him to quit their state. Thus
persecuted, he had but one resource. Neufchâtel and its territory
belongs to the kingdom of Prussia: he believed that he should find
toleration at the hands of Frederic the Great.
He found far more in the governor of Neufchâtel--marshal lord Keith, a
man eminent for his virtue. Marshal Keith had entertained many false
notions with regard to Rousseau; but he was filled with sentiments of
benevolence towards him; and the king of Prussia, influenced by him, was
desirous of rendering his residence in his stated agreeable. Rousseau
refused the offers of a house, and of supplies of wood, corn, wine, &c.,
which were offered him in lieu of money, as likely to be more readily
accepted; indeed, in his "Confessions," he speaks with contempt of these
offers, as coming from Frederic: but he acquired the friendship--the
affection--of the amiable and benevolent lord Keith; and found in it,
while it was spared to him, the consolation of his life.
He took up his residence in the village of Motiers, in the
Val-de-Travers, in the comté of Neufchâtel. If we read the
correspondence of Voltaire, and other writings of his enemies, we should
believe that he lived in a state of habitual warfare;--that his soul,
ever in tumults, continually exhaled itself in vituperation and
philippics; that he was perpetually engaged in underhand cabals and
petty manœuvres. Rousseau disdained to be of any party. He admired
Voltaire, as a man of vast genius--but refused to bow before the
literary throne on which he had seated himself. This was his crime; and
his punishment was the insolent sarcasms and brutal railleries of the
great master of wit.
We may turn in all security from such false pictures to the reality,
depicted not only in his "Confessions," in his letters, and in his
"Promenades d'un Solitaire"--these, as written by himself, might be open
to suspicion--but to accounts afforded by impartial persons. Among
these, the comte d'Escherney gives an interesting narration of his
intercourse. A little distrust was shown on one occasion by the
persecuted philosopher, but their friendship, except on this one
occasion, was unclouded. The comte habitually dined with Rousseau: he
praises his simple table, and the excellent cooking of Thérèse; whom,
at the same time, he blames severely for the mischief she did by her
unbridled and malicious tongue,--exciting against herself, and
consequently against Rousseau, a spirit of dislike in the neighbourhood.
He felt this--and at one time wished to remove; but did not put his
desire in execution. While at Motiers he addicted himself sedulously to
botany. In his herborising expeditions, he was accompanied by M. du
Peyrou, an American settled at Bié--an excellent and respectable man,
who became his fast friend; by the colonel De Puri, father-in-law of M.
du Peyrou--both good botanists; and by the comte--who was obliged to
learn the science, not to be thrown out entirely in conversation. Some
of these expeditions were extensive; and the comte, after the lapse of
years, speaks of them with pleasure, and dwells on the charm thrown over
them by the conversation, the genius, the kind heart of Rousseau. The
latter had many other friends in the neighbourhood, whom he tenderly
loved. He remained at Motiers-Travers three years: he might have spent
his life there, honoured, happy, and independent. When we relate the
circumstances that drove him from it, we leave to impartial judges to
decide whether he were in fault or his persecutors--who, for the most
part, _soi-disant_ philosophers and free thinkers, excited the spirit of
bigotry against him, and did not hesitate hypocritically to assume the
language of religion to destroy him.
Of what was he guilty? The accusations against him are few. The first,
that he desired to attain notoriety by assuming the Armenian dress. All
singularity in externals is foolish; and, though he excuses himself on
the score of convenience, it was certainly unwise in him to dress so as
to attract universal observation--especially in a country where the
ignorant are easily taught to hate and fear that which they do not
understand. But this fault is trivial. His second crime was his
participating in the communion. He had re-entered the protestant church,
some years before, at Geneva. He announced the greatest respect for the
religion of the Gospel; but, as his Confession of a Savoyard Vicar
argues against the divine nature of our Saviour, he had better have
abstained from making this outward manifestation of orthodox belief.
The fault most urged against him was his renunciation of the citizenship
of Geneva. No further attack on him had been made by the government of
that city during the space of a year; and, considering the spirit of
persecution abroad against him, it had been more prudent to have
remained tranquil: but this very spirit, manifested in all writings, in
all societies, roused him to assert himself. He had committed no crime,
and he was sentenced as guilty. He had endeavoured to persuade his
fellow citizens to rescind their decree; various representations were
made to the council, not only by himself, but by the citizens and
burgesses of Geneva. There could be no evil motive in his desire, or in
the attempts he made to be reinstated in his rights in his native city;
but this justice was refused him; and with anger and disdain he
renounced his claims as citizen, and thus withdrew from their
jurisdiction. This act can scarcely be deemed blameable; he, however,
was attacked, and the council was defended, in several pamphlets, with
acrimony and violence. The chief among these were "Lettres écrites de
la Campagne," by M. Tronchin. The talent of the author gained the field
fora moment. "Siluit terra!" Rousseau exclaims: no defender rose for
him; it was deemed that he alone was able to reply. For a time he
refused; but at last yielded to the representations of his friends, and,
parodying the title of the attack, brought out his "Lettres écrites de
la Montagne." This had no influence over the council: they persisted in
their refusal--and even reiterated their decree. From that moment
Rousseau declared that he would mingle no more in public affairs;--and
he kept his word.
But the mischief was already done. The quarrel between the citizens and
council of Geneva, on the subject of the right of the latter to enact
decrees without consulting the former, was attended with disturbances
and bloodshed. The whole country was in tumults. The "Letters from the
Mountain" were more anti-christian than any of his preceding works. The
clergy were enraged: the peasantry of Neufchâtel were taught to regard
him as a monster; from execration they proceeded to personal attack;
stones were thrown at him during his walks--and at last, the ferment
arriving at its height, his house was attacked in the night by the
country people: it appeared certain that his life was in the utmost
danger; the officers of government were disquieted by the apprehension
of more fatal disturbances, and the probability of his being
assassinated: he himself was sick at heart at finding himself the object
of open and loud execration. Resolving to leave Motiers, he felt
uncertain whither to go. His Parisian friends had interested David Hume
in his behalf, and exhorted him to take up his abode in England.
Frederic invited him to Berlin, where the friendship of lord Keith
assured him a cordial welcome from at least one friend. He was inclined
to a far wilder scheme;--the Corsicans had asked him to frame a code of
laws, and he entertained the idea of establishing himself in their
island. The sudden necessity of instant removal drove this idea from his
mind; and another presented itself that accorded with his tastes. During
his botanical rambles he had visited the island of St. Pierre situated
in the lake of Bienne, and dependent on the canton of Berne. The aspect
of the isle had enchanted him. A difficulty arose, from his having been
ordered to quit the state of Berne on first arriving in Switzerland;
but, on sounding the chiefs of the state, he was told that they were
ashamed of their past conduct, and very willing that he should establish
himself at St. Pierre.
[Sidenote: 1765.
Ætat.
53.]
Here, then, in the month of September, he took up his abode: Theresa
joined him: they boarded with the receiver of the island, who was its
only inhabitant: the profits of his works, and a slight pension allowed
him by lord Keith, assured him a frugal subsistence. Recurring, in after
years, to his brief residence in this island, he fondly dilates on his
excursions on the water--on his botanical studies--on the calm that
possessed his soul, and his total indifference to all intercourse with
the world. As an excuse for the persecutions he suffered, he is accused
of intriguing and creating disturbances even in his solitude; but no
facts are mentioned--no proofs are advanced. We cannot, indeed, believe
that the morbid spirit of distrust so fatal to his peace, which soon
afterwards manifested itself, did not in any degree exist; but there are
no letters, no documents, to support the accusations--made principally,
indeed, by the _soi-disant_ philosophers--and, above all, by Voltaire,
who could not endure that any other than himself should be a subject of
interest; and who, more than an infidel--a blasphemer--joined with the
most bigoted religionists in persecuting Rousseau.
Rousseau was not permitted long to enjoy the tranquil pleasures of his
island residence. Suddenly, without preparation, he received an order
from the state of Berne to quit their territory in three days. It was a
clap of thunder--he could but obey--again he was a wanderer: some
friends implored him to take up his residence at Bienne, an independent
town; he almost consented, when a popular tumult, of which he was the
object, drove him away.
He quitted Switzerland on the 29th of October. His first idea was to
repair to Berlin. On arriving at Strasbourg he changed his mind: he
gives no reason for this, except that he did not think that he could
support the journey; and that the kindness of the Strasburghers made him
meditate passing the winter in their city. He was, in fact, deliberating
between Prussia and England. He feared the influence of the Parisian
philosophers on Frederic's mind; he knew that the king preferred the
writings of Voltaire to his; he felt that they would not suit--that
Frederic would neither take pleasure in his society, nor reverence him:
he would fall into a subordinate position and humble obscurity--not as a
private man, whose independence repays him for all, but as a neglected
courtier and pensioner of royalty. These natural struggles, founded on
common sense and knowledge of the world, were misinterpreted by his
enemies.--Horace Walpole, who did not appreciate his genius, wrote a
burlesque letter, as if from the king of Prussia--the point of which
was, that Rousseau could not be happy unless persecuted: the sorrowful
truth, and the miserable effects of persecution which were subverting
even his reason, found no pity at the hands of these men.
But he had friends. The duchess of Luxembourg (the duke had died in the
interim) and the countess de Boufflers, who were aware of the generosity
of his conduct when he fled from France, exerted themselves to procure
him an asylum. David Hume offered to escort him to England, and to
establish him respectably there. Rousseau did not like the English; but
the plan offered many advantages, and he consented. He took Paris in his
way, where the prince of Conti received him with princely hospitality.
"The prince," Rousseau writes, "chooses that I should be lodged and
entertained with a magnificence which he well knows does not suit my
tastes; but I comprehend that, under the circumstances, he wishes to
give public testimony of the esteem with which he honours me." He
received a great many visits; crowds followed him when he walked in the
streets;--it is no wonder that he loved a people and a country where he
received such flattering tokens of kindness and admiration.
Yet he was eager to quit Paris; he was in France on sufferance; he even
received intimation from the duke de Choiseul not to prolong his stay.
[Sidenote: 1766.
Ætat.
54.]
On the 2d of January, he departed with Hume and a M. de Luze, a Genevese
and a friend of his. There was great difficulty in knowing where to
place the exile, when he arrived in England: his scanty income was far
too slight to afford mere necessaries in this country: many plans were
discussed; Rousseau rejected several. Thérèse le Vasseur was the great
obstacle to his comfort. It was with difficulty that the prejudice
against her as Rousseau's mistress could be got over; but worse remained
in her own character. De Luze represents her as ignorant, mischievous,
and quarrelsome; add to this, that heretofore Rousseau had treated her
as a mere housekeeper, and she did not dine at table with his
guests--now he insisted that she should be placed on an equality with
himself.
Still he and Hume continued on friendly terms; and the latter
entertained a sincere esteem for him. He wrote: "He is mild, gentle,
modest, affectionate, disinterested, and, above all, endowed in a
supreme degree with sensibility of heart." Rousseau insisted on
establishing himself in solitude at a distance from London: an eligible
residence was at last found for him. He passed two months in London and
Chiswick. He was visited by all persons of distinction. "English
manners," he wrote to a friend, "suit my taste; they can testify esteem,
without cajolery." He then repaired to Wotton in Derbyshire--a house
belonging to Mr. Davenport, but seldom inhabited by him: his host, to
satisfy his delicacy, received nominal payment for his board and
lodging; and here Rousseau and Thérèse took up their abode.
Here he wrote the first portion of his "Confessions;" and for a short
time he appeared to take pleasure in his retreat, and to feel grateful
to the friend who had procured it for him. A few weeks altered his
feelings. He became acquainted with the pretended letter of the king of
Prussia, fabricated by Horace Walpole: he began to suspect that Hume
allied himself to his detractors and enemies, and he renounced all
commerce with him. So far indeed were his suspicions founded, that Hume
had changed his opinion with regard to him. He still spoke of him as the
most delightful man in the world, when in good humour, but found his
distrust and suspicions, and accesses of melancholy, detract from the
pleasure which his society afforded. He had joined also in the laugh
raised by Walpole's letter, which, considering that Rousseau was his
peculiar guest and friend, was indelicate and insulting. Brooding in
loneliness, with only the ignorant, mischief-making Thérèse for a
companion, during a dreary English winter, Rousseau's mind, ever
distrustful, at once became fraught with suspicion. He felt himself
deserted by Hume,--he believed himself to be betrayed. Living in
obscurity and neglect in a country of the language of which he was
ignorant, his imagination suggested that his enemies had entered into a
combination to keep him there, so to gain an opportunity, undetected, of
falsifying his writings and calumniating his character. These thoughts
fermented in his brain till a species of insanity ensued. He fancied
that all his letters were opened; that he was, in a manner, imprisoned
at Wotton; and that the object of his enemies was to seize on his
"Confessions;" the knowledge of their existence having excited this
persecution. A pension of 100_l_. a year, which was conferred on him by
George III. in honourable terms, did not appease his anxieties nor calm
the fever of his mind. Under the dominion of these false
ideas,--suddenly, after a year's residence, during which he had been
treated with singular consideration and kindness, he left Wotton,
traversed England, embarked; and when he arrived at Calais congratulated
himself on his escape, as if honour and life had depended on it. The
letter he left behind addressed to Mr. Davenport, and those he wrote to
his friends, accusing his English protectors of treachery, and
denouncing an universal conspiracy against his reputation and writings,
by proving that he was possessed by insanity, ought to have excited
pity;--he met with none. An indignant cry was raised by Hume and echoed
by his enemies, accusing him of base ingratitude, and a wicked intention
to vilify his friends. This conduct served to excite his monomania to
its highest pitch, by giving some colour to his suspicions; and he
appeared to himself most calm and reasonable while he was the most
entirely under the dominion of the species of insanity that had come
over him. We must not, however, be misunderstood. Rousseau was very
ill-treated; Voltaire and his sect spared no ridicule, no opprobrium;
his friends, even Hume, would join in the laugh excited by Horace
Walpole's fabrication; Baron d'Holbach and his coterie, reigned over by
Grimm, never spoke of him except as a mixture of impostor and madman.
Here was much for Rousseau to resent. But his madness consisted in the
idea that there was an organised combination formed against him, which
was to destroy his reputation while living, falsify his writings, and
hand him down to posterity in the darkest colours. Such combinations are
never formed; and those who fancy themselves the object of such are
decidedly insane.[9]
[Sidenote: 1767.
Ætat.
55.]
The consequence was that his personal friends continued to treat him
with consideration. The prince of Conti offered him an asylum in his
chateau de Trie, near Amiens. He remained there about a year. The
unfortunate disposition of Thérèse soon turned all the servants and
dependants of the place into enemies. He quickly felt the effects of the
mischief she excited, and fancying that the cause existed not in her,
but others, was glad to get away.
An exile and a wanderer, he could not tell where to take up his abode.
At one time he appears to have become aware of the bad disposition of
Thérèse, and to have resolved to separate from her. It would appear
that at this time he was married to her; but this act did not satisfy
her discontent. She deserves blame certainly; but he deserves more for
having chosen, in the first place, an ignorant woman, who had no
qualities of heart to compensate for stupidity; and, secondly, for
having injured instead of improving her disposition by causing her to
abandon her children, and taking from her the occupations and interests
that attend maternity. Dragging about with him this companion, he
resided for some time in Dauphiné. His time was chiefly spent in
herborising. He seemed
"The world forgetting, by the world forgot;"
but he was not satisfied. His restless dissatisfaction, and the
unfortunate notion that an universal conspiracy was formed against him,
caused him to renounce the pension which the king of England had
conferred. The same passions engendered a thousand varying plans. He
contemplated returning to Paris. As a first step, he remained for a
short time at Lyons, and here satisfied his vanity as well as his better
feelings by subscribing to the erection of a statue of Voltaire. The
subscription, and the letter accompanying it, were applauded, much to
the mortification of the latter, who tried vainly to have his name
erased. Soon after, he repaired to the capital. As a preliminary, he
quitted the Armenian dress which he had worn nearly ten years, being
told officially that he would not be allowed to remain in Paris, if he
attracted public attention by his singular costume. The permission he
received to inhabit that city was, indeed, only tacit, and burdened with
the condition that he should not publish any work,--a condition that
displays in its most odious light the intolerance and tyranny of the old
regime of France,
[Sidenote: 1770.
Ætat.
58.]
His arrival in Paris created a sensation; he was welcomed with
enthusiasm. Madame du Deffand, who did not know him, and who dared not
like him, since Horace Walpole spoke of him with contempt, and who only
saw through the eyes of the high society she frequented, speaks
slightingly of his reception by what she calls "the populace of _beaux
esprits_;" but she mentions also that he will have nothing to do with the
great ladies of her acquaintance, nor their friends, and courtiers.
Grimm (and we must remark that, though Grimm often speaks disparagingly
of Rousseau, there is nothing absolutely false in his accounts in his
Correspondence) writes that his return was the subject of conversation
for many days. The people followed him in crowds in the street; he was
invited out to dinner every day; and it only rested with him to frequent
Parisian society most distinguished for talent and rank.
His object in returning to Paris appears to have been, in the first
place, to give publicity to his "Confessions." Soon after his arrival he
read them aloud before the count and countess d'Egmont, prince
Pignatelli, the marquise de Mesmes, and the marquis de Juigné. We
cannot justify his thus dragging the private life of his existent
friends before the world: it is the most flagrant dishonesty in
civilised society, and ought to be put on a par with picking pockets. We
excuse Rousseau in a slight degree, since his act sprung from insanity.
He believed that his enemies coalesced to defame him; that he could
exculpate himself only by these "Confessions;" which, unless rendered
public during life, would be falsified after he was dead; and he
endeavoured to keep the secrets of his friends; though he limited his
complaisance in this to hinting how much he could tell, if he liked.
Madame d'Epinay was justly annoyed, and even alarmed, at the idea of
being made the fable of the day. This lady had no excess of delicacy,
since she left behind her memoirs that unveil the secrets of her life;
but she could not endure that her name and actions should be made topics
of public conversation during her life. She applied to M. de Sartine,
lieutenant of police, to suppress any future readings; and apparently he
complied with the wish, as there is only trace of one more, before seven
auditors, which took place at the instigation of a man who sought to
establish an intimate friendship with their author.
Rousseau now established himself at Paris. Several persons have detailed
their recollections of him during this latter part of his life; and
there is something touching in the mixture of friendliness and distrust,
of gloom and gaiety, of frugality and hospitality, which the various
details record. Every word we read stamps the "Confessions" with truth,
and animates them with a living image; for when we find how eloquent,
agreeable, and warm-hearted he was, even when oppressed by long physical
suffering and heavy mental disquietudes, we may believe that he was
fascinating in his younger days.
He lived in Paris, in Rue Platiere, in a fourth story. His one room was
furnished with mere necessaries--two little beds, a chest of drawers, a
table, a spinnet, and some chairs; and he was triumphantly happy when,
having paid for these few things, he could call them his own. Some boxes
and pots filled with plants stood in his window, where he often
scattered crumbs for the sparrow's: all was neat and clean; and the
simplicity and peace that reigned in the little chamber imparted the
most agreeable impressions. He occupied himself by copying music, which
he did with exquisite neatness and correctness: the only use he made of
his celebrity was to ask rather a high price for his work. Many persons
employed him, so to find a pretence for intruding on his solitude and
staring at him. He did not scruple to be rude to those whom he saw were
attracted by mere impertinent curiosity--to all others he was civil if
not complaisant. The sole real blot on his household was Thérèse, whom
every one mentions with dislike and disrespect.
The prince de Ligne describes the visit he paid: he went under the
pretence of seeking a M. Rousseau of Thoulouse, and contrived, while
excusing himself for the mistake, to slide into conversation. Rousseau
submitted to be drawn out by an utter and unnamed stranger, without the
slightest appearance of distrust. The prince asked him about his music,
and then alluded to literature, and quoted one of the opinions Rousseau
had himself advanced, of the danger of certain literary acquirements: in
a moment he was on the alert to reply, entering into the argument with
more eloquence than he had ever showed in his writings, and developing
his ideas with delicacy and precision; for it is remarkable that the
embarrassment and confusion of ideas, of which Rousseau complains as
habitual to him in conversation, never occurred, except when he fancied
that something was expected, and his extreme shyness interfered to
perplex his ideas, and even his utterance. But in the common course of
conversation all agree in describing him as more than entertaining, as
fascinating, through his eloquence, his perspicuity, and the vivacity
and energy of his imagery and ideas; but these were not to be exercised
on the trivial topics of the day, but on the high moral and
philosophical sentiments and opinions that warmed his soul. On leaving
him, the prince wrote him a letter, telling him who he was, and offering
him an asylum in his states. His letter is a singular one; he tells him
that no one knew how to read in his country, and that he would neither
be admired nor persecuted. He continues: "You shall have the key of my
books and my gardens; you shall see me or not as you please; you shall
have a small country-house a mile from mine, where you can sow and plant
just as you like; as, like you, I dislike thrones and dominations, you
shall rule no one, and no one will rule you. If you accept my offers. I
will lead you myself to the Temple of Virtue--such shall be the name of
your abode, though we will not call it thus; I will spare your modesty
all the triumphs you have well deserved."
The prince declares that this letter was written in the sincerity of his
heart; afterwards it was spread through Paris as a bad imitation of
Horace Walpole's fabrication, and Rousseau himself believed that it was
a trick. However, at first he took it as sincere, and called on the
prince: he described his misfortunes, his enemies, the conspiracy of all
Europe against him, with an eloquence that charmed while it inspired
pity. "His eyes were two stars," the prince writes: "his genius shone in
his face and electrified me; he was touched by the effect he produced,
and, convinced of my enthusiasm, he showed gratitude for the interest I
took in his welfare."
Madame de Genlis made acquaintance with him soon after his return to
Paris. She says she never met a literary man with less pretension, and
more amiable: he spoke of himself with simplicity, and of his enemies
without bitterness; he did entire justice to the talents of Voltaire; he
had a most agreeable smile, full of delicacy and gentleness; he was
communicative, and often very gay. He talked extremely well on music, in
which he was a real connoisseur. Rousseau dined with this lady and her
husband frequently. Their first quarrel arose from M. de Genlis sending
him two dozen bottles of a wine he had praised, instead of two, which he
had consented to accept. Nothing could be in worse taste than the
pleasure which all the rich acquaintance of Rousseau took in making him
presents, after he had declared he would not receive any. He always sent
them back; and they reaped the pleasure of at once displaying their
generosity without expense, and of railing at his misanthropy. The
quarrel which put an end to his acquaintance with madame de Genlis is
somewhat unintelligible. Rousseau took offence at something that passed
at a theatre; and, instead of supping with his friends as he had agreed,
walked sullenly away. Madame de Genlis was offended in her turn, and
their intercourse was never renewed.
Bernardin de Saint Pierre, author of "Paul and Virginia," has left
delightful details of his visits to the recluse. They are far too long
to quote: we can only mention that they impress the reader with love and
esteem for Rousseau. Sometimes Saint Pierre was hurt by outbursts of
Rousseau's umbrageous temper, and on one occasion complained of his
morose manner and unjust suspicions, and asked whether he desired to
quarrel with him. Rousseau replied, with emotion, "I should be sorry to
see you too often, but still more sorry not to see you at all. I fear
intimacies, and have closed my heart against them; my temper masters me,
do you not perceive it? I suppress it for a time, but at last it
overcomes me, and bursts forth in spite of my endeavours. I have my
faults; but, when we value the friendship of any one, we must take the
benefit with all its burdens." Saint Pierre adds, "that these fits of
distrust were rare, that he was usually gay, confiding, and frank; when
I saw him gloomy, I knew some sad thought perplexed him: I began talking
of Plutarch, and he came to himself as if awakening from a dream."
Saint Pierre gives a pleasing account of the respect in which the
Parisians held him. They went together to hear the "Iphigenia" of Gluck:
the crowd and pressure were great; Rousseau was old; Saint Pierre felt
desirous to name him, and so to obtain protection: he hesitated, fearful
to offend; at length he whispered it to one or two, begging them to keep
the secret. Scarcely was the word uttered than a deep silence ensued,
the crowd looked respectfully on him, and emulated each other in
shielding him from pressure, without any one repeating the name that had
been revealed. At one time he suspected Saint Pierre of being in league
with his enemies; his friend insisted on an explanation, and succeeded
in convincing him of his innocence, though he still believed that his
enemies had endeavoured to make a cat's-paw of him.
He thus lived for some years in Paris, occupied by copying music, and
sometimes seized with a desire for composing it; herborising in the
environs of the capital, seeing a few friends, and too often brooding in
solitude over the combination he believed formed against him throughout
Europe. As his health grew worse, these last fatal ideas became more and
more engrossing. He quarrelled with Gluck for writing music to French
words, saying that his only object was to give him the lie, because he
had declared the French language to be unfit for music. He was angry
when he heard that the "Divin du Village" was represented and applauded;
saying that it was done under the pretence that the music was stolen. He
occupied himself on his unfortunate work of "Rousseau Juge de Jean
Jaques," which is a monument of the frenzy which it served to confirm;
yet at the same time he wrote his "Promenades d'un Solitaire," which,
with the exception of some of the letters of the "Nouvelle Heloise," and
a few passages in the "Confessions," are the most finished, the most
interesting, and eloquent of his works: the peculiar charm of Rousseau
reigns throughout; a mixture of lofty enthusiasm, of calm repose, and of
the most delicate taste.
The friends about him saw traces of attacks of absolute madness: he
could no longer apply himself to his task of copying music, and the
miseries of poverty began to be felt in his household. M. de Corancez
tried to bring a remedy, by offering him a house at Sceaux, in which to
live: Rousseau refused, yet hesitated. M. de Girardin offered his house
at Ermenonville, where the superb gardens, of which he was proprietor,
might well tempt a lover of nature. Thérèse favoured this
offer--Rousseau consented to accept it, and his removal was effected
with some precipitancy. It might have been supposed that the charm of
his new abode would have calmed his mind and restored his health. It was
not so. Great obscurity hangs over the last scene of his life.
[Sidenote: 1778.
Ætat.
66.]
He died suddenly at Ermenonville, on the 2d of July, two months after
his departure from Paris. The surgeons who examined his body pronounced,
at their examination, that he died of a serous apoplexy.
Many circumstances combine to engender the suspicion that this opinion
was given merely to prevent scandal, and that in reality he shot
himself. It is certain that, at the moment of death, instead of being
senseless, he was carried to the window, which he caused to be thrown
open; the weather was beautiful, and he contemplated the fair scene
spread around, the shady gardens and serene sky, while he bade a calm
adieu to life.
The cause of his suicide, if he really committed it, must be found in
his perpetual physical sufferings, in his weariness of life, and in the
accesses of insanity with which he was certainly sometimes visited: to
this M. de Corancez adds a discovery of the worthless character of
Thérèse. The last is merely conjecture. She married a groom of M.
Girardin, a year after her husband's death; and he gives her credit for
a criminal intercourse with this man, discovered by Rousseau, during his
life.
His existence had become a dream of bodily and mental suffering; and
whether the disease that preyed on him affected his brain with death, or
excited him to arm himself against his own life, is a secret difficult
to penetrate. The latter seems most probable. He died peacefully, and
the heart that had beat so wildly, and the brain pregnant with an ardent
love of truth, and with so many wild delusions, were delivered over to
the peace of the grave.
As a protestant he could not be buried in sacred ground, he was
therefore interred in the island of Poplars, in the gardens of
Ermenonville. The funeral took place in the evening. The solitary spot
shadowed over by trees, through whose foliage the moon shone, the calm
of the evening hour, and the lonely grave, were in accordance with the
singular but noble character of the man.
On his tomb was inscribed--
ICI REPOSE
L'HOMME DE LA NATURE
ET DE LA VÉRITÉ.
_Vitam impendere vero._
These last words he had adopted as his device. His grave ought to have
been held sacred; but, in the rage for desecration that possessed the
French at the period of the revolution, the body was exhumed and placed
in the Pantheon. When the allies invaded France, out of respect for his
memory, Ermenonville was exempted from contribution.
Rousseau has described himself; but, though sincere in an unexampled
degree, it is difficult to appreciate his character from the
"Confessions." A recent writer, Barante, founding his opinion on this
work, considers him a proud and envious egotist, full of vague
aspirations after virtue, incapable of a virtuous deed; yet we find
Saint Pierre, who knew him during the latter years of his life, when the
struggle between circumstances and his disposition had ceased, and his
character was formed, applaud his firm probity, his mild benevolence,
his frankness and natural gaiety of heart. One fact stamps Rousseau with
nobleness of soul. We turn to the pages of Voltaire's Correspondence,
and find it full of the most vilifying and insolent epithets applied to
his great contemporary--the opprobrium and insult with which he loads
his name bearing the stamp of the impurity and arrogance of his own
heart. Rousseau never spoke ill of Voltaire: when others dispraised, he
defended him; this might be the result of pride, but it was a noble and
generous pride.
Rousseau was proud; nourished in dreams of ancient virtue or chivalrous
romance, he respected himself, and he felt deeply aggrieved if he did
not meet respect in others. It is a strange anomaly to find this proud
man confessing the most degrading errors; but this arose from the
highest pride of all, and the most mistaken: he declared his faults, and
yet assumed himself to be better than other men.
Was Rousseau envious? Grimm says, that anger at finding men of greater
genius preferred engendered most of his ill-humour against society. But
who were these superior men? not Voltaire, with whom, as older than
himself, he never competed: it was Helvetius, Thomas, and, above all,
Diderot. Whatever merits Diderot had in society and conversation, he is
so poor a writer that Rousseau could never have been really hurt by any
mistaken preference shown him. Envy, base as it is, does not stoop to
envy that which is immeasurably inferior. Rousseau had certainly
sufficient cause to be displeased with Diderot, the tone of his letters
being arrogant and presumptuous; but his real displeasure was caused by
the belief that he had betrayed him, when he confided to him his
sentiments for madame d'Houdetot: balked and trampled on all sides, he
was stung to resent his disappointment somewhere, and he selected
Diderot for his victim. This was very wrong and self-deceptive: he
quotes good authority for proving the propriety of declaring to the
world that he and Diderot wore no longer friends, and there was no great
harm in so doing; but when he appended the quotation from Ecclesiastes
in a note, accusing Diderot of a great social crime, the betraying the
secret of a friend, he erred grossly, and cannot be defended.
Rousseau had passed his existence in romantic reveries. This abstraction
of mind always engenders an indolence that concentrates the mind in
self, and hates to be intruded upon by outward circumstances. Pride and
indolence conjoined, created the independence of spirit for which he
took praise to himself. Independence is of two sorts. When we sacrifice
our pleasures and our tastes to preserve the dear privilege of not
deferring our principles and feelings to others, we foster an exalted
virtue; but the independence that finds duty an unwelcome clog--that
regards the just claims of our fellow-creatures as injurious and
intolerable, and that casts off the affections as troublesome
shackles--is one of the greatest errors that the human heart can
nourish; and such was the independence to which Rousseau aspired when he
neglected the first duty of man by abandoning his children. He often
dilates on simple pleasures--the charms of unsophisticated affections,
and the ecstasy to be derived from virtuous sympathy--he, who never felt
the noblest and most devoted passion of the human soul--the love of a
parent for his child! We cannot help thinking that even while Rousseau
defends himself by many baseless sophisms, that this crime, rankling at
his heart, engendered much of the misery that he charged upon his
fellow-creatures. Still Barante is unjust when he declares Rousseau's
life to have been devoid of virtuous actions. He was unpretendingly
charitable; and his fidelity to Thérèse, unworthy as she was, deserves
praise. It would have been easy to cast her off, and gain a more
suitable companion; but he bore her defects; and even to the last, when
it has been suspected that her worthlessness drove him to suicide, he
never complained. There was, with all his errors, great nobleness in
Rousseau's soul. The pride and envy of which he is accused led him to
cherish poverty, to repel benefits, to suspect his friends, but never to
cringe, or grasp, or lie. Distrust was his chief error--a mighty
one--but it did not injure others, while it destroyed himself.
Of his works, the "Emile" stands in the first rank for its utility: his
theories however engendered some errors. The notion to which he was
attached, that entire independence, even of natural duties, was the
state congenial to man, mars many of his views. He would not allow a man
to be a father, scarcely a woman to be a mother; yet such are the
natural and imperative duties of life, even in the most primitive states
of society. We may add a further defect, gathered partly from the
continuation he projected. Sophie proves faithless; and Emile,
meditating on the conduct he ought to pursue, makes himself the centre
of his reflections, nor reverts to the claims which his unhappy wife and
blameless child have still on him. He leaves both to the mercy of a hard
world, and affords another proof of Rousseau's natural deficiency in a
sense of duty. Barante well observes that the "Emile" is the less
useful, because it gives no rules for public education; and public
education is doubtless the best fitted to form the character of social
man. Properly carried on, it prevents all need of having recourse to
those plans and impostures which deface Rousseau's system. The little
world of boys brings its own necessities and lessons with it: the chief
care devolving on the master, to prevent the elder and stronger from
domineering over the young and weak.
He perverts virtue and vice in the "Heloïse" still more glaringly, and
clashes against the prejudices of every country. In France, the fault of
an unmarried girl was regarded as peculiarly degrading and even
ridiculous, and the early error of Julie therefore could find little
sympathy in that country. In ours we commiserate such; but we turn
disgusted from her wedding another man; and the marriage with the
elderly Wolmar, which Rousseau makes the crown of her virtue, is to us
the seal of her degradation. His ideas also of a perfect life are
singularly faulty. It includes no instruction, no endeavours to acquire
knowledge and refine the soul by study; but is contracted to mere
domestic avocations, and to association with servants and labourers, on
their own footing of ignorance, though such must lead to mean and
trivial occupations and thoughts.
No author knows better than Rousseau how to spread a charm over the
internal movements of the mind, over the struggles of passion, over
romantic reveries that absorb the soul, abstracting it from real life
and our fellow-creatures, and causing it to find its joys in itself. No
author is more eloquent in paradox, and no man more sublime in
inculcating virtue. While Voltaire taints and degrades all that is
sacred and lovely by the grossness of his imagination, Rousseau
embellishes even the impure, by painting it in colours that hide its real
nature; and imparts to the emotions of sense all the elevation and
intensity of delicate and exalted passion.
[Footnote 8: He describes this moment of spontaneous inspiration in one
of his letters to M. de Malesherbes, and in his Confessions, with
enthusiastic eloquence. Diderot denied the truth of the statement,
saying, that in fact Rousseau had shown him the question in the
newspaper, in the park of Vincennes, and said, that he meant to write in
favour of the arts and sciences; but, on the representation of Diderot,
he found that finer things might be said on the other side, and
consequently adopted it. We doubt all this. Our own experience has shown
us the great mistakes people can fall into, when they pretend to recount
the thoughts and actions of others. Rousseau would never have written
this detail to M. de Malesherbes, had he not believed it to be true; and
we think that he is more likely to have known the truth than Diderot.]
[Footnote 9: There is an admirable letter addressed by the countess de
Boufflers to Hume, which proves the ill-treatment which Rousseau met,
and the general spirit of unkindness and treacherous ridicule in vogue
against him; while at the same time the writer does not defend
Rousseau's extravagant suspicions and conduct. The good sense and good
taste of the whole letter is remarkable. Unfortunately placid David Hume
had suffered himself to be led away by anger, and it was of no avail.]
CONDORCET
1744-1794.
Marie Jean Antoine de Caritat, marquis de Condorcet, was born at Saint
Quentin, in Picardy, on the 17th of September, 1744. It is said that at
an early age he gave tokens of the talents that distinguished him. The
bent of his genius led him to the study of the exact sciences. It is the
distinction of these pursuits that they lead at once to celebrity. A
discovery in mathematics can neither be denied nor passed over.
Condorcet, at the age of twenty-one, was the author of a memoir on the
integral calculus, one of the highest branches of the pure mathematics,
in which at that time but small advances had been made, although it has
since become one of the most powerful instruments of physical
investigation. This essay gave him at once a title to be regarded as a
successor worthy of Newton and Leibnitz, whose discoveries in the
infinitesimal analysis he subsequently extended. This essay was
published in the _Mémoires des Savants Étrangers_, and he was elected
coadjutor of Grandjean de Fouchy, in the secretaryship of the Academy of
Sciences. Eager to justify the choice of the Academy, he continued
successfully to direct his labours to the higher mathematics. Among his
essays on these branches of science may be mentioned a general method of
finding the integral of an equation in finite terms whenever such an
integral exists, and the general solution of the problem of maxima and
minima. Had he continued to cultivate pure mathematics, there can be no
doubt that he would have attained the greatest celebrity in that
department of science.
Condorcet's mind was one of those in which reason preponderates to the
exclusion of the imagination, so that whatever could not be definitively
proved to his understanding he considered absurd. This texture of
intellect, at a time when philosophy was at work to discard, not only
the errors of Catholicism, but to subvert Christianity itself, led him
to ally himself with men who, while they exerted themselves to enlighten
and enfranchise their fellow-creatures from the miseries of
superstition, unfortunately went a step beyond, and overthrew, though
they knew it not, the boundaries of morals as well as of religion. These
men, for the most part, benevolent, studious, and virtuous, believed it
easy to lead their fellow-creatures into the same road which they
themselves trod; and that, bigotry and superstition being overthrown,
persecution would vanish, and mankind live in a brotherhood of peace.
Their passions being under their control, they supposed that, could
reason be equally developed in all men, they would become, like
themselves, dispassionate and tolerant. Condorcet was the intimate
friend of D'Alembert; he visited Voltaire with him at Ferney, and was
hailed as the youngest and most promising of his disciples. The latter
certainly did not possess the calmness and disciplined mind of
D'Alembert, but his genius and ardent benevolence brought excuses for
the errors of his temper; and Condorcet, while he saw his faults, paid
the tribute of flattery which the patriarch of French literature
considered his due. As he became intimate with these philosophers, and
participated in their views, he began to consider that there were truths
of more importance than mathematical demonstrations,--truths that would
subvert the impostures of priests, and give men nobler and higher rules
of action than those instituted by the papal church. It is the
misfortune of Catholicism that, by entangling the absurd and the true,
those who throw off its errors are too apt, without examination, to cast
away the truths which it has overgrown and distorted; but which minds of
truer discernment can see and acknowledge. Condorcet, on first engaging
in the labours of moral philosophy, took the easier path of refuting
others, rather than developing novel ideas of his own. His application
and his memory had caused his mind to be richly stored with every kind
of knowledge--add to this he was a profound logician. His first work of
polemical philosophy was a refutation of the "Dictionnaire des Trois
Siècles," by Sabathier de Castres. He assumed the epistolary form of
argument, which is at once the easiest, and affords the fairest scope
for the various arms of ridicule and reasoning. Voltaire hailed his work
with delight, and bestowed a degree of praise highly encouraging to the
young author.
His next labour was the arrangement and examination of the "Pensées" of
Pascal. That illustrious Christian founded his system on the original
weakness and sin of man. He represented him as a miserable, feeble,
suffering being; spawned, as it were, by eternity, and cast on a narrow
shoal of time; unknowing of the past, terrified by the future, helpless
and lost in the present; and showed that the knowledge and the promises
of the Redeemer were the only stay and the only consolation of his
trembling, painful, and yet sinful existence. Condorcet took an opposite
view of human nature. He regarded it as a power that by its laws
assimilated all reason, all good, all knowledge, to its essence, but
that tyranny and error stepped between; and the frauds of priests and
the oppression of political institutions, taking from this being leisure
and freedom of thought, reduced him to the feeble, ignorant, erring
state in which most men are sunk. Casting the blame of the faults and
ignorance of man on governments, he declared that these ought to be the
objects of improvement and enlightenment to the philosopher; for, if
these were in the advance of human knowledge, instead of lagging so far
behind, mankind would speedily rise to a higher level, and grow, like
the laws they obeyed, wise, just, and equal. This work appeared of such
importance to Voltaire that he reprinted it himself, adding a preface,
in which he said, "This true philosopher holds Pascal in the scales, and
is the weightier of the two."
Condorcet was the friend of Turgot, a minister whose virtues and genius
attached to him all the more enlightened men of the day. His ministry,
however, was stormy, since he was among the first who endeavoured to
bring a remedy to the ruined finances of France, without being permitted
to strike at the root of the evil--unequal taxation and extravagant
expenditure. His edict touching the sale of corn excited popular
commotions, and was attacked by Necker. Condorcet undertook to answer
Necker's book, but was on the unpopular side, and therefore not read. He
wrote a series of laudatory biographical essays on various academicians,
and men of science and celebrity, Euler, Franklin, D'Alembert, and
others. In these he, at the same time, developed his scientific
knowledge and his theory of the perfectibility of the human species.
Every useful and liberal cause found him its partisan. He was one among
the opponents of negro slavery; and, feeling that diatribes against the
cruelty and wickedness of the slave trade would not avail with those who
regarded it as advantageous to the country, he argued to prove its
political and commercial inexpediency. He was a laborious and prolific
writer, urged on by a strong sense of duty; for, firmly believing that
the wisdom of philosophers was of vast influence in improving the moral
condition of mankind, he believed it to be the primal duty of thinking
men to propagate their opinions. In his life of Turgot he details his
theories of the perfectibility of his species, which the minister had
also entertained. He undertook an edition of the works of Voltaire, and
wrote the life of that great wit, one of the best and most elegant of
his works. To escape persecution, or to give greater force to his
writings, he published several of his writings under fictitious names.
In this manner, he brought out his "Reflections on Negro Slavery" under
the name of Swartz, a pastor of Bienne. A biographer observes on this
work, that "the simplicity, elegance, and precision of the style; the
forcible arguments, respect for misfortune, and indignation at crime;
the tone which inviolable probity inspires, and which art cannot
imitate, obtained signal success for this work. Those who were fortunate
enough to be intimate with Condorcet easily raised the veil under which
he concealed himself." In the same way, he adopted the name of a citizen
of Newhaven, when he wrote to refute a book by De Lolme, in praise of
the English constitution, insisting, in particular, on the benefits
arising from two legislative chambers. Condorcet argued that all just
government ought to be founded on giving preponderance to the majority;
and he brought all his logic to prove that to confide the task of
legislation to two chambers, one of which should propose and the other
sanction laws, was to give to the minority a power superior to that
enjoyed by the majority; since that which had been proposed unanimously
in one chamber might be rejected by a slight majority in the other. He
went on to establish maxims and legal fictions by which it would be
possible to ascertain the desires of the majority in a state,--a
question that occupied his serious consideration in other works.
Condorcet, in these writings, showed his attachment to all that should
ameliorate the social condition, and enlarge the sphere of intellect
among his fellow-creatures. He did not, in his reasonings, give
sufficient force to the influence of passion, especially when exerted
over masses, nor the vast power which the many have when they assert
themselves, nor the facility with which the interested few can lead
assembled numbers into error and crime. D'Alembert called Condorcet a
volcano covered by snow. There are men of great personal susceptibility,
uncontrollable passions, and excitable imaginations, who have the same
power over their fellow-creatures that fire has over materials cast upon
it--they impart their energy, even though it be for self-destruction, to
all around. There are others, and among such was Condorcet, of great but
regulated enthusiasm of soul;--which enthusiasm, derived from abstract
principles and founded on severe reason, is more steady, more
disinterested, and more enduring than that springing from passion; but
it exercises little immediate influence over others, and is acknowledged
and appreciated only in hours of calm. Amidst the tempest of political
struggles it is passed by as timid, cold, and impotent.
A philosopher of this sort was destined to have great influence at the
commencement of the French Revolution, while men acted from a sense of
right and a virtuous desire to found the changes they brought about on
reason, justice, and the good of mankind. His integrity caused him to be
respected, and his powers of mind to receive attention.
He anticipated change, and had contributed to it by spreading abroad his
opinions for the enfranchisement of the French people from the laws and
customs that ground them to the earth. When the ferment began he
assisted in directing it by his writings, and assembled at his house the
most distinguished men of the liberal party. He was now no longer a
young man. Habit had confirmed all his opinions, while mature years
imparted that calm which caused him to see clearly and act firmly, but
without precipitation or violence. On the convocation of the states
general, he wrote a declaration of the rights of man, to serve as a
guide and model to the future legislators of his country. He caused it
to be translated into English by Dr. Gems, and brought it out as the
work of an American.
[Sidenote: 1788.
Ætat.
44.]
When the states general met, he became more and more absorbed by the
political state of his country. He did not make one of the assembly; but
the influence from without was of vast importance, not only to inspire
the members with energy and constancy, but to daunt the court and the
nobles, who scarcely understood and longed to spurn the claimants of a
power of which they had long held possession, while they misused it to
the ruin first of their country and then of themselves. Condorcet wrote
a refutation of an address presented in favour of the court and the
privileged orders, and demanded a partial confiscation of church
property to pay the national debt. He published a pamphlet, entitled "On
what has been done, and what remains to do," full of clear and useful
views for the future. He thus became a portion of the revolution, and
allied himself with its more illustrious chiefs, who afterwards formed
the girondist party,--a sect which was republican in heart, but which
would have been satisfied with a limited monarchy, could they have
depended on the fidelity of the king to the constitution. The chief
object of Condorcet's attacks was the church. He was an infidel, and
believed philosophy to be a better guide than religion both for states
and individuals; besides this, he looked on the French clergy as a
peculiarly obnoxious priesthood. The quarrels of the molinists and
jansenists,--the extermination of the huguenots,--the war they carried
on against all knowledge and freedom,--made him ardently desire to limit
their power within strict bounds, and he was eager to lessen their
wealth, as the first sure step towards decreasing their influence.
On every occasion he came forward to enlighten and guide the decisions
of the assembly by his published arguments. He discussed the injury to
arise from a division of the legislative power into two chambers, and
showed great sagacity when he demonstrated the evils attendant on the
system of assignats.
The weakness of the unfortunate king, who yielded to the new state of
things only on compulsion, and turned his eyes towards the emigrants and
foreign potentates as deliverers, still hoping for a restoration to
absolute power, caused the moderate party of girondists to abandon the
cause of royalty altogether, and to believe that there was no
possibility of confirming the blessings which they believed that their
country reaped from the revolution, nor of protecting the nation from
invasion, and the re-establishment of absolutism armed with foreign
soldiers for the execution of vengeance, except in the dethronement of
the king and erection of a republic. The flight of Louis to Varennes put
the seal of conviction on these opinions. It was believed that he fled
only to return with the Austrians and the emigrants, armed to
exterminate the friends of liberty. Condorcet pronounced on this
occasion a violent speech against monarchy, and followed up his attack
by a series of bitter articles in a paper called "The Republican." His
popularity increased greatly through this course. He was designated by
the jacobins as governor of the dauphin, but Louis refused to ratify the
nomination.
[Sidenote: 1791.
Ætat.
47.]
He was also appointed commissioner of the treasury; which, at his
desire, changed its name to the national instead of the royal treasury;
and he was elected member of the new representative assembly by the
electors of the city of Paris itself. He drew up the article of "The
National Assembly" in the "Chronicle," on this occasion, to enlighten
his colleagues on the state of the nation, and the measures proper to be
taken for its security.
In all his speeches and projected decrees he mingled the most determined
opposition to such acts and establishments as he believed to be hostile
to the liberty of his country, with mildness and justice towards
individuals. Thus, on the 25th of October, he made a speech on the
subject of emigration, which at the time that it was delivered excited
the warmest applause, and the printing of it was voted. In this
discourse, he drew a line between the emigrants who left their country
for the sake merely of withdrawing from the political disturbances, and
those who entertained the nefarious project of exciting foreign powers
to invade France, and meditated carrying arms themselves against their
countrymen. He denounced the connivance of the court with the intrigues
at Coblentz. He showed the necessity of firm measures, and asserted that
an unasked pardon held out to the emigrants gave birth to contempt
merely among the haughty nobles who expected a speedy triumph over a
class of men whom they despised. A few days after, the mountain party
attacked his purposed decree as insufficient and feeble, and it was
abandoned.
This alliance with foreign governments and the complicity of the court
with the emigrants, roused a spirit in France, at first noble and
heroic, till, led away by base and sanguinary men, grandeur of purpose
merged into ferocity, and heroism became a thirst of blood such as
mankind had never displayed before towards men of the same colour and
language as themselves, and can be compared only to the conduct of the
Spaniards in the newly discovered world.
But the first burst of generous indignation against the traitors who
carried arms against their country, and the crowned foes who denounced
the actual government of France as rebellious, to be punished by the
devastation and subjection of the nation, found an echo in every
patriotic heart not misled by enthusiasm for royalty. On the 27th of
December Vergniaud proposed an address to the French people, which was
greatly applauded though not adopted. Two days after Condorcet presented
his declaration, which was received with triumphant and unanimous
acclamations. This declaration is dignified and firm, and shows the just
as well as generous spirit which animated the greater portion of the
assembly, till the panic engendered by the advance of the armies threw
the power into the hands of the ferocious minority. "At the moment when,
for the first time since the acquirement of liberty,"--thus ran his
manifesto,--"the French people may find themselves reduced to exercise
the terrible right of war, her representatives owe to Europe and to all
humanity a declaration of the motives that have guided the resolutions
of France, and an exposition of the principles that will rule their
conduct. The French nation renounces the entering on any war with a view
of making conquests, and will never employ her force against the liberty
of any country. Such is the sacred vow by which we have allied our
welfare to the welfare of every other nation, and to which we will be
faithful. France will take up arms with regret but with ardour, to
insure her own safety, her internal tranquillity; and will lay them down
with joy when she no longer fears for that liberty and equality which
are become the only elements in which Frenchmen can live." When, soon
after, the country seemed menaced by civil war, the departments
regarding with fear and jealousy the proceedings in Paris, Condorcet
again ascended the tribune to propose an exposition of their conduct, as
due, not to the calumniators of the revolution, but to those timid and
mistaken men, who, at a great distance, were led away by false and
fabricated accounts. He then read an address which contained the history
of the labours of the assembly and an exposition of its principles. The
address was voted by acclamation, and ordered to be printed and
distributed in the departments.
The integrity of Condorcet raised him high in the esteem of his
countrymen; as springing from the class of nobles, his disinterestedness
could not be doubted. He loved his country, he loved reason and
knowledge, and virtuous conduct and benevolent sentiments. He was, with
all this, a determined republican. His favourite theory being the
perfectibility of mankind, he rejected that view of human nature which
inculcates the necessity of ruling the many by the few, and sinking the
majority of his fellow-creatures in ignorance and hard labour; he wished
all to be enlightened as to their duties, and all to tend equally to the
improvement of their intellectual and moral nature. These theories, if
they be mistaken, emanate from benevolent and just feelings. They made
him a democrat, because the very corner-stone of royalty and aristocracy
is the setting apart a class of men to possess the better gifts of
fortune and education, and the reduction of the rest to a state of
intellectual dependence and physical necessity.
[Sidenote: 1792.
Ætat.
48.]
When the king exercised his veto, and put a stop to the measures
considered necessary by the assembly for the safety of France,
Condorcet, even as early as the month of March, represented the
monarchical power as at open war with the nation, and proposed that the
king should be considered as having abdicated. His view met with few
co-operators at that crisis, and was set aside. He busied himself, at
the same time, in forming a plan of national education, and brought
forward a system on a more philosophical and comprehensive scale than
had hitherto been meditated. It was his design to secure to the human
race, to use his own expressions, the means of satisfying their
necessities, and securing their welfare; of knowing and exercising their
rights, and of understanding and fulfilling their duties; giving scope
to all to carry their industry to a state of perfection, and to render
themselves capable of the social functions which they were called upon
to exert; to develope to their extent the talents given them by nature;
and thus to establish in the nation a real equality, so to meet the
political equality established by law.
The system of instruction which was to realise so blessed a state of
society he considered as properly placed in the hands of government. He
looked forward, indeed, to the time when public establishments for
education would become superfluous and even detrimental; but this would
only be when right reason prevailed, and it was no longer necessary for
the wiser few to labour to destroy the prejudices and mistakes of the
ignorant many; when superstition should be no more; and when each man
should find in his own knowledge, and in the rectitude of his mind, arms
sufficient to combat every species of imposition.
Condorcet looked on virtue as capable of exact demonstration, as
conducive to public and individual happiness, and on man as a
sufficiently reasonable being to follow its dictates, if sufficiently
enlightened, without the aid of religion or the coercion of punishment.
He regarded the passions as capable of being controlled by the
understanding. He, benevolent and conscientious, practising no vice,
carefully extirpating from his mind all that he believed to be error,
was to himself a mirror in which the whole human race was reflected.
Also, like all the French politicians of that day, he wished to treat
mankind like puppets, and fancied that it was only necessary to pull
particular strings to draw them within the circle of order and reason.
We none of us know the laws of our nature; and there can be little doubt
that, if philosophers like Condorcet did educate their fellows into some
approximation to their rule of right, the ardent feelings and burning
imaginations of man would create something now un thought of, but not
less different from the results he expected, than the series of sin and
sorrow which now desolates the world. It is not for this that we would
throw a slur over the upright endeavours of the pious and the good to
improve their fellows; but we do over any endeavour of government to
bind the intellect in chains. It was, therefore, in some degree, for the
best, that his views were not followed out. When his plan for national
education and a national society of arts and sciences, charged with the
duty of overlooking and directing public instruction,--for the purpose
not only of enlightening the present generation, but of preparing the
human species for an indefinite advance in wisdom and virtue,--when this
plan was presented by the chief Girondists to the court, a friend of
Condorcet, struck with dismay at the degree of power that would accrue
to the rulers, said, "If they adopt your plan, our freedom is
destroyed." "Fear nothing," replied Condorcet, "ignorance and vanity
will make them reject it." Unfortunately, the treaty carried on by the
Girondists with the court on this occasion injured their popularity. The
French were at a crisis that demanded that their rulers should think
only of measures and acts adapted to it. The mountain party felt this,
and acted for the day, and thus succeeded in overthrowing their rivals,
who philosophically and calmly legislated for future generations, while
their single object ought to have been to save the living one from the
foreign foe and their own evil passions.
The manifesto of the duke of Brunswick was the first cause of the
madness which was soon to make France an example of the crimes that may
be committed by a people in the name of liberty. When first this
manifesto spread indignation and fear through France, Condorcet made
himself conspicuous by a speech proposing an address to the king to
express the discontent of the assembly at his lukewarm disapprobation of
the actions of the emigrants, and his want of energy in repulsing the
offers of foreign potentates to deliver him from the hands of his
subjects and the shackles of the constitution which he had accepted. The
subsequent dethronement of the king and establishment of a republic were
events after his own heart.
[Sidenote: 1792.]
A commission had been named, during the first days of August, to examine
the question of the abolition of monarchy, and Condorcet was named
reporter. He considered it, in the first place, necessary to explain to
the people the grounds on which he went, and drew up a paper which he
called "Instruction préparatoire sur l'Exercise du Droit de
Souveraineté;" in which he expounded, that as foreign potentates had
denounced every Frenchman who defended the liberties of his country as
rebels to be punished by death, and as the monarch treacherously
weakened their powers of defence against the foe, so was it right and
necessary that the nation should take the sovereignty into their own
hands. When the events of the 10th of August had sealed the fate of the
unhappy Louis, Condorcet proposed a declaration of the motives that led
to his being set aside, which, while it strongly accused the monarch and
his court of betraying the cause of the people, was animated by a spirit
of fairness, moderation, and dignity, that did honour to the cause which
he espoused.
Condorcet's popularity was now at its height and he was courted even by
the jacobins and the mountain party. He was invited by several
departments to represent them in the new convention. Madame Roland
accuses him of pusillanimity: perhaps her accusation is partly founded
on the fact that at this moment of fierce rivalship and strife between
the Girondists and Mountain, he rather strove to conciliate the latter
than to drive the struggle to extremities. He had a high esteem for the
talents of Danton, and often remarked, with regard to the jacobins, that
it were better to moderate than to quarrel with them. He was named at
this time one of the committee to draw up a constitution, and his
labours were chiefly employed on this object.
Looking upon the king as the treacherous enemy of the new state of
things in France, and therefore, according to his reasoning, of France
itself, he did not hesitate to name Louis a traitor during the debate
that followed the monarch's trial; but he did not vote for his death.
"All different degrees of punishment for the same offence," he argued,
"was an offence against equality. The punishment of conspirators is
death; but this punishment is contrary to my principles, and I will
never vote it. I cannot vote for imprisonment, for no law gives me the
power; I vote for the heaviest punishment established in the penal code
that is not death." He afterwards voted for the reprieve for the king
until the peace; but the struggle of the Girondists to save the
monarch's life was, as is known, useless.
In drawing up a constitution the philosopher thought more of future
generations than the present: he considered France as ground cleared of
all encumbrance, on which to raise an edifice of government designed in
strict accordance to justice and the permanent welfare of mankind: to
continue the metaphor, he gave no heed to the more than inequalities of
soil,--the gulfs and chasms produced by the earthquake-revolution. His
report of the labours of the committee, together with the speech he made
on presenting it, was, however, received at first with acclamation, and
ordered to be printed. The jacobins disapproved tacitly in the
commencement, but by degrees they raised accusations against Condorcet
on account of the limited power which he committed to the people.
Underhand disapprobation was spread abroad, but did not become so
current, but that the committee of public safety applied to him to draw
up a manifesto, which the convention wished to address to every nation
and government, with regard to the violation of the law of nations in
the persons of four deputies delivered up by Dumouriez to the Austrians:
they admired him as a writer, and believed that their cause would be
eloquently and well defended by his pen. He wrote with great fervour
both against Lafayette and Dumouriez, as having betrayed the cause of
their country, and appealed against the conduct of Austria to the
interests and sense of justice of every free country.
[Sidenote: 1793.
Ætat.
49.]
Even on the approach of the 31st of May, notwithstanding his intimacy
with Roland and other Girondists on whom the Mountain party were about
to seize, Condorcet continued to be consulted and employed by the
committee of public safety. Those of the girondists who, foreseeing the
anarchy that must ensue from the triumph of the jacobins, considered
their overthrow of more immediate importance than the repulsing the foe
from the soil of France, disapproved of Condorcet's working for their
enemies: he kept apart from both, while he laboured for the cause of the
republic, and remarked that his friends were offended because he did not
break with the committee of public safety; and the committee, on the
other hand, desired that he should refrain from all intercourse with his
friends. "I endeavour," he added, "that each party shall think less of
itself and a great deal more of the commonwealth." He began to perceive,
however, that it was impossible any longer to use measures of
conciliation with Robespierre, but he hoped to restrain him by fear: the
latter, however, triumphed. The 31st of May brought with it the decree
of arrest of twenty-two Girondists: Condorcet was not among them. He
might by silence and prudence have continued for some time longer to sit
in the convention; but he saw with indignation the empty benches on
which his friends used to appear, and the growing power of a ferocious
oligarchy. He denounced the weakness of the convention, and the tyranny
exercised over it by a few ambitious and resolute men, in a letter to
his constituents, which was denounced and sent for examination to the
committee of public safety. From this moment the jacobins marked him out
also for a victim; and the ex-capuchin Chabot denounced him for having
written against the new constitution of 1793; which superseded the one
he had drawn up: he was summoned to the bar, and a decree of arrest
passed against him.
The sanguinary characters and tenets of the leading jacobins had already
made him say that no one was sure of six months of life, and he
considered the decree of arrest synonymous to a sentence of death. He
escaped pursuit, and concealed himself. A generous woman, before unknown
to him, and who has never revealed her name to the world, gave him
refuge in her house. Denounced on the 3d of October, as Brissot's
accomplice, there was no doubt that had he been taken he had shared the
fate of the deputies who were guillotined in the month of November; but
his place of concealment was not suspected, and he remained in safety
till the August of the following year.
[Sidenote: 1794.
Ætat.
50.]
During this long seclusion, he projected occupation in writing. At
first, he meditated detailing the history of his political career; but
he reflected that his many labours for his country were irrefragable
documents; and, more attached to opinions which he considered pregnant
with the welfare of mankind, than to facts which were but the evanescent
forms of change, he applied himself to developing his theories in an
"Historical Sketch of the Progress of the Human Mind." This is his most
celebrated work. It is full of error and even of intolerance; still the
clearness of the views, the enthusiasm with which he developes them, the
order, precision, and the originality of his theories, render it
remarkable. He glances over the past, and argues that each succeeding
epoch in the history of mankind has brought moral improvement and
increase of knowledge. There are two views to be taken of human nature.
Condorcet insists that the moderns have more knowledge and wisdom and
moral power than the ancients. He founds this opinion on the great
progress made in scientific truths, and does not hesitate also to oppose
French literature to the Greek, as demonstrating the advance of the
human intellect in every branch. He compares also the states, wars, and
crimes of antiquity with modern society and institutions, and deduces
that we are more virtuous, more humane, and more reasonable than
preceding generations.
No greater poet has appeared since Homer composed the Iliad,--no more
acute philosopher than Aristotle,--no more virtuous character than
Socrates, nor sublimer hero than Regulus. By standing on ground reached
by the ancients, the mass may climb higher than the masses that went
before; but, in making progress, we do not develope more genius and
sagacity, but rather less, than those who prepared our way. It is to be
doubted, therefore, whether mankind can progress so as to produce
specimens superior to Homer, Aristotle, Socrates, Regulus, and many
others who adorned antiquity.
But it cannot be doubted, on the other hand, that progress has been made
in the general diffusion of knowledge and in the amelioration of the
state of society. Philosophers ought, therefore, not to dream of
removing the bounds of human perfection, such as we find it among the
best, but in bringing the many up to the standard of the few, and
causing nations to understand and aim at wisdom and justice with the
same ardour as individuals among them have been found to do.
Condorcet developed his views of human perfection while the principle of
evil was making giant inroads in France, and blood and terror were the
order of the day. Separated from all dear to him, his wife and child,
and not daring himself to see the light of heaven, he did not lose the
cheerfulness of his temper, nor mourn vainly over his disasters. In this
situation, he wrote an epistle to his wife in the character of a Pole
exiled to Siberia in 1768. In this are to be found a couplet since often
quoted relative to political victims,--
"Ils m'ont dit, 'Choisis d'être oppresseur ou victime:'
J'embrassai le malheur, et leur laissai le crime."
A couplet peculiarly applicable to him who would have been gladly
received by the violent party, and had the way open to him to rule,
instead of being sacrificed as a victim. He declares in this poem that
the anticipation of a violent death did not alter the serenity of his
soul, and speaks of the occupations that banished ennui from his
solitary place of refuge.
He was soon to lose this shelter: a newspaper fell into his hands in
which he read the decree that outlawed him, and denounced the pain of
death against any one who should harbour one of the proscribed. He
instantly resolved no longer to endanger his generous hostess,--she
endeavoured to dissuade him from this fatal step, but in vain: he
disguised himself as a countryman, and passed the barriers without a
passport. He directed his steps to Sceaux, where he hoped to find refuge
in the house of a friend; but he was absent in Paris, nor expected back
for three days, and Condorcet was obliged to hide in the neighbouring
quarries. After several days spent miserably in this spot, hunger forced
him to enter the little inn of Chamont. The avidity with, which he ate
the food placed before him, and his squalid appearance, drew the
attention of a member of the committee of public safety of Sceaux, who
happened to be present. He was asked for his passport, and, not having
one, was arrested and interrogated. No ready he hung on the lips of the
worshipper of truth, and his unsatisfactory answers, and a Horace found
in his pocket with marginal notes in pencil, contributed to reveal his
name. He was taken to Bourg-la-Reine. Such was his state of exhaustion
that he fainted at Châtillon, and it was found necessary to mount him on
a vine-dresser's horse. On his arrival at Bourg, he was thrown into a
dungeon, and forgotten by the jailor for the space of twenty-four hours,
when he was found dead; some suppose from the effects of poison; but the
probabilities are that he died of exhaustion, hunger, and cold.
The accusation against Condorcet, found in madame Roland's memoirs,
where she speaks of his cowardice, cannot be passed over, though we do
not give it absolute credence. Her asperity is not measured, though she
speaks highly of his intellect. "It may be said," she remarks, "of his
understanding and his person that it is a fine essence absorbed in
cotton. The timidity that forms the basis of his character, and which he
displays even in society, in his countenance and attitudes, does not
result from his frame alone, but seems inherent in his soul, and his
talents have furnished him with no means of subduing it." There must be
both misapprehension and exaggeration in this picture. We find no
pusillanimity in his last acts or writings. When he might have saved
himself among the Mountain party, he chose to share the fate of the
proscribed Girondists. This conduct could spring only from conscientious
and noble motives, and a courageous spirit. His numerous political
labours give no sign of lukewarmness or tergiversation. They are clear,
fervent, and bold with regard to those principles which he held dear. If
not profound, nor endowed with the highest order of genius, yet his
erudition, ready talent for argument, and admirable memory, give him a
high place among men of talent. As a politician, his unflinching war
against royalty and aristocracy place him among those politicians who
look on mankind as a species, and legislate for them as an equal whole,
instead of dividing them into ranks and tribes. His benevolence made him
the enemy of oppression, and he expressed this when he exclaimed, "Peace
with cottages, war on castles!" which, had it comprised the history of
revolution, the history of France were not stained with its darkest
pages. The _sans-culottes_ did not spare cottages: they made war on all
who were not as ferocious as themselves: Condorcet was among the
victims. Benevolence, justice, and attachment to the cause of freedom,
remained warm in his heart to the end. Not long before his death,
anticipating the speedy close of his existence, he put on paper his last
wishes with regard to his daughter. He desired that she should be
educated in republican simplicity, and taught to crush every feeling of
vengeance towards his destroyers. "Let her know," he wrote, "that none
ever entered my heart."
His wife was a woman of great beauty, merit, and talent, and was the
author of some philosophical works. She was thrown into prison by
Robespierre, but escaped the guillotine, and did not die till 1822,
having lived many years in Paris, surrounded by the remnants of the
French republicans and philosophers of 1793. His daughter was
distinguished for her unpretending virtues and accomplished mind. She
became the wife of the celebrated Arthur O'Connor.
MIRABEAU
1749-1791.
It is impossible to imagine a greater contrast of character than that
between the subject of the preceding memoir and the present. Condorcet
was a man of warm affections, well regulated mind, and clear precise
understanding; his enthusiasm was lighted up by benevolence, and the
love of that which he considered truth. He was timid, yet firm; mild,
yet resolute. Mirabeau resembled his Italian ancestors, rather than the
usual French character. His violent passions governed him, and caused
him to govern others through his earnestness and vehemence. His
intellect showed itself rather in eloquent bursts than in works of
reason, and yet he could apply himself more sedulously than almost any
other man when he had an object in view. Profligate, extravagant, and
proud, ardent and ambitious, with a warm kind heart, and a mind which
erred only under the influence of passion, he passed a life of adversity
and oppression, to die at the moment he reached a degree of power which
is allotted to few men not born to its inheritance.
The family and progenitors of Mirabeau were all remarkable. He left, in
manuscript, a sketch of the family history, and a more detailed life of
his grandfather, in which we find singularly displayed the energy, iron
will, and pride of the race. The name they originally bore was
Arrighetti; the family was Florentine, and driven from that city in
1268, during one of the revolutions occasioned by the quarrels of the
Guelphs and Ghibelines. A sentence of perpetual exile was pronounced
against Azzo Arrighetti and his descendants, and Azzo took refuge, as
many other ghibelines had done, in Provence; and the name of Riquetti is
found on various occasions in the history of Marseilles. Those who bore
it played at all times a foremost and bold part: they were eagle-eyed
men, fierce and headstrong, yet discerning. During the war of the fronde
the family was royalist, and was rewarded by a patent of Louis XIV.,
which erected their estate of Mirabeau into a marquisate. Jean Antoine,
grandfather of the subject of this memoir, was one of five sons, who all
ran an eccentric, bold, and active career. He passed his younger days in
the army, and went through many hairbreadth perils and incredible
adventures. The last campaign in which he served was that of the duke de
Vendôme, in Italy. He performed prodigies of valour in the battle of
Cassano, and was left for dead on the field. Found by the enemy with
some slight signs of life, prince Eugene, who knew and esteemed him,
sent him, without ransom, to the French camp, that the operation
necessary for his preservation might not be delayed. His life was saved,
but he survived frightfully mutilated, and a martyr to severe physical
suffering to the end of his life. He returned home to find his fortune
dilapidated, but never to lose that intrepidity and pride that formed
the foundation of the family character. He married, and found in the
admirable character of his wife the reward and solace of his sufferings:
she had been struck by the heroism of his character; and it is related
of her, that some expressions of pity for her being the wife of a
cripple, and of a man of a haughty, imperious character, having met her
ear, she exclaimed, "Ah! if you knew how happy one is to be able to
respect one's husband." He was an admirable landlord and a careful
father; and his family flourished under his superintendence, till
implicated, through the imprudence of his wife's brother, in the system
of Law, he was ruined on the breaking of the bubble. From that time he
lived in retirement, bending all his efforts to the paying his debts and
repairing his fortune. He died in 1737, at the age of seventy-one,
feared yet beloved by all in connexion with him.
He left three sons: Victor, the eldest, succeeded to the honours and
possessions of the house. This man was a strange mixture of good
intention and evil doing;--a general philanthropist, and yet the
persecutor and enemy of his own family; against various members of which
he obtained, at different times, fifty-seven lettres de cachet, nearly a
score of which were levelled against his eldest son. He had more vanity
than pride, and his haughtiness was unaccompanied by a spirit of
justice, yet joined to a perfect conviction that he was always in the
right. Implacable towards others, indulgent with regard to himself:
hence spring the contradictions observable in his character; we find
displayed a mixture of sternness and softness, rancour and good humour.
Had he been as severe with himself as others, his whole character had
been rigid, but he would have been more just and virtuous: as it was, we
find him plastic to the influence of his own passions or vanity, and
become gentle and even playful under their influence: whatever jarred
with these found him despotic and unforgiving. Thus he grew into a
domestic tyrant, and while he ran after popularity in his own person, he
disdained and crushed the talents of his son. His literary reputation
did not begin till he had passed mid-life; it was founded on "L'Ami des
Hommes," a work in five volumes, which, in the midst of great
diffuseness and confusion, is yet remarkable for the knowledge it
displays in agriculture and statistics, and for many clear and liberal
views. His "Théorie de l'Impôt," published in 1760, caused him,
through his attack on the financiers of the day, to be imprisoned in the
fortress of Vincennes. He wrote many other works on the same species of
subjects. It is a curious circumstance that, while he adopted in his
publications a bad, inflated, and obscure style, his private letters are
witty, gay, and flowing. He had, of course, served in his youth; but
disappointment with regard to promotion, combined with his desire to
acquire a literary reputation, caused him to quit the army. He married a
young widow of good birth and fortune, Marie Geneviève de Vassam, who
had been previously married to the marquis de Saulvebeuf. His desire of
shining in literature made him approach Paris, and he bought the estate
of Bignon, not far from Nemours, and gave himself up to what he
considered his vocation. For many years the disturbances of his domestic
life were confined under his own roof. He had a family of eleven
children: he was passionately attached to his mother, whom he regarded
with a filial veneration that belonged to the old school of manners and
piety. Fifteen years changed the scene; quarrels and litigations arose
between him and his wife. She was violent and indiscreet; he was
tyrannical and unjust; and conjugal infidelity rendered their separation
final. Madame de Pailly, a young woman of great beauty, to whom he was
attached, installed herself at Bignon, and exercised a most powerful and
sinister influence over his conduct towards his family. His wife was
indignant: he replied to her resentful representations by the most
odious acts of despotism, and conceived a violent hatred against the
mother of his children. A scandalous lawsuit was the result; the
fortunes of both parties were irreparably injured; and the unfortunate
offspring were in a worse situation than orphans;--hated by their
father,--not daring to see their mother, who was shut up in a
convent,--treated with the utmost severity on one hand, and without
resource in maternal affection on the other. Added to his matrimonial
dissensions were the attacks made on him in his quality of author.
"L'Ami des Hommes," as the marquis de Mirabeau was commonly called from
his book, carried all the impetuosity, self-sufficiency, and haughtiness
of his race into his literary career; and it may be supposed that
became as stormy as his father's had been on the field of battle. His
confidence in his own talents and powers was unbounded: he never
attributed the misfortunes that pursued him to any error or rashness of
his own; he looked on them as the dispensation of Providence, or as
arising from the folly and injustice of his fellow-creatures. No
hesitation, no doubt with regard to himself, ever entered his mind;
every thing was sacrificed to his opinions, his convictions, his
mistaken sense of his duties. He was blinded, as a French biographer
observes, by the most deceptive of all fanaticisms--that of his own
infallibility. The passions that in another he would have regarded as
crimes, he looked on as virtues in himself: he could never perceive the
shadow of right or justice in any cause or views at variance with his
own. Such was the father who became the bitter enemy and persecutor of a
son, endowed with all the genius, passions, and faults of his race.
Gabriel Honoré was the fifth child of the marquis: through the previous
death of a brother in the cradle, he was, at the time of his birth, the
only son. He was born at Bignon. He came into the world with teeth, and
was an enormously large infant. It was remarked of him, that, destined
to become the most turbulent and active of men, he was born with a
twisted foot; and, gifted with extraordinary eloquence, he was
tongue-tied. At three years of age he had the small-pox, and his mother,
who dabbled in medicine, making some experiments on the pustules, the
result was that he remained frightfully seared and marked. His father
was evidently deeply mortified, and wrote to his brother, "Your nephew
is as ugly as if he were Satan's." His other children being remarkably
handsome, this circumstance became more disastrous to the sufferer. The
boy, however, early showed talent, which was nurtured by an excellent
tutor, and less judiciously overlooked by his father, who resolved to
give him an education of unequalled excellence--that is, one of
perpetual restraint, reprimand, and chastisement. We have interesting
details of his infancy and youth, in extracts from a series of letters
which passed between the marquis and his brother.[10] The bailli de
Mirabeau was entered by his father into the order of knights of Malta in
his infancy. He served in the French navy for the space of thirty-one
years, when he retired without recompence, except such as he derived
from a high reputation. He was a proud, austere, and resolute man,
possessing at the same time extreme piety, great goodness, and
unblemished integrity of character, together with a foundation of good
sense that contrasts with his brother's intemperate sallies.
Uncompromising even to roughness, he was ill suited to a court, while
his bravery and sound understanding fitted him for public service. Proud
of the antiquity of his race; openly disdainful of the new-created
noblesse; frank, upright, but somewhat discontented, as he well might
be, at the small reward his services received; yet at the same time too
haughty to wait obsequiously on the great, or even to take the measures
necessary to refresh their memory, he passed the latter part of his life
in retirement. He devoted his fortune to his brother's service, whom he
respected as the head of the family, and regarded with warm fraternal
affection. A correspondence subsisted between the one, living either at
Paris or Bignon, and the other, who was serving his country at a
distance, or established at Mirabeau, which discloses the secrets of the
family, and unveils the motives and passions that swayed the conduct of
the marquis. The bailli was deeply interested in the child who was to
transmit the family name, and, being at the time of the boy's birth
governor of Guadaloupe, wrote earnestly home for information with regard
to him. The child early developed quickness of intellect and turbulence
of temper, joined to kindness of heart. Poisson, his tutor, was a
careful but severe guide, and if ever he was softened, the marquis
stepped in to chastise. Soon, too soon, the paternal scoldings and
punishments became angry reprimands and constant disapprobation, which
verged into hatred. These feelings were increased by the imprudences and
vivacity of the boy, the misjudged quarrels of the mother, the artful
manœuvres of madame de Pailly, and the bitter hatred conceived by an
old servant named Gervin, who, from some unknown cause, exercised
extraordinary influence over the marquis. The chief fault particularised
by the father was the boy's habitual untruths. A love of or indifference
to truth is one of the characteristics with which human beings are born.
The former may be cultivated, the latter checked, but the propensities
do not the less remain; and it is the most painful discovery that a
parent can make, to find that his child is not by natural instinct
incapable of falsehood. This innate and unfortunate vice, joined to the
boy's wildness and heedlessness, caused the father to write of him in
severe terms, scarcely suited to his' childish years. "He seems to me,"
he writes, "in addition to all the baseness of his natural character, a
mere fool, an unconquerable maniac. He attends a number of excellent
masters; and as every one, from his confessor to his playmate, are so
many watchers, who tell me every thing, I discern the nature of the
heart, and do not believe that he can come to any good." The first
master, Poisson, set over him, however, took a liking to the boy, and
praised his prodigious memory and good heart. The father, instead of
being pleased, grew angry. He declared that he would now be utterly
spoilt, and took him out of his hands to place him in those of an abbé
Choquart, a severe disciplinarian, who was bid not to spare punishment.
The severity of the marquis may be judged by this one circumstance, that
taking his son from a tutor whom he loved, and placing him in a school
to which he was sent as to a prison, he insisted that he should go by
another name. "I did not choose," he writes, "that an illustrious name
should be disgraced on the benches of a school of correction, and I
caused him to be entered as Pierre Buffière.
[Sidenote: 1764.
Ætat.
15.]
My gentleman struggled, wept, argued in vain. I bid him win my name,
which I would only restore when he deserved it." Had the father been
just the youth would soon have regained his affections and name. The
abbé Choquart, at first severe with his pupil, soon became attached to
and proud of him. His progress was astonishing, his memory prodigious.
The dead and living languages, mathematics, drawing, and music, and
various manly exercises, occupied him by turns, and he distinguished
himself in all. In the midst of the marquis's vituperations we find no
absolute facts. He calls his son lying by nature, base, and so vicious
that the worst consequences are to be apprehended: this is carried so
far that, when he mentions that his masters applaud and his comrades
love him, he adds that the boy ought to be smothered, if it were only
for his powers of cajolery and fascination.
This severity frightened but did not conquer the youth. He worked hard
to obtain his father's approbation; but indiscretions came between to
widen the breach. Perpetually in expectation of some degrading or
excessive punishment, he lived in a state of excitement, and even
terror, ill fitted to inspire the gentleness and repose of spirit which
is the best ingredient of honour and virtue. As he grew older his
turbulence became more dangerous; and his father, considering it
necessary to tame him by increased hardships, placed him in the army. "I
am going to send him," he writes, "as volunteer, to the strictest and
most laborious military school. A man, a chip of the old times, the
marquis de Lambert, has founded one in his regiment. He pretends that
the exclusive atmosphere of honour, and a hard and cold moral regimen,
can restore beings the most vitiated even by nature. I have requested
him to name as Mentor an officer who, not from reason and deduction, but
from instinct, should have a disgust and natural scorn for all baseness.
I have named Gervin as his other Mentor, and the only servant-master of
this young man. Severity will cost me nothing, for with him it is my
right and my duty." The perpetual recurrence to the accusation of
baseness affords some excuse for the father's inveteracy; yet it was
certainly ill judged to set a servant over a proud aspiring youth as
master, and this servant, who hated him, was one of the chief engines of
perpetuating the marquis's bad opinion.
[Sidenote: 1767.
Ætat.
18.]
However, by placing him beyond the paternal control, under the impartial
jurisdiction of a regiment, the young man had a chance of being fairly
treated, and the consequence was that his good conduct was acknowledged
and a brevet rank promised him. He was not allowed to reap any
advantage: his father kept him so wholly without money that he incurred
a few debts; he lost, also, four louis in play, a vice to which he
showed no predilection in after life, and we may therefore judge that
this trifling loss was accidental. His father's wrath flamed out. "He is
cast," he wrote to his brother, "in the mould of his maternal race, and
would devour twenty inheritances and twelve kingdoms if he could lay his
hands on them. But I can endure as little as I like of that species of
evil, and a close and cool prison will soon moderate his appetite and
thin him down."
Added to this error was the unfortunate circumstance of an amour, the
first outbreak of his passionate nature on emerging from boyhood, in
which he was the successful rival of his superior officer, who thus
became his enemy, and joined with the father to crush the young man's
spirit. Mirabeau, in after years, always spoke with great bitterness of
M. de Lambert's discipline. He escaped from it on this occasion, and
took refuge in Paris with his father's intimate friend, the duke de
Nivernois. His brother-in-law, husband of his sister, the marquis du
Saillant, mediated between him and his father: he defended himself
against accumulated accusations. His father speaks of his defence as a
mass of falsehood and ingratitude: he meditated, or, rather, was
instigated, to send him to the Dutch colonies in India, but milder
thoughts prevailed;--he would not kill, but only tame, as with blows,
the fiery-spirited boy; so he caused him to be imprisoned in the
fortress of the Isle de Rhé; and the youth felt that all the world was
his enemy, and the chief his harsh implacable parent. In his eloquent
letter to the marquis, written some years after, in the prison of
Vincennes, he alludes with bitterness to this period of his existence.
"I may say," he writes, "that from my earliest years, and on my first
entrance into life, I enjoyed few marks of your kindness; that you
treated me with rigour before I could have merited it; and yet that you
might have soon perceived that my natural impetuosity was excited,
instead of repressed, by such treatment; that it was as easy to soften
as to irritate me; that I yielded to the former, and rebelled against
the latter. I was not born to be a slave; and, in a word, that, while
Lambert ruined, Vioménil would have preserved me. Allow me also to
remind you, that, before you restored me to your favour, you confessed
in one of your letters that you had been on the point of sending me to
one of the Dutch colonies. This made a profound impression, and
influenced prodigiously the rest of my life. What had I done at eighteen
to merit a fate the thought of which makes me tremble even now?--I had
loved."
In his prison, Mirabeau acquired the friendship of the governor, whose
mediation only added to his father's irritation. He was, however,
induced to liberate him, and permit him to join an expedition to
Corsica. He was entered as sub-lieutenant of foot in the regiment of
Lorraine. The same mixture of wild passion, unwearied study, and eager
aspiration for distinction, marked this period. He wrote a history of
Corsica; he fabricated an itinerary of the island, founded on his
personal inquiries and perambulations; the manuscript, the
voluminousness of which testified his industry, were deemed of such
value by the Corsicans themselves, that they desired its publication;
but it was destroyed by the marquis. In addition, he studied his
profession--he felt a vocation for a military life--the aspect of danger
calmed his fiery spirit, and he was ambitious of glory--he dedicated all
his time to the study of tactics, and declares that there was no book in
any language, living or dead, that treated of the art of war that he had
not read at this period, making, as he went on, voluminous extracts. In
after times he wrote to his sister--"I deceive myself greatly, or I was
born for a military life; for in war alone I feel cool, calm, gay, and
without impetuosity, and I am sensible that my character grows exalted."
On returning from Corsica, he was allowed to visit his uncle, the
bailli, at Mirabeau, and soon acquired the favour of this unprejudiced
man, who was astonished by his talents, his industry, and his genius.
His heart warmed, and the praises that overflowed had some effect on his
father, still distrustful, still fearful of showing favour. The first
mark of kindness which he gave was to insist that his son should throw
aside all his favourite pursuits, and dedicate himself to political and
agricultural economy, studying them in the works which he had himself
written. Mirabeau, per force, obeyed, and thus somewhat propitiated his
parent, so that he consented to see him during a visit he paid to
Provence. He put the young man to hard trials, and made him labour
indefatigably, preaching to him the while, and forcing political economy
down his throat. The marquis was averse to his following the military
profession, and by turning him from it plunged him in adversity. The
excessive activity of Mirabeau's mind, and his physical vigour, could be
satisfied in no other career: his exuberance of spirits and unwearied
strength rendered every other vocation tame and trivial; however, he
laboured at various occupations devised for him by his father, and was
rewarded, at the earnest solicitation of all the relations, by being
restored to his name--he having for some years gone by that of Pierre
Buffière. His father was so far won by his manifestations of talent as
to permit him to visit Paris, and pay his court at Versailles:--"He
behaves very well," the marquis writes; "his manners are respectful
without servility--easy, but not familiar.
[Sidenote: 1771.
Ætat.
22.]
The courtiers look on him as half mad, but say that he is cleverer than
any of them, which is not discreet on his part. I do not intend that he
shall live there, nor follow, like others, the trade of robbing or
cheating the king: he shall neither haunt the dirty paths of intrigue,
nor slide on the ice of favour; but he must learn what is going on: and
if I am asked why I, who never would frequent Versailles, allow him to
go so young, I reply that 'he is made of other clay.' For the rest, as,
for 500 years, Mirabeau, who were never like the rest of the world,
have been tolerated, he also will be endured, and he will not alter the
reputation of the race."
This gleam of paternal favour was soon clouded over. Mirabeau himself
accuses those around his father of inspiring him with distrust; but
there was something in the young man's character that jarred with the
father's, and produced a perpetual state of irritation and
dissatisfaction. The self-will, pedantry, economy, and self-sufficiency
of the marquis were in perpetual contradiction with the genius,
activity, recklessness, the winning frankness and plausible fascinations
of his son. In vain the youth transacted some troublesome business for
his father with diligence and success--in vain he entered into his
agricultural projects--the father writes bitterly, "His infancy was
monstrous, his adolescence turbulent, and both seem the worthy exordium
of his life, which is now a mixture of indiscretion, misconduct, and
garrulity; and at the same time so turbulent, so presumptuous, and so
heedless, that the enterprise of saving him from the dangers which his
years and his character present, is enough to fatigue and deter thirty
Mentors, instead of one." At length, tired of the young man's society,
and urged by those about him, he sent him (December, 1771) to Mirabeau,
to endeavour to pacify and regulate the dissensions subsisting among the
tenants of the marquis, which his usual agents were incapable of
rectifying. The young man fulfilled his task with zeal and ability: he
became known and liked in Provence, and his success inspired the idea of
settling him in marriage--so to calm down his turbulence in domestic
life: his father had before entertained this project, believing that a
woman of good sense would exercise the happiest influence over his mind.
The young lady pointed out was an heiress. A number of men of higher
pretensions than himself on the score of fortune aspired to her hand.
This circumstance, and the avarice of his father, who acted with his
usual parsimony, at first deterred Mirabeau; but, urged on by the
marquis's sarcasms, he exerted himself to overcome all difficulties and
succeeded, though the measures he took, which compromised the reputation
of the young lady, were highly reprehensible, and naturally excited the
disgust and disapprobation of his father.
[Sidenote: 1772.
Ætat.
23.]
Marie Emilie de Covet, only daughter of the marquis de Marignane, was
then eighteen: she was a lively brunette, scarcely to be called pretty,
but agreeable, witty, and superficially clever. Although an heiress, she
enjoyed a very slender fortune during the life of her father; and the
marquis, while he entailed the family estate on his son, allowed him
scarcely any income, and advanced him nothing for the expences of his
nuptials. This was the worst sort of marriage that Mirabeau could have
made. Marrying in his own province a girl of good family, and surrounded
by the _éclat_ that attends an heiress, he was led to desire to make an
appearance suitable to his name and his father's fortune. He incurred
debts. Madame de Sévigné remarks that there is nothing so expensive as
want of money. Debt always begets debt. Mirabeau was constitutionally
careless with regard to expense. His father lent him the chateau of
Mirabeau to live in: he found the ancestral residence as furnished by
his progenitors; and, obliged to make some repairs, he went to the other
extreme, and fitted up the apartments destined for his wife with
splendour. False pride caused him to load her with presents, and to
dress her richly, in spite of her remonstrances. At the same time he had
projects for the improvement of the culture of the estate, the proceeds
of which, he believed, would cover all his expenses. His father still
pursued the degrading plan of employing hirelings as spies over him.
These men, to cover their own peculations, represented that he was
selling the furniture of the chateau and injuring the property. Every
plan Mirabeau formed to pay his debts, as the best foundation of
retrenchment, was opposed by his father. Feeling the storm about to
break, and resolved to proceed no further on the road to ruin, he
commenced a system of rigid economy; but his father, deaf to all
explanations, excited by the representations of his servants, and
exasperated in the highest degree, obtained a lettre de cachet, and used
it to order his son to quit the chateau, and to confine himself in the
little town of Manosque. This sort of confinement was ill calculated to
appease the spirit of Mirabeau, who ought rather to have been thrown
into an arduous career, so to fill and occupy his mind. At Manosque he
was reduced to a scanty income of about 50_l_. a year, to support
himself, his wife, and child; his only employment was study, to which he
gave himself up with ardour, but it was not sufficient to tame and
engross him. He wrote here his "Essay on Despotism," a work full of
passion and vigour, into which he poured his own impatience of control.
He left behind him no good reputation among the people of Manosque; and,
if his wife afterwards refused to join him, she had the excuse that his
behaviour as a husband was such as to disgust any young lady of feeling
and delicacy. His own conduct did not, however, prevent him from being
jealous himself, and this passion, awakened toward his wife, renewed, by
the actions it occasioned, the persecutions of his father.
A girlish and innocent correspondence had been carried on by his wife
before her marriage with the chevalier de Gassaud. This, and other
circumstances, combined to excite jealousy in the mind of the husband; a
duel became imminent; till, pacified by the representations of the young
man's family, and consideration for the reputation of Madame de
Mirabeau, he became willing to listen to an explanation. The previous
scandal, however, threatened to break an advantageous marriage, on foot
between the chevalier and the daughter of the marquis de Tourette.
Mirabeau, resolving not to be generous by halves, left Manosque
secretly, and repaired with all possible speed to the town of Grasse: he
pleaded the cause of the chevalier with such earnest eloquence that the
family dismissed their objections, and he hastened to return to his
place of exile.
Most unfortunately he met on his way back the baron de Villeneuve-Moans.
This man had, a short time before, grossly insulted his sister, the
marquise de Cabris. The brother demanded satisfaction, which being
refused, he now, meeting him by accident, struck him. The baron
proceeded legally against him, and thus his evasion from his place of
exile came to light.
[Sidenote: 1774.
Ætat.
25.]
The implacable father demanded a stricter imprisonment; and Mirabeau,
taken from his wife and his infant son, then dangerously ill, was
conducted to the chateau of If, a dismal fortress, built on a naked rock
by the sea-shore, near Marseilles. He was here at the demand of his
father, interdicted all visits and correspondence; and the marquis also
took the pains to write to the commander of the castle, Dallegre,
exaggerating the faults of his son, and blackening his character; but
here, as before in the Isle de Rhé, the commander was won by the
frankness, courage, and fascinating qualities of his prisoner, and wrote
to the marquis to entreat his liberation. "All the province knows," he
wrote, "that you have made the freedom of the count de Mirabeau depend
on the report I shall make of his good conduct. Receive, then, the most
authentic attestation that, since the count has been confined at the
chateau d'If, he has not given me, nor any other person, the slightest
cause of complaint, and has always conducted himself admirably. He has
sustained with extreme moderation the altercations I have sometimes
entered into for the purpose of trying his temper, and he will carry
away with him the esteem, friendship, and consideration of every one
here." Madame de Mirabeau made a journey to Bignon to intercede with his
father, who at length explained that his purpose was to try his son;
that he meant to keep him yet longer in the chateau of If; and if, by a
miracle, he committed no new fault, he should be transferred to some
other fortress where his perseverance in a good course should continue
to be put to the test, till by degrees he should be restored to his
privileges of husband and father. When we consider that Mirabeau really
filled these sacred functions, and that his sole crime towards his
father was debt,--a crime the consequences of which visited him only,
and visited him severely,--we revolt from the insolent tyranny exercised
against him.
[Sidenote: 1775.
Ætat.
26.]
In pursuance of this plan, he was transferred to the fortress of Joux,
near Pontarlier, and placed in the hands of the governor, count
Saint-Mauris. He submitted to this new exile among the mountains of
Jura, away from his wife and child, from every friend and connection,
with entire resignation; still hoping, by patience and good conduct, to
vanquish the prejudices and gain the good will of his father.
Until now we appear to detail a series of cruel and causeless
persecutions. The conduct of Mirabeau, tried by the laws of morality,
had been vicious, but not criminal, and was punished as the latter. He
had, to a certain degree, redeemed his extravagance, by living for a
considerable period within the limits of an income scarcely sufficient
to afford the necessaries of life. He had obtained the favourable
attestation of the man under whose guard he was placed: it was evident
to every one, except his inexorable father, that the husband ought to be
restored to the young wife, already suspected of indiscretion--the
father to his child; a young man of ambition and talents, to the
enjoyment of liberty and of the privileges of his birth.
Mirabeau painted his feelings eloquently in a letter to his uncle, dated
from the fortress of Joux, 22d of August, 1775. "Ought I," he writes,
"to be for ever excluded from a career in which my conduct and
endeavours, aided by your counsels, might give me the means of one day
becoming useful and known. Times are mending, and ambition is permitted.
Do you believe that the emulation that animates me ought to remain
sterile, and that, at the age of twenty-six, your nephew is incapable of
any good? Do not believe it; deliver me; deign to deliver me: save me
from the frightful agitation in which I live, and which may destroy the
effects produced on me by reflection and adversity. Believe me, that
there are men whom it is necessary to occupy, and that I am of that
number. The activity which accomplishes all things, and without which
nothing is achieved, becomes turbulent, and may become dangerous, if
left without object or employment." His father was insensible to these
representations, and, although the pretence of his continued
imprisonment was, that he should regain by degrees the paternal favour,
the marquis's letters prove that it was his heartfelt wish to drive his
son to extremities; and he too fatally succeeded.
Mirabeau had hitherto wasted his ardent nature on vulgar amours; he had
never felt real love. Had he been allowed to follow an active career, it
is probable that love, in an absorbing and despotic form, had never
governed him. Driven into solitude, separated from all the ties of
nature, friendless and persecuted, his heart in an unfortunate hour
became inflamed by a passion that sealed his ruin. The fortress of Joux
is situated in the neighbourhood of Pontarlier; the only family of note
resident in that town was that of De Monnier. Madame de Monnier belonged
to a family of the name of Ruffey, distinguished for a piety carried to
bigotry, and a parental severity, that caused them to devote several
children to a monastic life. Sophie was married at eighteen to M. de
Monnier, who was more than fifty years her senior. She joined to
gentleness of disposition and sweetness of temper great decision and
ardour of character. The young people became acquainted. She saw only
the bright side of Mirabeau's character; and, while she consoled him in
his misfortunes, she became entangled by the fascinations of passion. It
is impossible to conceive a more unnatural position, than that of a girl
sacrificed according to the old customs of France. Sophie de Ruffey was
taken from the nursery, and given, even without her consent being asked,
to a morose, avaricious, decrepit old man; who only married to annoy his
daughter. He was unamiable in all the relations of life; and the home of
the ardent girl was dull, and yet full of harassing cares. She had no
children; none of the sweet hopes and expectations that ought to attend
opening life; and, while she devoted herself to an existence full of
ennui and annoyance, she reaped no reward in the kindness and confidence
of her husband. It is not strange that, placed in this position, her
heart should be open to impression, and before she knew her danger she
was in love. The enthusiasm and fervour of her disposition caused her to
exalt her lover into the idol of her imagination. Misled by passion, she
began to regard her tie to her septuagenarian husband as
criminal--fidelity and devotion to her lover as a paramount duty.
Mirabeau knew better what life was. He felt love for the first time in
all its truth and intensity, and he trembled at the prospect. According
to a wise poet,
"Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not that conscience is born of love?"
and thus he, who hitherto had looked on love as a mere sensual
enjoyment, and who, accustomed to occupy himself in arduous study for
the third of each day, had little leisure to employ in pursuits of empty
gallantry, became aware of the absorbing nature of real passion, and to
fear the misery that must ensue from its indulgence. He wrote letters of
eloquent supplication, imploring to be removed from a neighbourhood
which he found so dangerous: his father treated his appeals with
contempt; he then wrote to his wife a long letter, entreating her to
join him with their child, feeling that the presence of those who were
united to him by such sacred ties would check his pursuit, and at once
crush the affection of her he loved. Madame de Mirabeau was a frivolous
and weak woman: a separation of more than a year had alienated her from
her husband, whose conduct had been far from irreproachable, and she
replied to his supplications by a dry note of a few lines, in which she
treated him as out of his wits. Still Mirabeau struggled against the
seductions of love, and had the unfortunate pair been treated, not to
say with kindness, but with prudence, all had been well. It so happened
that the governor, count de Saint-Mauris, who was nearly seventy years
of age, was also in love with madame de Monnier, who had received his
declarations with the disdain which they deserved. His rage knew no
bounds, when he perceived the success of his prisoner. He roused the
suspicions of the husband, and, the better to wreak his revenge, took
advantage of his knowledge of a promissory note for a small sum, which
Mirabeau, left in a state of destitution by his father, had been obliged
to grant to procure necessary raiment, to report him to the implacable
marquis as incurring new debts, and so obtained a fresh order to confine
him strictly in the fortress of Joux. Mirabeau learnt the fate awaiting
him, and finding that his system of resignation had availed him nothing,
and shuddering at the prospect of a dungeon guarded by a malignant
rival, escaped from his surveillance, and secreted himself at
Pontarlier.
His position demanded the most careful reflection. His angry father
spared no pains to discover his place of refuge: he wrote to
Saint-Mauris, telling him to prepare a "healthy and dry, but well barred
and bolted dungeon for his son; and not to permit him the slightest
communication by writing or in person with any one." Hopeless of
softening the marquis, Mirabeau wrote to Malesherbes, the minister so
distinguished in France for benevolence and liberality; but Malesherbes
mediated in vain with his father, and, at length, told Mirabeau that he
had but one resource, which was to withdraw from his country, to enter
foreign service, and pursue the career of arms, for which his birth,
talents, and bravery, fitted him. Mirabeau was averse to renouncing his
country; again and again he applied by letters, written either by
himself or mediating friends, to his father, who at last replied, that
he renounced having any thing to do with him--told him that no country
was so foreign to him as his own; and, banishing him for ever from his
family, dissolved all natural and social ties that still held his son to
France.
Treated with this haughty cruelty, Mirabeau could not avoid contrasting
the marks of hatred and scorn, which he received from every other, with
the devoted love of her who was ready to sacrifice all to him. But,
though conjugal fidelity was held in slight regard and little practised
in France in those days, the carrying off a married woman was treated as
a crime to be punished by death or perpetual imprisonment, and Mirabeau
could not yet consent to lose himself or his mistress utterly. M. de
Monnier, informed by Saint-Mauris of the attachment of his wife,
surrounded her by spies, and treated her with the utmost severity. By
the advice of Mirabeau she left her husband, and took refuge with her
own family at Dijon. She found no kindness there; her angry father
refused to see her--her mourning mother caused her to be strictly
watched--her brother and sister taunted and insulted her. She was driven
to despair, and declared to her lover that she would destroy herself, if
by no other means she could escape the cruelty shown by all around. For
several months Mirabeau combated the passion rooted in his own heart,
and that which drove madame de Monnier to desperation. He had escaped
from France and gained the frontier: he might easily have now entered on
a military career in a foreign state, but devoted love bound him to
Sophie, who was on the eve of being imprisoned in a convent, and who,
revolting from such tyranny, believed that every genuine duty and
affection of life bound her to him she loved, and had become resolved to
devote her life to him. After much hesitation, many months spent in
wanderings in Switzerland, dogged close the while by emissaries of his
father, whose pursuit he baffled, and whose strength and patience he
wearied out; after many fruitless endeavours to avoid the catastrophe,
the hour at last arrived, when Mirabeau, cast off by father, wife, and
country, doomed to exile and a career dependent on his industry, and
feeling in the affection of his mistress his only solace in this
accumulation of disaster, and assured also that, if he deserted her,
Sophie, driven to desperation, would destroy herself, consented to their
flight.
[Sidenote: 1777.
Ætat.
27.]
She escaped from her husband's house and joined him at Verrières
Suisses, whence, after a fortnight's delay, they proceeded to Holland.
On the 7th of October they arrived at Amsterdam, and took a lodging at
the house of a tailor, where, destitute and friendless, Mirabeau was at
once forced to earn their daily bread, and to conceal his name and
identity, so to escape further persecution. He sought for occupation in
translating for a bookseller. After some delay he obtained work from
Rey, and was able to earn a louis a-day by means of extreme hard labour.
From six in the morning till nine in the evening he was at his desk: his
only recreation was an hour of music: but the lovers were happy
together. Sophie, fallen from a life of ease to one of privation, yet
regarded it no sacrifice to exchange annoyance and ennui, though
surrounded by luxury, for seclusion with one whose ardent affection,
brilliant imagination, and entire confidence, could easily supply every
void, and fill her existence with interest and delight.
The social law that bound Sophie to her husband was nefarious and
unnatural; but in breaking it she devoted herself to all the misfortunes
which attend an attachment not sanctioned by society: for a time love
may gild the scene, and, as was the case with Sophie, conscience be
satisfied that she had a right to exchange her forced ties with a
decrepit old husband, to whom she owed nothing, for a union with the man
of her choice. But the world and its laws dog the heels of a felicity
they condemn, and are sure at last to hunt down their prey. M. de
Monnier proceeded against his wife and her lover in a court of law, and
on the 10th May, 1777, sentence was passed on Mirabeau for rape and
seduction. He was condemned to be decapitated in effigy and to pay
40,000 livres as damages to the husband; while Sophie was condemned to
be confined for life in a house of refuge established at Besançon, to
be shaven and branded in common with the other prisoners, who were girls
of depraved life, and to lose all the advantages of her marriage
settlement. Such was the severity of the old French laws against
matrimonial infidelity--laws which permitted the most depraved state of
society ever known, and only made themselves felt in eases of exception,
when the most severe moralist would find excuses for, and be inclined to
pardon the errors of passion, which society punished only because the
victims refused to practise the hypocrisy which would have been accepted
as atonement.
The marquis de Mirabeau at first rejoiced in the catastrophe which
exiled his son for ever from the soil of France, and was willing to
forget his existence. Not so the family of Sophie: her mother, induced
by mixed feelings of religion, resentment, and even affection, was eager
to obtain possession of the person of her daughter, to separate her from
her lover, and induce her by severity or persuasion to return to her
husband. Through an imprudence the place of their retreat was
discovered, and the marquis writes to his brother, "He is in Holland,
and lives on the earnings of his pen. De Brugnierres is setting out to
fulfil a bargain made with madame de Ruffey, to seize her mad daughter,
for which he is to be paid 100 louis. I have profited by the occasion
and made the same arrangement--to be paid only if the man is taken to
his destination."
[Sidenote: 1777.
Ætat.
28.]
Mirabeau and his companion had lived eight months at Amsterdam: they had
made friends; and some among these told them that their retreat was
discovered, and an arrest impending. At first a treaty had been
commenced to induce Mirabeau to place madame de Monnier in the hands of
the French authorities, offering money and liberty as his reward: he
spurned these propositions and prepared to fly with her to America; yet
still the lovers were too secure, and delayed for the sake of obtaining
a sum of money. The very night on which they were to depart they were
arrested. Sophie, who, till the crisis arrived, was calm and serene,
though serious and resolved, was seized by despair: she resolved to
destroy herself. Mirabeau was her stay: he gained the goodwill of the
men about them, revealed his fears, and obtained the consent of M. le
Noir, lieutenant-general of police, to see her once, and afterwards to
correspond with her. His persuasions were all powerful, and she
consented to live. She was taken to Paris and imprisoned in a sort of
asylum for women, while Mirabeau was shut up in the donjon of Vincennes.
At first no gleam of hope lighted on the prisoners: all that bound them
to existence was the correspondence they kept up with each other, and
the fact that Sophie was about to give birth to a child. The letters
that Mirabeau wrote to his mistress from his prison fell afterwards into
the hands of a man who published them: certainly Mirabeau would have
been the last person in the world to have permitted the publication of
letters intended for the eye of his mistress alone, and drawn from a
nature whose paramount vice was excess of passion, now wrought to
intensity by close imprisonment and enforced separation from her whom he
ardently loved. These letters are in parts grossly indelicate and unfit
for perusal; but they display the burning ardour of his nature, and the
excess of his attachment for the unhappy woman whom he had drawn into
participation in his wretched destiny. For nearly two years these
letters are stamped with a hopelessness, often carried to desperation.
"There is no peace with my implacable enemies," he writes, at one time;
"there will be none except in the tomb. No pity can enter their souls of
gall: as barbarous as they are unjust, their commiseration will never
yield that which their iniquity denies. It is too much! I know not
whether, proscribed by that destiny which permits guilt to triumph, and
innocence to suffer, I am destined to die of despair, or to merit my
fate by the perpetration of crime, but the agony that precedes the
catastrophe endures too long, and I feel transports of indignation and
hatred, such as never before had influence over my soul." Again he
writes, "The rules of this house are so excessively, I had almost said
so atrociously severe, that I must perish if I remain longer. No species
of society is permitted: the turnkeys who wait on us are forbidden to
remain in our cells, or to speak to us--we have but one hour of exercise
out of the twenty-four. Alone with sorrow--no literary occupation--few
and bad books--interminable delays in the fulfilment of our most
innocent wishes and our simplest wants--no musical instruments--in a
word, no recreation--every consolation denied by a barbarous tyranny,
such is but a feeble sketch of our situation. A man who has any soul or
mind cannot resist such a mode of life, in which his talents, his
acquirements, and his most praiseworthy sentiments, instead of solacing,
must produce his ruin."
As a proof of the energy and fortitude of Mirabeau's soul, it must be
mentioned, that frequent opportunities of escape presented themselves,
but he declared that he would not desert Sophie and unlink his fate from
hers; nor renounce all hope of being restored to his station and rights
in his country. While he strung his soul to endure, his very strength of
purpose gave additional force to his hatred of tyranny. He, as being the
victim of his family, and not a state prisoner, was in the sequel
permitted many indulgences not allowed to any other. Books materials for
writing--connivance at his correspondence--more time allowed to his
walks--the visits of some of the superiors, who became his friends--such
were the licences permitted him; but we find him complaining that he was
forbidden to sing in his cell, and detailing the frightful physical
sufferings, to which he was the victim through confinement. A state
prisoner would have been treated with yet greater rigour; and the sense
of this, and the knowledge that others whose crimes were often their
virtues, were his fellow-sufferers, lighted up a horror of despotism in
his heart, which made him ever after its determined and bitter enemy.
With all his energy and fortitude, Mirabeau bore up with difficulty
under the hardships of his dungeon: at one time, he resolved on suicide,
and was saved only by the remonstrances of M. le Noir, whose kindness to
his prisoner was zealous and unalterable. Consenting to live, he found
study his sole resource, and he dedicated himself with ardour, and to
the injury of his health, to his pen. His works during his imprisonment
were numerous. He translated the "Kisses" of Johannes Secundus, with
abundant notes, containing extracts from all the erotic poets of
antiquity. He wrote a treatise on mythology; an essay on the French
language; another on ancient and modern literature; works undertaken for
the instruction and amusement of madame de Monnier. His "Essay on
Lettres-de-cachet and State Prisons" belongs also to this period.
His father, meanwhile, felt no compunction, no doubt as to the justice
of his conduct; no pity softened his heart, nor did he by any notice of
his son answer his many supplications. He declared that, having searched
and purified his heart each day before God, he is only the more
determined to persist; and the resolution in which he was to persist was
that of suffering his son to languish and perish in his dungeon.
[Sidenote: Oct.
8.
1778.
Ætat.
29.]
A circumstance happened, however, to change this resolve. His grandson,
the only son of Gabriel-Honoré, died. The mother resided with her child
at her father's chateau. She was surrounded by relations, collateral
heirs to her fortune if she died childless: some suspicion arose that
these persons had poisoned the boy; he was five years old, and of great
promise from the sweetness and docility of his disposition. The
grandfather was deeply afflicted: he could not doubt the uprightness of
his conduct nor the purity of his motives, so blinded was he by the
passions that urged him to persecute his family; but he was led to doubt
the support of Providence on which he had heretofore relied. From this
moment he began to meditate the liberation of his son. He was not
induced by justice nor compassion, but by pride: he could not endure
that the name of Mirabeau should be extinguished. "I reflected," he
wrote afterwards to his brother, "for a long time. It is certain that,
if my grandson had not died, I had insisted on the maintenance of the
promise made me, to keep the father in prison, and even to destroy all
trace of him. But, after the death of our poor little Victor, I found
that you felt as I did with regard to the extinction of our race; for,
however one may argue, however one may submit and resign one's self, a
feeling once entertained cannot be effaced." The marquis, however,
proceeded fair and softly in his design. Resolved both to punish and to
tame his son, he issued fresh orders, that he should be allowed no
indulgences; but he put several persons in action, through whose
suggestions Mirabeau commenced a correspondence with his uncle: the
letters were shown to his father, and some were addressed to the latter;
but he was not moved either by the protestations or representations they
contained to move faster or to alter his plan. In pursuance of this, he
declared that the liberation of his son depended on the intercession of
his wife. The countess de Mirabeau accordingly wrote to her
father-in-law, requesting that her husband should be set free; and
Mirabeau, hearing this, was touched by the generosity of her act. From
the moment, indeed, that hope gleamed on him of softening his father's
resolves, he became much more humble, and very ready to acknowledge his
faults. Sophie, also, with that generous ardour of disposition that was
at once the cause and excuse of her actions, wrote to the marquis,
taking all the fault of their attachment and flight on herself. Even the
old economist felt the nobleness of her conduct.
The affair, however, still lagged. M. de Marignane detested his
son-in-law. It was the interest of the relations around to prevent the
reunion of husband and wife: the countess was a weak and timid woman;
she resolved never to disobey, she feared to offend her father; and
besides, living as she did, in the midst of ease, luxury, pleasure, and
freedom, she had no wish to return to a life of penury with a husband
whom she no longer loved. Often, therefore, while receiving harsh
letters from his uncle, Mirabeau was ready to sink under multiplied
delays. He tried to cheat time by occupation; he gave himself up to
study--he learnt Greek, English, Italian, Spanish--translated a portion
of Tacitus--and this, in spite of failing eyes and ruined health.
[Sidenote: May,
1780.
Ætat.
31.]
Another event, sad to a parent's heart, and deeply lamented by Mirabeau,
happened to facilitate his freedom. His child, the daughter of Sophie,
died of a fever of dentition: this event acted as a spur to the marquis.
He permitted his only child with whom he was on friendly terms, madame
du Saillant, to correspond with her brother, dictating her letters, and
reading the replies--he allowed (for no step was taken except by his
permission, and even suggestion,) his son-in-law, M. du Saillant, to
offer to become his surety. And, at last, after many disappointments and
delays, he gave the signal, and the prison gates were opened.
[Sidenote: Dec.
13.
1780.
Ætat.
31.]
It was impossible to avoid giving the details of this unfortunate
portion of Mirabeau's life. Forty-one months spent in a dungeon forms
too important an epoch in a man's existence for a biographer to pass it
over; or to shun the detail of the causes and effects. Forty-one months
of solitude and privation--of alternate hopes and fears wound to their
highest pitch--of arduous study--of excessive physical suffering--must
colour a human being's whole after-existence. The devoted love of Sophie
ennobled his sufferings. She erred--but her error was redeemed by her
heroism and self-abnegation. Resolved in her own thoughts that she was
not the wife of the poor old man to whom her parents had forced her to
give her hand, but of him who possessed her heart, she believed it to be
her duty to bear all rather than concede. That her too ardent nature
required the stay of religion cannot be denied, but her generosity and
heroism are undoubted, and shed a grace over details which would
otherwise he revolting.[11]
Mirabeau quitted his prison, eager to gain his father's good will, and
redeem himself in the eyes of the world. He stept out, from so long a
series of suffering and imprisonment, with a spirit as vigorous and free
as in boyhood. All were astonished by his mingled gentleness and
vivacity; his submission to his father, joined to reliance in his own
powers. Some months passed before the marquis would see him, but, when
he did, he expressed himself to his brother in more favourable terms
than he had ever before done. Occupied in the task of reforming, he even
began to praise him. It is to be remarked, that the interloper in the
family, madame du Pailly, was absent at this time, and the son was
allowed to make his own way with his father.
The end of all the marquis's actions was to reunite his son to his wife.
This was a matter of difficulty, and the greater on account of the
sentence pronounced against Mirabeau at Pontarlier, on occasion of his
flight with madame de Monnier. Many plans were projected to get rid of
this sentence; the readiest was, to obtain letters of abolition from the
king. But Mirabeau refused a line of conduct which would have saved him
only; he was determined that his cause should not be separated from that
of Sophie.
[Sidenote: 1782.
Ætat.
33.]
With a resolution worthy of his impetuous and energetic nature, he
surrendered, and constituted himself prisoner at Pontarlier while the
cause was again tried. He was counselled to take the line of a timid
defence, but he refused. Convinced of the irregularity of his trial, and
the want of all judicial proof against him, he met the most imminent
danger calmly and resolutely. His father writes:--"His conduct is firm,
and his position as advantageous as possible. He is praised for his
nobleness and audacity in the singular tone of his appeal against a
capital sentence. Now that I see him in saddle, he holds himself well,
and has this real advantage with the public, of entirely exculpating his
accomplice, on which he is resolved at all events. You have no idea of
what your nephew is on great occasions." Nor did the imprisonment of
months in an unhealthy and narrow dungeon move him. When his father
desired to attempt measures of conciliation with the adversary, he
declared that the view of the scaffold under his window would not make
him accept any propositions while in prison. "I have said to my father,"
he wrote to his brother-in-law, M. du Saillant, "and I repeat to you,
that, before God and man, no one has a right to interfere in my affairs
against my will, my consent, my opinion; and with this firm conviction
I declare, that I will consent to no accommodation until former
proceedings are reversed; and I will sign nothing in which my simple and
entire acquittal, that of madame de Monnier, the restitution of her
dowery, an annuity for her, and the payment of my own expenses, are not
comprised." His memoirs and defence are eloquent and resolute, and in
them first shone forth that brilliant genius which afterwards ruled
France.
At length an accommodation on his own terms, with the exception of the
pecuniary condition that regarded himself, was completed. Mirabeau left
his prison on the 14th of August, 1782. He left it, indeed, a beggar and
in debt; his father denied him every assistance, and refused, in
opprobrious terms, to become his surety. His courage sank under these
misfortunes; he wrote to his sister, "I am free, but to what use shall I
put my liberty? Disowned by my father; forgotten, hated perhaps by my
mother, for having desired to serve her; avoided by my uncle; watched
for by my creditors, not one of whom has been paid, though I have been
deprived of the means of subsistence under the pretence of satisfying
them; menaced by my wife, or those who govern her; destitute of every
thing--income, career, credit--O! that it pleased God that my enemies
were not as cowardly as they are malicious, and a thrust of a sword
would end all!"
To please his family and obtain an income, Mirabeau next entered into a
law-suit to force his wife to become reconciled with him. This was an
unworthy act. In the pleadings, where he stood forth as his own
advocate, he exerted an overwhelming eloquence, that silenced his
adversaries, and drew an immense audience of gentry belonging to
Provence to the hall where the trial was carried on. He however failed,
and a decree of separation was passed in the law courts of Provence, and
confirmed in Paris.[12] By this time the marquis had become as
inveterate as ever against his son: he did not imprison him, but he kept
the royal order, permitting him to assign him his place of residence,
hanging over his head, so to be able to remove him from his own vicinity
if he became troublesome.
Mirabeau felt the necessity of forming a career for himself, and earning
a subsistence. He failed in his first attempts in Paris, and, as a last
resource, turned his eyes towards England.
[Sidenote: 1784.
Ætat.
35.]
His visit to London, however, was full of mortification and
disappointment. He found no path open by which a French author could
maintain himself. His letters are full of bitterness at this period; his
father refused him the slightest provision, and, he says, used all his
address to cause him to die of hunger, since he could not hope to make
him rob on the highway. It is difficult for those who live in the
sunshine of life, as well as for those who are brought up to earn their
bread in a profession, or by trade, to understand the degree of
exasperation engendered in the heart of a rich man's son, reduced to
penury by the injustice of his parent. He finds it impossible to make
money of his talents, and indignities, unknown to the merest labourer,
swarm around him. It is much if he can earn a bare and precarious
subsistence, eaten into by previous debts, and dependent on the
selfishness and caprice of others. Mirabeau tasted of the dregs of
poverty; his natural inaptitude to calculation increased his
difficulties; he was generous and profuse, even when what he gave or
spent reduced him to absolute want.
[Sidenote: 1785.
Ætat.
36.]
On his return to France, he found the public mind engrossed by questions
of political finance. Mirabeau entered on the discussion with his
accustomed eagerness. He published several pamphlets, which attracted
general attention and added to his notoriety. The minister Calonne at
first made use of his pen, but they afterwards disagreed. Under his
patronage, Mirabeau endeavoured to get diplomatic employment in Germany.
He visited Berlin at the period of Frederic the Great's death, and
several times subsequently. His correspondence from Berlin is not,
however, worthy of his character or genius. It was not published at this
time; he kept it back till 1789, when, under the necessity of acquiring
money to carry on the expenses of his election in Provence, he had no
other resource except bringing out a book, sure to acquire notoriety
from the scandalous anecdotes it contained, but not adapted to sustain
the credit of the author. His pamphlets on finance, which attacked that
system of gambling in the public funds, called, in France, _agiotage_,
which, while it enriches individuals, is ruinous to the country, deserve
the highest praise for their utility. They, however, attacked powerful
interests; and one of them was suppressed by a decree of government, and
even his personal liberty was menaced.
[Sidenote: 1787.
Ætat.
38.]
He saved himself by a timely retreat to Liege. He here entered into a
financial controversy with Necker, which was rendered the more
conspicuous by the allusions made by Mirabeau to the necessity of
assembling the states-general and establishing a constitution. The
convocation of notables, which occurred during this year, was a sort of
commentary on his views. He expected to be named secretary to the
assembly, but that place was given to Dupont de Nemours; and, when he
returned to Paris in September, the notables were already dismissed.
Mirabeau, in his letters at this period, displays that deep interest in
politics which afterwards was to engross his life, and led to his
success and triumph. "It is impossible," he writes, "to witness the
excess of shame and folly which combine to engulf my country without
consternation. It is not given to human wisdom to guess where all this
will find a term." Meanwhile his pen was never idle; and in the midst of
various journeys, and multiplied occupations, he published a variety of
political works, which drew public observation on him; though now for
the most part they are forgotten, as belonging to a state of things sunk
in perpetual oblivion. In these he never ceased to attack the abuses of
government; to urge the necessity of framing a constitution for his
country; and to announce with enthusiasm his love of political liberty
and independence.
In the history of Mirabeau, so far, we find his life divided into two
parts. The first, up to the age of two and thirty, was stormy and
disastrous; but the accidents that marked it did not take him from
private life. Proud of his station and name, and ambitious of
distinction, yet the vices of youth wrecked him at the very outset, and
the conduct of his father, who acted the part of Cornish wrecker, rather
than taking his natural post of pilot, threatened his perpetual
submersion. As lord Brougham observes, in his observations on his
character, "There is, perhaps, no second instance of an individual whose
faults have been committed under such a pressure of ill-treatment, to
besiege and force his virtue, rather than of temptation, to seduce and
betray it." The extraordinary energy of his character alone saved him;
and he merited the praise, not only of delivering himself, through his
resolute and unwearied exertions, from the dungeon in which, had he been
a weaker man, he had been left to perish, but also of making good use of
the leisure which the sad and solitary hours of imprisonment afforded,
to store his mind with knowledge.
In the second portion of his life, till the election of deputies for the
states-general, he was no longer pursued by private enemies; and his
passions, though they were not sobered, yet, not being violently
opposed, no longer afforded a topic for public scandal. At first, he
chiefly endeavoured to obtain a maintenance, since his father's
parsimony reduced him to indigence. His pride and fortitude continued to
support him in so hard a trial. We have no instance of any application
of his for help from the rich and powerful--he was extravagant, but
never mean; and he could labour industriously without stooping to any
dishonourable shifts. By degrees he acquired such name and esteem among
men in power as induced them to employ him in public services. Then, as
the political atmosphere of France became overcast, and the howlings of
the coming tempest audible, Mirabeau felt within himself that the hour
was approaching when he should acquire greatness. He had displayed his
wonderful power of public speaking, during his law-suit with his wife,
some years before: the recollection of the effects produced by his
forcible and impetuous eloquence, which almost gained his cause against
reason and justice, gave foundation to his hopes of distinction, if he
should be allowed to speak for the public cause. These feelings did not
make him weakly eager to put himself forward; he was calm in the
knowledge of his power. "Leave me, then, in my obscurity," he wrote, in
1787, to the satellite of a minister,--"I say, in my obscurity, for it
is really my design to remain unalterably in it, until a regular order
of things arises from the present state of tumult, and till some great
revolution, either for good or ill, enjoins a good citizen, who is
always accountable for his suffrage and even his talents, to raise his
voice. This revolution cannot be long delayed. The public vessel is in a
strait, equally short and difficult. An able pilot could doubtless guide
it into the open sea; but he cannot, without the consent of the crew,
and at this moment no one sailor can be despised."
Mirabeau deserves the praise of keeping at this season far above all
petty traffic of his influence and pen. He saw the safety and glory of
France, and the rise of a national constitution, in the opposition of
the parliament to the court, and in the consequent necessity of
assembling the states-general. He represented these convictions to the
minister Montmorin, but without avail; on the contrary, Montmorin
earnestly requested him to undertake his defence, and to attack the
parliament. Mirabeau, in reply, set before the minister the errors of
his views, and refused, with dignity, the task offered him. "Do not," he
concludes, "compromise a zealous servant, who will despise danger when
called upon to devote himself for his country, but who would not, even
for the price of all earthly crowns, prostitute himself in an equivocal
cause, the aim of which is uncertain, the principle doubtful, and the
progress fearful and dark. Should I not lose all the little talent of
which you exaggerate the influence, if I renounced that inflexible
independence which alone gains me success, and which only can render me
useful to my country and my king? When the day arrives, when, animated
by my conscience, and strong in my conviction, an honourable citizen, a
faithful subject, an honest writer, I cast myself into the _melée_, I
shall be able to say, 'Listen to a man who has never varied in his
principles, nor deserted the public cause.'"
And it must be remarked, in honour of Mirabeau, when doubts are cast
upon his subsequent career, that, at the moment that he refused the aid
of his pen to a powerful minister, he was suffering the extreme of
penury, aggravated by its being shared by a dear friend. When,
therefore, he afterwards accepted the pay of the court, we may believe,
unworthy as was the act, that he compromised no principle; but, though a
reformer, not being a republican, the support he engaged to give to the
king had the suffrage of his conscience.
[Sidenote: 1788.
Ætat.
39.]
The reputation of Mirabeau was now at its height; but, though his genius
was acknowledged, he was not esteemed a good member of society. It is
strange on what reputation depends: it may seem a paradox to say, that
it often depends on modesty. Notoriety, and even success, may follow the
unblushing man; but the good word of our fellow-creatures clings rather
to him whose worth is crowned by the graceful and conciliating virtue of
modesty. Mirabeau had been oppressed--he had suffered much; his
ostensible errors were venial, and such as many a man might have
committed without entire condemnation; but the publicity that attended
them, and the readiness with which he exposed his faults, and his family
persecution, to public view, displeased and offended. He was feared as a
false friend, as well as a dangerous enemy. Yet, wherever he appeared,
he gained the hearts of those whom he addressed. He had the art of
rendering himself agreeable and fascinating to all. The truth is that,
though in theory and absence, we may approve the unblameable, the
torpid, and the coldly good, our nature forces us to prefer what is
vivacious, exhilarating, and original. This is the secret of the
influence exercised by men, whose biographers labour to excuse and to
account for the spontaneous ebullitions of sympathy and affection that
follow their steps. Mirabeau was easy, complaisant, gay, and full of
animation and variety in his conversation; he had, in a supreme degree,
what his father named the dangerous gift of familiarity. It was his
delight to cast aside all etiquette, and to reduce his intercourse to
the interchange of the real emotions of the heart and expression of
ideas, unaccompanied by any disguise or conventional refinements;--for
this, he did not scruple to appear at times rude and even vulgar; but
also by this he inspired confidence, as being frank and true.
At length, the hour long expected, long desired, came, when the
states-general were convoked by a royal decree of the 27th December,
1788. Mirabeau passionately desired to belong to the assembly; and,
relying on the popularity which he enjoyed in his native province,
departed for Aix early in the following month.
[Sidenote: 1789.
Ætat.
40.]
The nobles and high clergy of Provence were vehemently opposed to the
changes they apprehended in government, and were zealously wedded to the
privileges of their order. They entered a protest against certain
portions of the royal decree which threw power into the hands of the
people. When Mirabeau arrived among them as the partisan of the dawning
liberty of his country, he was received as an enemy. He raised his voice
against the protest, and naturally took his place at the head of the
liberal party. The nobles commenced their attack against him by
excluding him from among them, on the pretext that he did not (as an
elder son merely) possess any fief. Mirabeau protested against this
exclusion, as well in his own name as in those of every other in a
similar situation with himself; but in vain. On the 8th of the following
February, in an assembly of the nobles, on the proposition of the
marquis de Fare, his exclusion was pronounced, as not possessing either
estate or fief in Provence. Mirabeau spared neither pamphlets nor
speeches on the occasion; though, occupied by the calls made on him by
his party during the day, he could only give the hours of night to
composing and publishing. "I do not write a line," he says, in one of
his letters, of the date of the 8th February, "that I am not interrupted
thirty times, and to such a degree, that I can only labour at public
affairs by night. You know what cardinal de Retz said:--'_The chief
hinderance of the head of a party is his party._' A thousand minor
annoyances, a thousand important arrangements, a thousand inevitable
interruptions, deprive me, during the day, of all presence of mind to
compose, and of all coherence of ideas and style."
Besides these labours, he had the more difficult task of keeping clear
of brawls and duels among a class of men whose dearest wish was to
provoke him to the committal of an outrage. Proud and arrogant
themselves, they hoped to taunt one yet prouder into some deed of
violence that would give them the advantage over him. But haughty as
Mirabeau was, he was yet wiser; the peculiarity of his genius was a
quick perception of the proper line of conduct, and he preserved his
dignity, while he showed himself forbearing.
He had to meet yet another difficulty. He published his correspondence
from Berlin at this moment, for the purpose of acquiring the funds
necessary for his election: this work was condemned to be burnt, by the
parliament. It had been published anonymously; but, as the name of the
author was well known, Mirabeau saw himself forced to make a journey to
Paris, for the purpose of silencing his enemies, and giving courage to
his friends, who quailed under the attacks made against him. This
journey and short absence served but to raise to enthusiasm the favour
with which he was regarded by the population of Provence. Deputations of
the _bourgeoisie_ of Marseilles and Aix met him on his return, with all
the manifestations of affection and joy which the people of the south
render so cordial and demonstrative. The road he traversed was strewn
with flowers; fireworks were let off; a crowd of 50,000 persons
assembled round his carriage, while cries of "Vive Mirabeau!" rent the
air. No noble dared show himself in the streets. "If you hate oppression
as much as you love your friends," Mirabeau said to the assembled
citizens, "you will never be oppressed." He was, within a few days
after, received with similar demonstrations at Marseilles: 120,000
inhabitants filled the streets to welcome him; two louis were paid for a
window to look on him--his carriage was covered with laurels--the people
kissed the wheels--the women brought their children to him. Mirabeau,
who saw, in his elevation in the public favour, the stepping stone to
success, beheld these demonstrations with proud delight; they were the
signals of his triumph over the party who trampled on him--over that
series of adversity which, from his cradle to that hour, had never
ceased to crush him. The report, carefully spread, that this triumph had
been got up by his friends, vanished before the fact that the whole
population were his friends, and that the getting up was merely his
assent to receive the marks of their enthusiastic favour. That he had
done his best to curry favour with the people is true: that fault abides
with him, if it be one.
Among other manœuvres he had, it is said, opened a clothier's shop at
Marseilles. There is no foundation for this story, although Marat, and
other partisans of equality of his own day, asserted it. He had been
obliged, indeed, to make himself free of the town, when candidate for
the deputyship. His only chance was to make friends with the people. He
was treated with contumely by the nobles; and even now his triumph was
not devoid of drawback, occasioned by the indignities cast on him by the
class to which he properly belonged: their insults did not fail to sting
his pride, and rouse him to revenge, even while he successfully
preserved himself from open quarrelling.
The popularity he acquired he was soon called upon to exert. M. Caraman,
military commander in Provence, applied to him to allay the disturbances
occasioned by a scarcity. The nobles regarded the pending famine as a
means of taming the people; and the same marquis de Fare, who had
originated the exclusion of Mirabeau from the assembly, insolently
exclaimed,--"Do the people hunger?--let them eat the dung of my horses."
Such a speech, and such a spirit, manifested by the wealthy, naturally
exasperated the poor. The weakness of the magistrates, who decreed so
great a reduction in the price of food that the traders could no longer
afford to sell it, only augmented the public peril: the granaries were
pillaged,--blood was spilt in the streets. At the request of M. de
Caraman, Mirabeau stept forward,--he persuaded the governor to withdraw
the soldiery,--he induced the bourgeois youth to take arms to keep the
peace. His eloquence, the credit given to his sincerity and good
intentions, pacified the people, and first at Marseilles, and afterwards
at Aix, he restored peace and security. At this period, while he
fulfilled the noble part of pacificator and of a citizen, powerful only
through the influence of his genius and patriotism, he was elected, both
by Marseilles and Aix, deputy of the _tiers état_ in the approaching
assembly of the states-general. He gave the preference to the latter, as
circumstances rendered it doubtful whether his election for Marseilles
would be admitted by his colleagues.
We now arrive at the epoch when he developed the whole force of his
genius, and acquired immortality, as the great leader of a revolution
which, at its first outbreak, commanded the sympathy and respect of the
world which looked on; beholding with gladness and hope the overthrow of
feudal abuses, and the restoration of the oppressed majority of the
French nation to the rights of men and citizens.
The first steps that Mirabeau trod towards greatness were taken on
slippery ground. The eyes of the crowd sought for him with avidity,
during the procession of the king and states-general to the church of
St. Louis, on the 4th May. He appeared, with his dark shaggy hair, his
beetling brows, and luminous eyes, stepping proudly on. A murmur of
disapprobation was raised;--he looked round, and all was silent; yet in
that moment he felt the struggle, the combat that would ensue: his fiery
nature made him also, perhaps, rely on victory. When the names of the
deputies were called over, and those of other popular men were
applauded, hisses of disapprobation followed his. They did not daunt
him: he walked across the chamber to his place with an air of resolution
and haughtiness that spoke of perseverance and vigour in the coming
struggle.
To give himself notoriety and weight, he commenced by publishing a
journal of the proceedings of the chambers. This publication was seized
by government, and he then changed its title to that of letters to his
constituents. He excited animosity by this publication in the chamber
itself, but it added to his weight and influence.
The first combat of the _tiers état_ with the two other chambers is
well known. They demanded that their consultations should be held in
common, while the noblesse and clergy desired each their chamber, secure
that the lower one would be crushed by the union of the two higher with
the king. Mirabeau, at first, recommended that system of passive
resistance which is all powerful when resorted to resolutely by numbers.
During the interval that succeeded, Mirabeau had an interview with
Necker, by the desire of his friend Duroverai; but it availed nothing.
Mirabeau regarded Necker as a weak man, though he acknowledged his
unimpeachable honesty; and he was soon after carried far beyond any
necessity of recurring to his patronage for advancement, when, by
echoing the voices of many men, and giving expression and direction to
their passions, his eloquence filled France with the cry of liberty, and
gave power and authority to the hesitating deputies.
He met with a check, when the name he wished the assembly of _tiers
état_ to assume (deputies of the people) was rejected, with ill-founded
indignation. The term people was regarded as disgraceful and
humiliating. "The nation," he wrote on this occasion, "is not ripe; the
folly and frightful disorder of the government have forced the
revolution as in a hotbed; it has outgrown our aptitude and knowledge.
When I defended the word people, I had nearly been torn to pieces. It
was circulated that I had gone over to the government:--truly I am said
to have sold myself to so many, that I wonder I have not acquired a
universal monarchy with the money paid for me."
The resolution of the _tiers état_, now naming themselves the national
assembly, excited mingled contempt and alarm. The nobility protested
against their assumption, and the king was counselled to oppose their
resolves by a royal decree; the hall of the deputies was closed, under
pretence of preparing for the royal visit; the deputies adjourned to a
neighbouring tennis court, and took a solemn oath to stand by each other
to the last. On the following day, the 23d of June, the _seance royale_
had place, and the decree promulgated that the three orders should vote
separately. Satisfied that this exertion of royal power would tame at
once the rebellious deputies, the royal cortege--the ministers, the
nobles, and the clergy--left the chamber; the _tiers état_, the
self-constituted national assembly, remained. A gloomy silence ensued,
broken by Mirabeau, who rose, and, warning them of the danger to be
apprehended, added, "I demand of you to seek shelter in your dignity and
legislative powers, and that you take refuge in the faith of your oath,
which does not allow you to separate till you have formed a
constitution." The grand master of ceremonies, de Brézé, now entered,
for the purpose of dispersing the deputies, saying, that they had heard
the orders of the king. The president, Bailly, replied that he would
take those of the assembly. At that moment, on which the public cause
hung,--for on the boldness and perseverance of the deputies depended
their success,--at that moment of hesitation, Mirabeau rose, and with a
manner full of majesty, and a calm voice, he replied, "The commons of
France intend to deliberate. We have heard what your king has been
advised to say, but you, sir, cannot be his interpreter to the national
assembly; you have neither place, nor voice, nor right to speak here.
But, to prevent delay, go tell your master, that we are here by the
power of the people; and that the power of the bayonet alone shall drive
us out."
Victor Hugo, in his essay on the character of Mirabeau, remarks, that
these words sealed the fate of the monarchy of France. "They drew a line
between the throne and the people; it was the cry of the revolution. No
one before Mirabeau dared give it voice. Great men only pronounce the
words that decide an epoch. Louis XVI. was afterwards more cruelly
insulted, but no expression was used so fatal and so fearful as that of
Mirabeau. When he was called Louis Capet, royalty received a disgraceful
blow; but, when Mirabeau spoke, it was struck to the heart."[13]
The immediate effect of this outburst was, first, that de Brézé,
losing all presence of mind, backed out of the chamber, and the
deputies, electrified by the audacity of their self-constituted leader,
arose with acclamations, and passed a decree to confirm his words.
The national assembly, which by law was attached to the person of the
king, sat at Versailles; the distance from Paris was short, and the
capital regarded with growing interest the actions of the deputies.
Crowds assembled in the streets, and various tumults ensued: these have
been variously attributed to different factions, which excited the
people for the purpose of carrying on their own designs. There does not
seem much foundation for that opinion; the public cause, the natural
turbulence of the Parisians, which had been manifested during every
reign of past times; the heat and agitation of the crisis, easily
account for the alarming tumults in the metropolis. The chief suspicion
at the time rested on the party of the duke of Orléans. Mirabeau did not
belong to this; he had no connection with the leaders of the mob; his
impracticable and vehement character kept him aloof from coalition with
others. He was not sufficiently trusted to be selected as chief, he
disdained any other post; feeling that, without descending to manœuvre
and consultations, his energy, eloquence, and presence of mind, would
place him in the van of war. He remained, therefore, independent; uneasy
when others obtained influence in the assembly, visiting Paris as a
looker on, and waiting his time, which soon came. For it must be
remembered, that, at this period, notwithstanding the distinguished part
he had acted, Mirabeau's supremacy was by no means acknowledged. There
was a large party against him, and Barnave was held up by it as the more
eloquent and greater man. The errors of his youth were remembered, and a
thousand calumnies spread abroad against him; the people were even
influenced by them, and though, at one time they were ready to carry him
in triumph, a moment after the hawkers cried about _the great treason of
count de Mirabeau._ When his private conduct was attacked, Mirabeau was
silent; "Because," he says, with graceful dignity, "a strict silence is
the expiation of faults purely personal, however excusable they may be;
and because I waited till time, and my services, should win for me the
esteem of the worthy; because, also, the rod of censure has always
seemed respectable to me, even in the hands of my enemies; and, above
all, because I have never seen any thing but narrow egotism and
ridiculous impropriety in occupying one's fellow citizens in affairs not
belonging to them." But when his public conduct was attacked, he
defended it with an energy and truth that bore down all attack, and
raised him higher than ever in the general esteem.
To return to the epoch at which we are arrived. To quell the capital and
subdue the deputies, the king and his counsellors summoned troops to
surround Paris. Fifteen regiments, composed chiefly of foreigners,
advanced. It became evident that the design was formed of using the
bayonet, to which Mirabeau had referred, as the only power to which they
would submit. He now again came forward to stop the progress of the
evil. He proposed an address to the king, demanding that the march of
the troops should be countermanded. He still preserved a respectful
style towards the monarch, but he did not spare the measures of
government, and exposed in open day the direct approach of war and
massacre. His speech was covered with applause, and he was commissioned
to draw up an address to the king. It was short and forcible: it
prophesied, with sagacity, the dangers that must ensue from the presence
of the military; it protested with dignity against the force about to be
exercised against the assembly, and declared the resolution of the
deputies, in spite of snares, difficulties, and terror, to prosecute
their task and regenerate the kingdom. "For the first time," says madame
de Staël, "France heard that popular eloquence whose natural power is
augmented by the importance of events." "It was by Mirabeau," Brougham
observes, "that the people were first made to feel the force of the
orator, first taught what it was to hear spoken reason and spoken
passion; and the silence of ages in those halls was first broken by the
thunder of his voice, echoing through the lofty vaults now covering
multitudes of excited men."
Dumont, in his "Souvenirs de Mirabeau," asserts that he drew up this
address. On several other occasions, he assumes the merit either of
writing for Mirabeau or suggesting his speeches. He speaks of him as a
great plagiarist, putting all his associates to use in collecting
materials for him, and contenting himself with giving them form, or
sometimes only voice. This sort of accusation is exceedingly futile. The
capacity of gathering materials, lying barren but for the life he puts
into them, is the great attribute of genius: it hews an Apollo out of
the marble block; places the colours of Raphael on the bare canvass;
collects, in one focus, the thoughts of many men inspired by passion and
nature: it, as with Mirabeau, takes the spirit of the times, the
thoughts and words excited during a crisis; and, by giving to them a
voice of command or persuasion, rules the minds of all. In this manner,
Mirabeau was a plagiarist, but none but he could use, to govern and
subdue, the weapons fabricated, it might be, by other hands. To quote
the apt metaphor of Carlisle, he might gather the fuel from others, but
the fire was his own. He was not a man formed of shreds and patches
taken from other men, nor was Dumont endowed with creative powers to
call such a being into life. Mirabeau was a man of God's own making,
full of wild passion and remorseful error, but true to the touch of
nature; fraught with genius and power; a natural king among those whom
he used as his subjects to pay tribute to, and extend the sphere of, his
greatness.
[Sidenote: 1789.
July
11.]
The death of the marquis de Mirabeau, at the age of seventy-three, took
place at this period. From the time that his son figured in the
assembly, he became deeply interested in his career; declaring that his
success was "glory, true glory." He was suffering by a chronic pulmonary
catarrh, and evidently declining. Mirabeau frequently visited him, and
was well received, though they never discussed politics during these
short visits. But the marquis caused the speeches of his son to be read
to him, as well as the papers that recounted the sittings of the
assembly in which he figured. On the 11th of July, while he was
listening to his grand-daughter reading, he closed his eyes--his
breathing failed--and when she looked up he was dead, with a smile on
his face.
Mirabeau, who venerated his father, in spite of the injuries he had
sustained from him, was deeply affected by this loss: perhaps pride
added to his demonstrations of affliction. He wrote to his constituents,
that all the citizens in the world ought to mourn; he scarcely appeared
in the assembly, and for a few days gave himself up to sorrow.
It was not a period when a great political character could withdraw
himself for more than a few days. The crisis was at hand.
[Sidenote: July
14.]
The king had returned a cold answer to the address drawn up by Mirabeau,
and presented by the most distinguished deputies; the court still
pursued the plan of assembling troops; Necker was dismissed from the
ministry; the investment of the capital by the military became
imminent,--when the people, animated by mixed fear and indignation,
rose: they seized on all the arms they could obtain; the bastille was
demolished; for the first time the Parisians felt their power, and
tasted of the triumph of shedding the blood of those who resisted them.
The terror of these acts spread to Versailles. The assembly sent
deputation after deputation to the king, imploring him to pacify Paris
by countermanding the troops. When the destruction of the bastille was
known, a fifth deputation was prepared to be presented to the monarch.
It was composed of twenty-four members: they were about to leave the
chamber on this errand, when Mirabeau stopped them, and with increased
vehemence exclaimed,--"Tell the king, that the hordes of foreigners that
surround us were yesterday visited by the princes, the princesses, and
their favourites, who caressed and exhorted them, and covered them with
presents. Tell him that, during the night, these foreign satellites,
gorged with gold and wine, predicted, in their impious songs, the
servitude of France, and brutally invoked the destruction of the
national assembly. Tell him that, in his own palace, his courtiers
mingled in the dance to the sound of such music, and that similar to
these were the preparations of Saint Bartholomew. Tell him, that
Henry IV., whose memory the whole world blesses, he, who ought to be his
model among his ancestors, sent provisions to Paris when it revolted,
and he was besieging it in person; while, on the contrary, his ferocious
advisers keep the corn, brought by trade, from his starving and faithful
capital." The deputation was about to carry his words to the king, when
the arrival of Louis, without guards or escort, was announced. A murmur
of glad welcome ran through the assembly. "Wait," said Mirabeau gravely,
"till the king has announced his good intentions. Let a serious respect
receive the monarch in this moment of sorrow. The silence of the people
is the lesson of kings."
Thus did this wonderful man, by means of the fire and impetuosity of his
character, enter at once into the spirit of the hour, while his genius
suggested the expressions and the tone that gave it direction and voice.
It is impossible to enter into the detail of all Mirabeau's speeches and
acts. A rapid glance at his votes and declarations during this period
must suffice. Mirabeau detested despotism, whose iron hand had fallen so
heavily on himself. The aid given by the government of his country to
his father's tyranny,--the ban placed on him by the nobility who were
his equals,--the burning desire for distinction that consumed him,--his
contempt for his inferiors in talent,--his faith in the
revolution,--such were the passions that gave force to his genius. But
his genius showed itself omnipotent nowhere except in the tribune. When
he wrote, he but half expressed his thoughts; his passions were but half
excited; and Mirabeau's power lay in the union of his passions and his
genius. Apart, the former degenerated into vice, and the latter showed
itself either exaggerated, sophistical, or inert. In the tribune, their
union was complete. When he began to speak he was at first
confused,--his breast heaved,--his words were broken,--but the sight of
his opponents,--the knowledge of the sympathy he should find in the
galleries,--the inspiration of the moment,--suddenly dispersed all
mistiness; his eloquence became clear, fervid, sublime,--the truth
conjured up images at once striking and appalling. When he was farther
excited by the difficulties of a crisis, his courage rose to meet
it,--he stept forward with grandeur; a word or a look, which his talent
and ugliness at once combined to render imposing, shone out on the
assembly,--electrified and commanded it.
This power of seizing on the spirit of the question, clearing the view
of the assembly, and leading it onward in the right road, he exerted
memorably on the 24th September, when Necker, to remedy the disastrous
state of the finances, proposed a patriotic contribution of a fourth of
the incomes. A committee, after three days spent in examination,
approved the plan. Mirabeau, the known enemy of Necker, spoke, to engage
the assembly to adopt it at once, on the recommendation of the minister,
without taking any responsibility on itself. The friends of Necker saw
the snare, and accused him of injuring the plan of the minister, while
he pretended to support it. Mirabeau replied, that he was not the
partisan, but, were he the dearest friend of the minister, he should not
hesitate to compromise him rather than the assembly. Necker might
deceive himself, and the kingdom receive no detriment; but that the
public weal were compromised, if the assembly lost its credit. These
words had some effect, but still the discussion went on, and still the
deputies hesitated to adopt Necker's proposition, till Mirabeau, again
ascending the tribune, burst forth with a torrent of overwhelming
eloquence in its favour: he painted the horrors of a national
bankruptcy, and the consequent guilt of incurring it; he expatiated on
the wide-spread misery that must ensue. He continued,--"Two centuries of
robbery and depredation have opened a gulf in which the kingdom is
nearly swallowed; this gulf must be filled up. Here is a list of French
proprietors; select among the richest, so to lessen the number of
victims; but still select--for must not a few perish to save the many?
Two thousand notables possess enough to fill up the deficit, to bring
back order into your finances, and peace and prosperity to the kingdom.
Strike! immolate without pity these hapless victims--precipitate them
into the abyss;--it will close! Ha! you draw back with horror.
Inconsistent pusillanimous men! Do you not see that when you decree
bankruptcy, or, what is still more odious, when you render it inevitable
without decreeing it, you stain yourselves with a still greater and yet
a gratuitous crime? for this sacrifice will at least fill up the
deficit. But do you think, because you do not pay, you will no longer be
in debt? Do you believe that the thousands, the millions of men, who in
one moment will lose by the explosion, or by its reaction, all that made
the comfort of their lives, and, perhaps, their only means of support,
will allow you to reap the fruits of your crime in peace? Stoical
contemplators of the incalculable ills which this catastrophe will bring
on France! Insensible egotists! who think that the convulsions of
despair and misery will pass away like every other, and the more quickly
as they are more violent;--are you sure that so many men, without bread,
will tranquilly permit you to taste the viands whose quantity and
delicacy you will not suffer to be diminished? No!--you will perish in
the universal conflagration that you do not tremble to set a-light, and
the loss of your honour will not preserve one of your detestable
enjoyments.
* * * * *
Vote, then, for this extraordinary subsidy;--may it suffice! Vote it;
because, if you have any doubts with regard to the means (vague and
uncertain doubts), you have none on its necessity, and our want of power
to replace this proposition by any other--at least for the present. Vote
it; for public affairs will not endure procrastination, and we are
accountable for all delay. Beware of asking for time. Ruin never gives
that. Some days ago, gentlemen, in reference to a ridiculous tumult in
the Palais Royal--a laughable insurrection which had no importance
except in feeble minds--you heard the violent cry uttered, 'Cataline is
at the gates of Rome, and you deliberate!' and then certainly we had
near us neither Cataline, nor danger, nor faction, nor Rome. But now
bankruptcy, hideous bankruptcy is before us; she menaces to consume
you,--your possessions and your honour,--and you deliberate!"
These words raised a tumult of enthusiasm in the assembly. A deputy rose
to reply, but the cries overbore him; and, frightened by his task, he
remained motionless and mute. "I was near Mirabeau," writes madame de
Staël, "when he thus delivered himself. Nothing could be more
impressive than his voice; his gestures and words were pregnant with an
animation, the power of which was prodigious. The assembly at once
received the report of the committee, and adopted the plan of the
minister." "This," remarks Thiers, "is the triumph of eloquence; but he
alone could obtain it who was animated by the passions and just views of
Mirabeau."
Mirabeau hated the assumptions of the aristocracy, but he looked upon
royalty as a necessary defence between the lower and the higher orders;
at the same time he believed that the welfare of his country demanded
that the people should have a voice in the state.
[Sidenote: Oct.
25.]
He expressed his opinion on this subject in a letter to his uncle the
bailli. He says,--"I have always thought, and now more than ever think,
that royalty is the only anchor of safety which can preserve us from
shipwreck. And how many efforts I have made, and make each day, to
support the executive power, and combat the distrust which induces the
national assembly to go beyond the mark! For the rest, we must judge of
the revolution by the good and evil of its result, not by the license
which prevails at present, which forms a state too violent to be
durable. I am reassured with regard to the future, by the consideration,
that the revolution, be it injurious or beneficial, is, in fact,
consummated. The most enlightened men feel that they must assist the
change, to lessen its violence; that resistance is as useless as it must
be disastrous; and that every citizen, whether zealous or indifferent,
must tend to the same end,--facilitate the consolidation of the empire,
and give the machine that movement which will allow us to judge of its
excellence or its defects. You recommend me to support the executive
power; but you will easily discern that the obstinate resistance of one
order of the state, by exciting fresh causes of revenge, and producing
new commotions, would destroy that power round which the supreme law of
the state commands us now to rally."
It was in this spirit that he spoke for the veto, though fear, perhaps,
of compromising his popularity made him abstain from voting. The veto
had become a sort of bugbear. When Mirabeau visited Paris, the mob
thronged round his carriage, imploring him to prevent the king from
having the veto. They were slaves, they said, if the king had the
veto;--the national assembly was useless. "Mirabeau," says Dumont,
"carried it off very well: he appeased the people; and, using only vague
expressions, dismissed the mob with patrician affability."
At the period of the revolution, when the passions of men were excited
to bandy calumny with eager voices and pens dipt in gall, Mirabeau was
accused of being an Orleanist. It is difficult to say what an Orleanist
was. The duke himself, weak but ambitious, never made one step forward
but he made two back; so that it became a saying that the duke of
Orléans did not belong to the Orleanists. His name, meanwhile, and money
were employed to form a party rather inimical to Louis XIV. than
favourable to himself. It added to the tumult and tempest of the times,
but was of no real influence in the direction of events. Dumont declares
that, living intimately with Mirabeau, the most indiscreet and confiding
of men, he saw no trace of his complicity in any plot against the court:
but that, familiar with the duke as with every one, his manner gave
colour to a report which had no other foundation. That he was at this
time the enemy of the court is, however, undoubted. When the fatal feast
of the _gardes du corps_, at Versailles, was denounced in the assembly,
and the cry of calumny was raised by the royalists, Mirabeau burst out
with impetuosity, and declared that he was ready to accuse by name the
principal actors in this sacrilegious orgie, on condition that it were
first decreed that the person of the king only was inviolable. This
expression, pointing at and criminating the queen, silenced the
discussion.
During the days of the 5th and 6th October, Mirabeau sought to
tranquillise, without any attempt at leading, the multitude. When he
first heard of the approach of the rabble rout of _poissardes_ and their
followers from the capital, for the purpose of forcing the acceptance of
the constitution on the king, Mirabeau addressed the president Mounier,
saying, "Paris is marching on us: make an excuse; and go to the castle
and tell the king to accept the constitution purely and simply." "Paris
marches," replied Mounier; "so much the better: let them kill us
all--all, without exception--the nation will be the gainer." When the
crowd had invaded Versailles, Mirabeau was not seen. Dumont found him in
bed before eleven o'clock in the evening. He rose, and they went
together to the national assembly, where he displayed his accustomed
dignity by calling on the president to cause the assembly to be
respected, and to order the chamber to be cleared of the strangers who
filled it. It required all his popularity to succeed. The _poissardes_
in the gallery, with their usual familiarity, cried out, "Mother
Mirabeau must speak--we must hear mother Mirabeau!" but he was not a man
to make a show on these occasions.
The king humiliated--the court, driven to extremities, yet still
struggling, looked round for agents and supporters. The talents and
influence of Mirabeau would render his accession to their party
invaluable; Necker had named him "Tribun par calcul, et aristocrate par
goût;" and this character, joined to his debts, his bad reputation, his
known vices, and the very report that he acted for the duke of Orléans,
inspired the notion that he was venal.
[Sidenote: Nov.]
There can be no doubt that, at this period, a thousand different schemes
and hopes agitated this strange and powerful man. He detested the
aristocracy and despotism; but he was attached to royalty and the image
of the English constitution; and various advances made him by the court
led him to believe that a conscientious support of royalty might be
combined with his personal interests. Dumont mentions a conversation he
had with him, in which he showed him a plan for the retreat of the king
to Metz--the necessity the assembly would find itself under of following
him there, and the consequent quelling of the anarchical power in
France. Dumont, foreseeing that civil war and massacre would follow such
attempts, argued strongly against it. Mirabeau replied that the court
was resolved, and that he thought it right to combine to ensure its
success, and cause them to act so as to preserve the liberty of the
country. His purpose was, however, shaken by the arguments of Dumont,
and the whole plan was subsequently given up. Thiers gives a somewhat
different account. He narrates that in an interview with a friend, in
the park of Versailles, that lasted the whole night, Mirabeau declared
that he was resolved for the sake of his glory, for the good of his
country, and the advancement of his own fortune, to remain immovable
between the throne and the disorganisers, and to consolidate the
monarchy while he participated in its power. His pride, however, stood
in the way of any debasing steps. When the court made him offers, it was
informed that he would make no sacrifice of principles; but that, if the
king would be faithful to the constitution, he was ready to become his
staunch supporter. His conditions were, that his debts should be paid,
and that he should have a place in the ministry. According to law, the
ministers could neither speak nor vote in the assembly--before accepting
place, Mirabeau endeavoured to get this law repealed. He failed; and
during the discussion Lanjuinais proposed that the actual deputies
should be forbidden to accept place. Mirabeau angrily replied, that so
baneful a decree ought not to be passed for the sake of one man; but
that he would vote for it with the amendment, that a place in the
ministry should not be forbidden all the deputies, but only to M. de
Mirabeau, deputy for Aix. This outburst of frank audacity had no effect;
Lanjuinais' motion passed; and Mirabeau felt exceedingly indignant
towards the assembly, and often spoke of the members with bitter
contempt; yet his letters bear the impress of generous forbearance,
inspired by enlarged views of the duties of a citizen. "I do not say,"
he writes, "that the assembly is not somewhat severe towards me; with
all that, nothing can prevent, when the occasion presents, this
struggling, tumultuous, and, above all, ostracising assembly, from
returning under my influence: that results from the firmness of my
principles, and the support given by my talent. It was from the bottom
of my heart that I once wrote, 'Malheur aux peuples reconnaissants!' One
is never quit towards one's country. One gains glory, at least, by
serving it in whatever state. No element of public servitude ought to
exist--and gratitude is a very active one."
There is generosity, but not absolute wisdom in this dictum. In
republics, more evil arises from want of accord and stability of purpose
than from leaning on one man, especially among the French, who, vain by
nature, are more apt each to believe in his own capacity than rely on
that of another. Unfortunately, this distrust of public servants took
firm root during the revolution. First, no deputy was allowed to be
minister, so that no man of business could be deputy. Afterwards, the
members of one assembly were not allowed to be elected in the succeeding
one, so that inexperience, crude views, and want of mutual reliance,
became the characteristic of the French legislators.
[Sidenote: 1790.
Ætat.
41.]
Mirabeau's negotiations with the court meanwhile went on; he even
received for a short time a pension from Monsieur, the king's eldest
brother; the queen treated him with winning condescension--and she was
won also by the charm of his superiority and frankness. Thus he did not
sell his principles, which remained unchanged, yet he made a mart of
them; and, in the eye of history, falls from the high position of a man
above the reach of gold. His want of docility, meanwhile, often
displeased the court--he refused to compromise his popularity at its
beck, and despised the men who wished at once to make use of him and yet
to render him useless.
His position, though it seem dubious, was plain enough. He wished to
lead a moderately royal party, and give stability to the monarchy. He
desired to oppose the jacobins and disorganisers; but his views did not
meet the sanguine and senseless hopes and wishes of the court--which
aimed at nothing less than a return to the _ancien régime._ He stood
therefore companionless--seizing at times on and thundering from the
tribune--making his power felt whenever he was roused, but walking in
darkness, uncertain of the means which yet he grappled at, whereby to
confirm his greatness.
In the assembly he continued to extend his influence by means of his
enthusiasm, and his power of expressing it. Various methods had been
made use of to get rid of the constituent assembly, and elect
another--under the pretence that, the work of forming a constitution
being accomplished, their task was at an end, and that the continuation
of their power was illegal and a usurpation over the throne. In the
midst of the cries which these words called forth, Mirabeau rose. "We
are asked," he said "when the deputies of the people, became a national
convention? I reply, on that day when, finding the entrance to their
chamber surrounded by soldiers, they hastened to assemble in the first
place they could find, and swore to perish rather than to betray or
abandon the rights of the nation. Our powers on that day changed their
nature. Whatever these powers may be which we have exerted, our efforts
and our labours have legitimated them, and the adhesion of the whole
nation has sanctified them. Do you remember the heroic words of the
great man of antiquity, who had neglected the legal forms in saving his
country? Summoned by a factious tribune to swear whether he had observed
the laws, he replied, f I swear that I have saved my country!'
Gentlemen, I swear that you have saved France!" At this grand oath, the
whole assembly, carried away by a sudden impulse, closed the discussion
and dismissed the question.
The same power gave him the victory, when he was accused of conspiring
with the duke of Orléans to produce the commotions of the 5th and 6th of
October, and caused the accusation to be cast aside as devoid of
credit.[14]
[Sidenote: 1791.
Ætat.
42.]
We have an interesting picture of his position at the commencement of
the year 1791 from Dumont--who though his friend, and at times his
secretary, or rather, as he affirms, the composer of some of his most
successful speeches, gives no signs of partiality. "I dined several
times at the house of Mirabeau, who told me that he was on terms with
the court, and directed its counsels; and that his hopes were well
founded--as the royal personages had begun to see the necessity of
attaching him to their cause, and of no longer listening to the advice
of the emigrants and princes. He now lived in good style, and his house
was handsomely fitted up: he was better off than he had ever been, and
showed no discretion in the use of his money. I was surprised to see him
show off, after dinner, a case in which were several jewels. This was
proclaiming his being on the civil list, and I wondered that his
popularity did not suffer by it. His table was splendid, and his company
numerous. His house was filled early in the morning, and it was a
perpetual _levée_ from seven o'clock till the hour of his repairing to
the assembly; and a great crowd frequently assembled at that time to
enjoy the felicity of seeing him pass. Although titles were abolished,
he was still the comte de Mirabeau, not only with his servants and
visiters, but also the people, who love to decorate their idols. I could
have learnt from him the secret of his intercourse with the court, his
views, means, and intrigues, for he was well disposed to open himself to
me; but I neither wished to be censor nor flatterer. He insinuated
twenty times that his only object was to save the monarchy, if it were
possible. That means were necessary to accomplish this end; that trivial
morality was hostile to that on a large scale; that disinterested
services were rare; and that hitherto the court had wasted its money on
traitors.[15]
"During the last week of my stay in Paris, I saw him in a new
situation, which he had often pretended to despise, but more from
mortification than indifference. He was president of the
assembly,--never was the place so well filled. He displayed new talents.
He put an order and clearness into the work, of which no idea had
hitherto been formed. By a word, he threw light on a question; by a
word, he appeased a tumult. His deference to all parties, the respect he
always testified for the assembly, the conciseness of his speeches, his
answers to the various deputations that came to the bar,--which, whether
spontaneous or prepared, were always delivered with dignity and grace,
and gave satisfaction even in refusals,--in a word, his activity,
impartiality, and presence of mind added to his reputation and success
in a place which had been a stumbling block to his predecessors. He had
the art of putting himself foremost, and drawing the general attention
on himself, even when, not being allowed to speak from the tribune, he
appeared to have fallen from his best prerogative. Several of his
enemies and rivals, who had chosen him for the sake of putting him in
eclipse, had the chagrin of finding that they had added to his glory.
"He was far from being in good health, and told me that he felt himself
perishing away. I observed that his style of life would long ago have
killed a man less robust than himself. He had no repose from seven in
the morning till ten or eleven at night. He was in continual
conversation and agitation both of thought and feeling. When we parted,
he embraced me with an emotion he had never before displayed.--'I shall
die at the oar,' he said, 'and we probably shall never meet again. When
I am gone my worth will be acknowledged. The evils that I have arrested
will burst over France, and the criminal faction that trembles before me
will no longer be bridled. I have only prophecies of evil before my
eyes. Ah! my friend, how right we were when we desired at the beginning
to prevent the commons from declaring themselves a national
assembly,--that was the origin of our evils. Since they were victorious,
they have not ceased to show themselves unworthy; they have desired to
govern the king, instead of governing through him. Now neither they nor
he will have authority; a vile faction will domineer over them, and fill
France with terror."
He lived for three months after saying these words, and lived still to
triumph, and to add to his glory. The last scene of moment in which he
displayed his mighty influence was during the discussion of the law
against emigration. Mirabeau opposed it as tyrannical and unjust: the
popular voice went the other way, and cries were uttered against him.
His thunder silenced their more feeble demonstrations. "The popularity,"
he exclaimed, "which I desired is but a feeble reed; but I will force it
into the earth, and it shall take root in the soil of reason and
justice!" Applause followed this burst. "I swear," he continued, "if a
law of emigration passes, I swear to disobey you." He descended from the
tribune, having silenced his enemies, and astonished the assembly. The
discussion went on, and the adjournment was moved, to give time to
prepare a law different from the one under discussion, and so to calm
the people. The tumult continued, and cries of applause or
disapprobation drowned every other sound, till Mirabeau demanded
attention. A deputy, M. Goupil, who some time ago had attacked Mirabeau
with the cry that Cataline was at their doors, now exclaimed,--"By what
right does M. de Mirabeau exercise a dictatorship?" At these words the
orator threw himself into the tribune. The president remarked,--"I have
not accorded the right to speak; let the assembly decide." The assembly
listened.--"I beg my interruptors," said Mirabeau, "to remember that
through life I have combated against tyranny, and I will combat it
wherever it is to be found." Speaking thus, he turned his eyes from
right to left, while applause followed his words;--he continued:--"I beg
M. Goupil to remember that not long ago he was mistaken as to the
Cataline whose dictatorship he now resists. I beg the assembly to remark
that the question of adjournment, simple in appearance, comprehends
others, since it supposes that there is a law to form." Murmurs rose
from the left; the orator fixed his eyes on the inimical party, and its
leaders, Barnave and Lameth. "Silence those thirty voices," he cried: "I
am content also to vote for the adjournment, but on condition that no
sedition follows."
This was the greatest, and it was the last struggle that Mirabeau had
with the jacobins,--his last attempt to stop the progress of that
revolution to which he had given form and dignity during its primal
struggles. "I would not," he wrote, in a letter meant for the eye of the
king,--"I would not have laboured only at a vast destruction." Thus
pledged by his principles and his promises to the court to prop the
monarchy, his task was becoming one that demanded more force than, even
giant as he was, he possessed. The shades of death cover the
probabilities of the future; but it can scarcely be doubted that he must
have modified his views, animated the king to a more resolute and
popular course, or been swept away in the torrent of blood so soon about
to flow.
For some time, incessant labour and excitement undermined his life. The
ophthalmias, which had first attacked him in his prison, in Vincennes,
were renewed, and he Was often obliged to apply leeches to his eyes
during the intervals of one day's sitting of the assembly. The sense of
disease at work within seemed to him to resemble the effects of poison;
and the medicines he took added to, instead of diminishing, his
conviction that he was perishing. His last and fatal seizure was
accompanied by intense pain and agonising spasms; and the only physician
he admitted, who was his friend, began to lose hope. As soon as his
illness became publicly known, his house was surrounded by an anxious
and mute multitude. In the hour of danger they remembered him as their
leader, their preserver, their hope. The bulletins of his progress were
seized on with avidity. Louis XVI. sent ostensibly twice a day, and much
oftener in secret, to hear how he went on. For a moment, the king and
the people appeared united by a common interest, and had a desire of
currying favour with the revolutionary party animated the monarch, and
induced him to visit the dying man, he had acquired a popularity never
to be forgotten. The demagogues feared that he might have been led to
such an act; but it was out of character with Louis, who clung longer to
the etiquettes than to the reality of royalty.
The last days of Mirabeau were divided between agonising pain and calm
and affectionate conversation with his friends. While he hoped to
recover, he gave up all his thoughts to his cure; and even refused to
receive his friends, that the remedies might have a fairer chance. But,
when he felt the sure approach of death, he was eager to have them
around, and talking with them, holding their hands, and looking
affectionately on them, found deep enjoyment in the consciousness of
their sympathy and love. Already he spoke of himself as dead--with great
reluctance he allowed another medical man to be called in, whose
remedies proving ineffectual, Mirabeau said, "You are a great physician,
but there is one greater than you; he who created the wind that destroys
all--the water that penetrates and produces all--the fire that vivifies
or decomposes all." He heard with emotion of the demonstrations of
affection made by the people. His last hours were marked by mingled
philosophy and gaiety: he called his friends about him, and discoursed
of himself and public affairs, with a view to futurity after he was
gone; he made his will--the legacies of which the count de Lamark, who
had been his means of communication with the court, promised should be
paid. The visit of his enemy, Barnave, who came in the name of the
jacobins to inquire concerning him, afforded him pleasure. He gave M. de
Talleyrand a discourse he had prepared for the tribune; and, speaking of
Pitt, he said "he is a minister of preparations, and governs by threats:
I should have given him some trouble had I lived." He felt the approach
of his last hour. "I shall die to-day, my friend," he said, to Cabanis;
"no more remains than to crown one's self with flowers, and surround
one's self with music, so to pass peacefully into eternal sleep."
Hearing the report of cannon, fired for some ceremony, he exclaimed,
"Hark! the funeral rites of Achilles are begun!" As he lost his speech,
he yet smiled softly and serenely on his friends. The spasms returned
with renewed violence. Unable to speak, he wrote, asking, that opium
might be given him to appease them; but, before he could take it, he was
no more. His death took place on the 20th of April, 1791, at the age of
forty-two. The news quickly spread through the court, the town, the
assembly. Every party had placed their hopes in him, and he was mourned
by all except such as might envy his fame. On hearing the fatal
intelligence, the assembly interrupted its sitting; a general mourning
was ordered, and a public funeral.
He was buried in the Pantheon (formerly church of Sainte Geneviève),
which had been dedicated "Aux grands hommes la patrie reconnoissante;"
and Mirabeau was the first buried there. His funeral took place on the
morrow of his death. The ministers and magistrates, the assembly, the
army, the municipalities, in short, the members of every public
institution, accompanied the procession. He was more numerously and
honourably attended, and he was more sincerely mourned, than kings and
princes had been, or than any other great man of his own times. During
the reign of terror his remains were torn from the tomb, and scattered
to the winds, as those of a traitor to the nation.
The peculiarity of Mirabeau, as we before remarked, was the union of
great genius with impetuous passions. The last, manifesting themselves
in boyhood, in a family which, while the members were remarkable for
vehemence in themselves, exacted the most entire filial obedience from
their offspring, caused him to be opposed, persecuted, and oppressed.
Seventeen _lettres de cachet_ had been issued against him, while he felt
that his crimes were rather errors in which the public or the state had
no concern. Shut up in a narrow fortress or narrower cell, his hatred of
tyranny was strongly excited, and he sought in his writings to express
it; and, when the occasion offered, he combated it with impetuous
eloquence and determined resistance. At that time, aware how much his
influence was lessened by the errors of his youth, he had been known,
when he felt his progress checked by the disrepute in which his private
character was held, to weep, and to exclaim, "I cruelly expiate the
errors of my youth!"
With all his errors he was a warm and kind-hearted man, and gifted with
undaunted courage. During his political career, his enemies were
perpetually endeavouring to embroil him in duels, which he avoided
without the most distant suspicion of cowardice being attached to him.
He was a man of wit, and many of his sayings are recorded. They are
often bitter epigrams on his enemies, and inspired by hatred rather than
truth. He called the virtuous La Fayette Grandison-Cromwell; and said of
him that he had _bien sauté pour reculer_, as his latter conduct did
not come up to his first entrance on life when he went to America. He
was the implacable enemy of Necker, who, he says, was "a clock always
too slow." While speaking in the national assembly, he pointed to a
picture, emblemising Time, with his scythe and his hour-glass always
full, exclaiming, "We have taken his scythe, but we have forgotten his
time-piece." Of the national assembly he said, "It has Hannibals in
plenty, and needs a Fabius." It was the fashion to call
Clermont-Tonnerre the Pitt of France: "As you please," said Mirabeau;
"but how would Pitt like to be called the Clermont-Tonnerre of England?"
His faculty of wit rose sometimes into grandeur. When he spoke of the
convulsions that would ensue on the entire overthrow of the monarchy, he
cried, "You will have assassinations and massacres; but you will never
rise to the execrable height of a civil war." Talleyrand said that he
dramatised his death. It is a strange moment for vanity to become
paramount; and the chief trait of his death-bed was his gentleness and
serenity, and the affection he showed to his friends. Politics occupied
him at times; and he said to those about him, "Après ma mort, les
factieux se partageront les lambeaux de la monarchie."
The great quality of his mind was the power of seizing on any word or
idea presented to him, and reproducing it at the right moment, with such
vigour and fire as made it omnipotent. It was the eagle eye that enabled
him on the instant to discern the right path, or the commanding idea,
and to express it with force and majesty. With a lion heart, untiring
perseverance, and the strength of a giant, he swept away opposition,
inspired confidence, and fixed his standard far within the ranks of the
enemy, where none dared touch it.
So well could he adapt his very ugliness, his flashing eyes, abundant
hair, and marks of physical power, to the sentiments which he expressed,
that an actor on hearing him speak in the tribune exclaimed, "Ah! what a
pity he was born a gentleman; he has missed his vocation!" He was
greater as an orator than a leader. But each day he lived he advanced in
the science of party strife. At the last, when he contemplated an
organised opposition to the jacobins, he became expert; but it may be
believed that he would have found an insuperable obstacle to success in
the passions of the people.
In early life his misfortunes arose from not having embarked in a
fitting career. As a military man, a century before, as a marshal under
Louis XIV., he had replaced Turenne; a few years later, he might have
emulated Napoleon. As it was, had he been allowed to seek active service
in the army, his turbulence had found vent in the midst of hardship and
danger--a general would have been given to his country. Another school
was needed to form the leader of the revolution: the exasperation
engendered by tyranny, the resolution born in the solitude of a dungeon,
the ambition nurtured by contempt of inferior men--all that had quelled
a feebler man--gave force and direction to his passions, perception and
enthusiasm to his genius, and made that Mirabeau, whom his countrymen
regard as one of the greatest of their leaders, and whose name is a
light that burns inextinguishably amidst the glory that illustrated the
commencement of the French revolution.
[Footnote 10: These extracts form the best part of the "Memoirs of
Mirabeau," by M. Lucas Montigny, his adopted, or, rather, his natural
son,--a work of zeal and labour, but undigested, diffuse, and
ill-judged. Had the author published a selection from these letters,
which were placed in his hands by the family, we should have an
invaluable work. As it is, we are often as much tantalised by what is
omitted, as edified by what is given, of the correspondence. When the
extracts from it cease, the pages of the memoirs lose all their charm
and value: they degenerate into little else than extracts from
newspapers, and vapid discussions by the author.]
[Footnote 11: The subsequent history of this hapless victim of a
depraved state of society which set the seal of guilt on her attachment,
may be briefly stated. After the birth of her child, Sophie was taken
from the asylum in which she was first placed, and confined in the
convent of Saintes-Claires, at Gien. By degrees many indulgences were
allowed her, and she received visits. Mirabeau became jealous, and
angrily expressed his jealousy, both in letters, and in a single
interview which they had after his liberation from Vincennes. Had
Mirabeau come to this interview with a candid mind and a constant heart,
he had at once have acknowledged Sophie's innocence. But his attachment
had waned, and he was intent on completing his reconciliation with his
father, and contriving one with his wife. He played the part of the wolf
with the lamb in the fable; and, to the utter destruction of the nobler
portion of his nature, the ties of love and affection, the knitting of
which had occasioned misery and ruin to both, were broken for ever. Soon
after, the death of her husband restored Sophie to her liberty, but she
chose to continue to reside within the precincts of the convent, though
she used her liberty to make visits and excursions. She was greatly
loved by all who knew her. Her sweetness and gentleness attached many
friends: her charity and kind sympathy caused her to be beloved by the
poor, by whom her memory was long gratefully preserved. She formed a
second attachment for a gentleman to whom she was about to be married,
but his death prevented their union. Sophie resolved not to survive him.
Immediately on receiving his last sigh, she prepared to die. She shut
herself up with two braziers of burning charcoal; and was found on the
morrow dead. She died on the 8th September, 1789, in the 37th year of
her age.]
[Footnote 12: The subsequent life of Madame de Mirabeau was singular.
For some years she continued under her father's guidance, and, at his
wish, to live a life of pleasure; theatricals and every sort of
dissipation being the order of the day. A reconciliation was set on
foot, and had nearly been accomplished between her and her husband at
the period of his death. She emigrated with her father during the
revolution, and suffered a good deal of poverty. She subsequently
married a count de Rocca, and visited Paris, to endeavour to recover
some portion of her property. Her husband died soon after, and she
resumed the name of Mirabeau, of which she became proud, reviving the
recollections of past times, surrounding herself with every object that
could remind her of the husband of her youth. She lived in intimacy with
his sister, madame du Saillant, and extended her kindness to the young
man whom Mirabeau had adopted. Though frivolous, she had never been ill
conducted, and her faults, being those of timidity, are chiefly to be
attributed to her father, who, loving ease and pleasure, and glad to
have his daughter with him, prevented her by every means in his power
from fulfilling her duties towards her husband. She passed her last
years in the hotel de Mirabeau, and died in the year 1800, in the same
room where her husband had expired.]
[Footnote 13: There is a fragment preserved of Mirabeau, remarkable for
its know, ledge of human motives, which shows the stress he laid on a
resolute line of conduct. It deserves to be quoted:--
"If I wrote a book on the military art, the chapter on enthusiasm should
not be the shortest. If I wrote a treatise on politics, I would treat
largely of the _art of daring_, which is not less necessary for the
success of civil enterprises than of military operations; and also to
try the strength of the man who leads; for it is the further or nearer
boundary-line of the possible that marks the difference of men.
"In reading history, I find that almost all the faults committed by the
chiefs, of whatever party, arise from indecision in their principles,
and obliquity of conduct. They revolt by halves; they are faithful by
halves: they dare not entirely cast aside duty, nor entirely sacrifice
their passions. The first steps, which ought to be full of confidence,
are vacillating and ill-assumed: they arrange a retreat, and take
several roads to reach the goal. Artifices, that favourite resource of
ordinary politicians, are the effect of this timidity of the
understanding or the heart. They negotiate to disguise themselves, to
attract partisans, while they ought to walk straight to the object in
view by the shortest line. What is the invariable result? He who wishes
to deceive is deceived; they have failed in seizing the decisive moment,
and have persuaded no one. As much as extremes are unwise in the course
of daily life, so much are half measures insufficient in critical
events; and the most dangerous, as well as the most inconsistent
conduct, is to get half rid of prejudices. But there are nearly as few
resolute bad men as decided honest ones; and most men want character."]
[Footnote 14: The compiler of the memoirs and correspondence of La
Fayette makes no doubt that Mirabeau belonged to the Orleanist faction
till after the 6th of October, when he began to treat with the court.
This was evidently La Fayette's own conviction, apparently founded on
the evidence laid before the assembly, August 7th, 1790, which Mirabeau
refuted, as mentioned in the text.]
[Footnote 15: Copy of a treaty with M. de Mirabeau.--"First, The king
gives M. de Mirabeau the promise of an embassy: this promise shall be
announced by Monsieur himself to M. de Mirabeau. Second, The king will
immediately, until that promise be fulfilled, grant a private
appointment to M. de Mirabeau of 50,000 livres a month, which
appointment will continue at least for the space of four months. M. de
Mirabeau pledges himself to aid the king with his knowledge, influence,
and eloquence, in all that he may judge useful to the welfare of the
state and the interest of the king--two things that all good citizens
undoubtedly look upon as inseparable; and, in case M. de Mirabeau should
not be convinced of the solidity of the reasons that may be given him,
he will abstain from speaking on the subject.
(Approved) LOUIS.
(Signed) LE COMTE DE MIRABEAU."
"_Note._--The original of this article is in the handwriting of
Monsieur, at present Louis XVIII."
This paper is published in vol. II. appendix, no. V. of the memoirs of
Lafayette. It was found in the iron closet, discovered in the Tuileries
on the 10th of August, 1792, containing secret papers. In the same
receptacle is an autograph letter from Louis XVI. to La Fayette, begging
him to concert with Mirabeau respecting the subjects most important to
the welfare of the state and the king's service and person. This letter
La Fayette suspects to have been dictated by Mirabeau himself, and was
never received by him. It is dated June 29th, 1790. The treaty first
quoted is printed without a date. This alliance of the court with
Mirabeau was first brought about by Monsieur, the king's eldest brother.
Afterwards, it would seem that some other was entered into, negotiated
by the count de la Mark, afterwards prince d'Aremberg, which was
mentioned to Bouille, Feb. 6th, 1791. The prince d'Aremberg lived in
Brussels till 1833, and said to La Fayette, that Mirabeau only made
himself be paid to be of his own opinion; yet the stipulation of
silence, when not convinced by the court, in the above treaty, looks
like a still more entire sale of his influence.]
MADAME ROLAND
1754-1793.
Madame Roland, strictly speaking, can scarcely be classed among persons
of literary reputation. Her fame rests even on higher and nobler grounds
than that of those who toil with the brain for the instruction of their
fellow creatures. She acted. What she wrote is more the emanation of the
active principle, which, pent in a prison, betook itself to the only
implement, the pen, left to wield, than an exertion of the reflective
portion of the mind. The composition of her memoirs was the last deed of
her life, save the leaving it--and it was a noble one--disclosing the
nature of the soil that gave birth to so much virtue; teaching women how
to be great, without foregoing either the duties or charms of their sex;
and exhibiting to men an example of feminine excellence, from which they
may gather confidence, that if they dedicate themselves to useful and
heroic tasks, they will find helpmates in the other sex to sustain them
in their labours and share their fate.
In giving the life of this admirable woman, we have at once the
advantage and disadvantage of drawing the details of her early years
from her autobiography. We are thus secure from false statements and
meagre conjecture; but our pages must appear cold and vapid, as
containing only an abridgment of details which she recounts with a
glowing pen. Under these circumstances, it is better to refer the reader
to her work for minutia, and to confine ourselves to results; and
instead of lingering over a dry statement of facts, to seek for the
formation of character, and to give a rapid view of the causes of her
greatness; and to find what was the position and education of a woman
who, in a country usually noted for frivolity and display, exhibited
simplicity joined to elevation of character and strength of mind, of
which few examples can be found in the history of the world.
Manon Phlipon was of bourgeoise, and even humble, though respectable
birth. Her father was an engraver; he had a slight knowledge of the fine
arts, and wished to become an enamel painter: he failed in this as well
as in an after attempt to enrich himself by trading in jewels, which
brought on his ruin. During the early years of his daughter he was well
to do, and employed several workmen under him. His wife was refined in
character, and might have hoped for a partner of a more delicate and
enlightened mind; but her sense of duty and sweetness of temper
reconciled her to her lot. Manon was the second of seven children, but
the only one who survived infancy. She was put out to be nursed by a
peasant in the country, as was the practice in those days, and returned
home when two years old, to pass the remainder of her girlhood beneath
the parental roof, under the care of her gentle and excellent mother,
who found it an easy task to regulate the disposition of one whose
earliest characteristic was sensibility. "While I remained in my
peaceful home," she writes of herself, "my natural sensibility so
engrossed every quality, that no other displayed itself--my first desire
was to please and to do good." Naturally serious and fond of occupation,
she loved reading from infancy; books and flowers were her earliest
passion; and as she records this in her prison, torn from all she loved,
expecting the death to which those about her were being led by turns,
"still," she says, "I can forget the injustice of men and my sufferings
among books and flowers."
Every sort of master was given her by her fond parents, and she applied
herself with an ardour and a delight that led her instructors to prolong
her lessons, and to take deep interest in teaching her. Her father, who
had no idea of education except by reprimand and punishment, was soon
led to cease to interfere in the guidance of her conduct; he caressed
her, taught her to paint, and showed her every kindness; while the
cultivation of her mind and heart was left to her mother, who found it
easy to lead her by appeals to her reason or her feelings. Passionately
fond of reading, she seized on hooks wherever she could find them: there
were not many in her father's house, but Plutarch fell into her hands at
nine years old, and more delighted her than all the fairy tales she had
ever read; she drank in republicanism even then. Her imagination and her
heart were warmed meanwhile by reading Fénélon and Tasso. As she
remarks, had she had indiscreet companions, this early development of
feeling might have led to an untimely awakening of passion; but under
the shelter of her mother, with her only for a companion, her heart
sympathised with the emotions of others, without any reference to
herself--occupation and innocence protected her.
She lived in all the simplicity that belonged to a tradesman easy in his
means. The bourgeoisie of Paris of those days were a remarkable class.
They detested and despised the debauchery of the noblesse, and the
servility of their parasites; while they held themselves far above the
brutal ignorance and licentiousness of the populace. The women of this
class passed laborious and secluded lives, enlivened only by the
enjoyments their vanity might gather on days of festivals, when they
showed off their fine clothes and pretty faces in the public promenades.
The habits of this class, as madame Roland describes them from
experience, were remarkable for frugality. She accompanied her mother to
market--occasionally she was sent alone, which she thought somewhat
derogatory--but did not complain. There was but one servant, and
sometimes she assisted in the kitchen; at the same time, the fondness of
her mother displayed itself by dressing her elegantly and richly on
Sundays and visiting days. Dancing, in which she excelled, was among her
accomplishments. Her mother was pious: by degrees the sensibility of her
character found a vent for itself in religion. The first time she left
her mother's roof was, at her own request, to prepare herself in a
convent to receive her first communion. During her retreat she formed a
friendship with a young companion. After leaving the convent, their
intercourse continued by letters; and this, she tells us, was the origin
of her love of writing, and caused her, by exercise, to acquire
facility.
After passing a year in the convent, she passed another with her
paternal grandmother, and then she returned to her father's roof. Her
days were chiefly passed in study; her meditative mind speculated on all
she read; her mother permitted her to read every book that fell in her
way, and the self-taught girl preferred philosophical works to every
other; she thus enlarged the sphere of her ideas; formed opinions, and
erected rigid rules of morality as her guide. The severe principles of
Pascal and the writers of the Port-Royal had a great attraction for her
ardent mind; and when she sought in philosophy for principles of equal
self-denial, she endeavoured to adopt the system of the stoics. All that
ennobled the soul and exalted the moral feeling attracted her. She was
dispirited when she turned to the pages of modern French philosophy. The
theories of Helvetius saddened her, till she was relieved by the
consideration that his narrow and derogatory view of human motive and
action was applicable only to the corrupt state of society such as he
found it in France. She believed that she ought to study this author as
a guide in the depraved world of Paris; but she rejected his doctrines
as explanatory of the movements of the human soul in a virtuous simple
state of society; she felt herself superior to the principle of self
which he made the law of our nature; she contrasted it with the heroic
acts of antiquity, and thus she became enthusiastically attached to
those republics in which virtue flourished; she became persuaded that
freedom was the parent of heroes; she regretted that her lot had not
been cast among such, and disdained the idea of associating with the
corrupt race of her day. The aspirations after the examples set by the
great, the virtuous, the generous, and the wise, which she thus
nourished, gave a charm to her solitary life; but her studies excited
far other feelings when she was led to remark how little they accorded
with the state of society in France.
Sometimes she was taken to visit certain ladies who claimed to be noble,
and who, looking upon her as an inferior, sent her to dine with their
servants. Once she paid a visit of eight days at Versailles, and
witnessed the routine of a court. How different were the impertinent
pretensions of these silly women, and the paltry pomp of royalty, from
the majesty of the solitary reveries in which she associated with the
heroes and philosophers of old! Her soul rejected distinctions of rank
such as she found them in her own country,--empty in themselves, as far
as regarded real excellence, and degrading to her in her position,--and
she hurried back to take her proper place in creation, not the humble
daughter of an obscure mechanic, but one whose mind was refined by
philosophy, enlarged by knowledge; whose heart beat with generous
impulses, and who already felt her bosom swell with the heroism which
her future actions displayed. "I sighed," she writes, "as I thought of
Athens, where I could have equally admired the fine arts, without being
wounded by the spectacle of despotism; I transported myself in thought
to Greece--I was present at the Olympic games, and I grew angry at
finding myself French. Thus, struck by all of grand which is offered by
the republics of antiquity, I forgot the death of Socrates, the exile of
Aristides, the sentence of Phocion; I did not know that heaven had
reserved it to me to witness errors similar to those of which they were
the victims, and to participate in a similar persecution, after having
professed similar principles."
She regarded the position she held in society with bitterness. Vain of
her accomplishments and knowledge, proud in the consciousness of her
integrity and of the lofty meditations in which she indulged, the
condescension of the petty noblesse towards the daughter of an artisan
made her bosom swell with haughty emotion. She does not disguise that
this feeling caused her to hail the revolution with greater transport.
It is usual to accuse the lowly of envy, so to cast a slur over their
motives when they espouse with enthusiasm the cause of freedom. In all
societies there must be difference of position, arising from the
distribution of property, and no passion is more mean than that which
causes the poor to view with envy the luxuries and ease of the rich. But
the disdain which springs from knowing that others assume superiority
from mere adventitious circumstances--that there is an impassable
barrier, on the outer side of which the ignobly born must remain, vainly
desiring a career in which to distinguish themselves--is a noble
feeling, and is implanted in the human heart as the source of the
highest virtues. Human weakness mingled, probably, some-pettiness in the
pride of the beautiful and studious bourgeoise, but she knew how to rise
above it; and when she sealed her ambition with her blood, she proved
that it was honourable, and that her desire of distinction was founded
on a generous love of the good of her species.
The only child of a prosperous artisan, it was supposed that she was an
heiress: this idea, joined to her personal attractions, elicited
numerous pretensions to her hand, and her indulgent parents conceded to
her the privilege of replying to them. Her sensibility was great, and
she looked on wedded life as the source of every felicity; but this very
notion made her scrupulous in her choice. The young men of the quarter
passed in review before her, and were, one after the other, rejected. A
little hesitation ensued when a physician proposed--she hoped for more
refinement and knowledge in one of the learned professions. In the end,
he also was refused,--her heart continued untouched; she would have been
glad if any one had appeared whom she could have looked upon as worthy
of her; but, as this did not happen, she rejoiced to escape the proposed
shackles, and turned to her peaceful studious home, the affection of her
mother, and the attachment of her friends, with renewed delight. The
account she gives of the many proposals she received, and the way in
which they were finally dismissed, is one of the most amusing portions
of her book, and affords a pleasant and vivid picture of the French
system with regard to marriages.
Her mother's health became enfeebled, and this excellent parent regarded
her daughter's future prospects with anxiety. Phlipon had become
careless in his business; his customers deserted him, his speculations
failed; he grew fond of pleasure, and habits of industry were thrown
aside. His wife was aware of the advances of poverty, and of the slight
confidence she could place in her husband; she reasoned with her
daughter, and tried to persuade her to accept the offer of a young
jeweller, who had youth and good habits to recommend him; but Manon
shrunk from uniting herself with one whom she could not regard as the
sharer of her studies nor the guide of her conduct.
Her mother died suddenly of paralysis. Madame Roland gives a vivid
picture of the affliction she felt on this event, which conducted her to
the brink of the grave. It was long before she could be roused from the
intense grief that overwhelmed both mind and body. She became incapable
of application, and struggled in vain to cast off the melancholy that
made her a burden to herself and others. By degrees, her regrets grew
less passionate and more tender. At this moment a friend, abbé Legrand,
put the "Nouvelle Heloise" into her hands,--it succeeded in exciting her
attention, and in calling her thoughts from her loss. "I was
twenty-one," she says, "and Rousseau made the same impression on me then
as Plutarch had done when I was eight. Plutarch had disposed me to
republicanism,--he had awakened the energy and pride which are its
characteristics; he inspired me with a true enthusiasm for public virtue
and freedom. Rousseau showed me domestic happiness and the ineffable
felicity I was capable of tasting." From this time, she returned to her
quiet routine of life, her studies, and her habits of observation. "I
was placed," she says, "in solitude, but on the borders of society, and
could remark much without being intruded on." Several men of letters
interested themselves in her, and delighted in her society. Finding that
she was in the habit of writing her remarks, some among them
prognosticated that she would become an author; but she had no
inclination to seek publicity in that manner. "I soon saw," she says,
"that an authoress loses more than she gains. My chief object was my own
happiness, and I never knew the public interfere with that for any one
without spoiling it. There is nothing more delightful than to be
appreciated by those with whom one lives, and nothing so empty as the
admiration of those whom we are never to meet." Other cares, however,
intruded themselves; she saw that her father's fortune was wasting away,
and anticipated ruin for him and poverty for herself. He was young--and
dissipated, and might marry again. Meanwhile, he was never at home, and
interfered in her life only to annoy her, without affording the paternal
protection or domestic society that she needed. She felt that her
situation grew precarious, and the energy of her character determined
her to meet rather than await the evil. She secured to herself a scanty
income of about 25_l_. a year from the wreck of her father's fortune,
and retired on it to a convent. She rented a small room in the
congregation, and established herself in her retreat, determined to
limit her wants to her means. Her plan demanded unflinching resolution,
and this she displayed. Her food was simple, and prepared by herself.
She only went out to visit her relations, and cast a careful eye over
her father's household. The rest of her time was spent in her little
solitary chamber. She gave herself up to study, and fortified her heart
against adversity; determined to deserve the happiness which fate denied
her.
She at this time by no means foresaw the course of life she was destined
to pursue, although she was already acquainted with her future husband.
M. Roland de la Platiere, belonged to a family of Lyons, distinguished
in what the French call the robe; that is, by having filled with credit
legal employments. As the youngest of five sons, he was destined for the
ecclesiastical profession; to avoid which, he left the paternal roof at
the age of nineteen, and, alone and almost penniless, traversed France
to Nantes, with the intention of embarking for India. He was dissuaded
by a stranger to whom he had applied for information with regard to his
projected voyage, who interested himself in his fate, and saw that he
was too weakly in health to encounter the hardships of emigration. He
found employment in the administration of manufactures at Rouen and
Amiens. He possessed great simplicity and integrity of character; he
loved study, and applied himself sedulously to gathering knowledge with
regard to the manufactories of which he had the superintendence. He
wrote several works that treated of such subjects. He was a man
generally esteemed for his sound plain sense; his austere and simple
manners inspired confidence, though he was more respected than loved on
account of a certain coldness of character that repelled. He was known
to Sophie, Mlle. Phlipon's convent friend; he heard her speak of her
correspondent with admiration, and often asked to be allowed to make
acquaintance with her during his yearly visit to Paris. At length,
Sophie gave him an introduction.
[Sidenote: 1775.
Ætat.
23.]
"This letter," she wrote, will be delivered to you by the philosopher I
have often mentioned, M. Roland de la Platiere, an enlightened and
excellent man, who can only be reproached for his great admiration of
the ancients at the expense of the moderns, whom he despises, and his
weakness in liking to talk too much about himself." Mlle. Phlipon liked
him better than this sketch promised. His manners were a little cold and
stiff; he was careless in dress, and no longer youthful either in years
or appearance; but she discerned and appreciated his simplicity and
benevolence of character. He took pleasure in the society of the serious
and reflective recluse, and paid her long though not frequent visits.
His age prevented any idea of impropriety on the score of his being an
admirer, add to which her father, while he ran after pleasure himself,
left his daughter to pursue her way without interference. Roland was
about to make a tour in Italy. He chose his new friend as the depositary
of his manuscripts, and, before he departed, introduced to her his
brother, a benedictine, prior of the college of Clugny at Paris. Through
the intervention of this brother she saw the letters and observations
that Roland sent from Italy. On his return, they continued friends; his
conversation was a great resource to her, while the habit he indulged of
seeing her often, at last rendered her society necessary to him, and
love--slow and chill, but of deep growth--arose in his heart. Five years
after the commencement of their acquaintance he disclosed his
sentiments. She was flattered by the proposal--his good birth during the
old regime was a tangible good, to which she was by no means insensible,
but her pride led her to represent to him that she was a bad match--her
family ignoble, and she herself, instead of being an heiress, ruined
through her father's imprudence. Roland persisted in his address, and
she permitted him to apply to her only surviving parent, which he did by
letter from Amiens. Phlipon did not like his austerity, and was not
pleased by the tone of his letter; thinking only of his own feelings,
and without consulting his daughter, he sent a rejection couched in rude
and even impertinent terms.
His daughter, when informed of what he had done, was a good deal
shocked; for the last few months she had looked on Roland as her future
husband, and attached herself to him. She wrote to him saying, that the
event had justified her fears with regard to her father, and that he had
better abandon his pursuit. At the same time she resolved to render
herself independent--that if Roland persisted, he should not again be
annoyed. It was on this occasion that she retired to a convent, and
bound herself to subsist on the scanty income which was all that she
possessed. At first Roland wrote to complain of her father's treatment,
and though still expressing attachment, appeared to regard the paternal
rejection as putting an end to his hopes. Six months afterwards he
visited Paris; the sight of his friend at the convent grate renewed the
feelings which absence and disappointment had blunted; he pressed his
offer, and sent his brother, the benedictine, to persuade her. I
reflected deeply," she writes, "on what I ought to do. I could not
conceal from myself that a younger man would not have delayed, for
several months, entreating me to change my resolution, and I confess
that this circumstance had deprived my feelings of every illusion. I
considered, on the other hand, that this deliberation was an assurance
that I was appreciated; and that if he had overcome his pride, which
shrunk from the disagreeable circumstances that accompanied his marrying
me, I was the more secure of an esteem I could not fail to preserve. In
short, if marriage was, as I thought, an austere union, an association
in which the woman usually burdens herself with the happiness of two
individuals, it were better that I should exert my abilities and my
courage in so honourable a task, than in the solitude in which I lived."
[Sidenote: 1780.
Ætat.
26.]
With these feelings she married. Of a passionate and ardent disposition,
she devoted herself to a life of self-control; and, resolved to find her
happiness in the fulfilment of her duty, she delivered herself up with
enthusiasm and without reserve to the task she undertook. She was her
husband's friend, companion, amanuensis; fearful of the temptations of
the world, she gave herself up to labour; she soon became absolutely
necessary to him at every moment, and in all the incidents of his life;
her servitude was thus sealed; now and then it caused a sigh; but the
holy sense of duty reconciled her to every inconvenience.
She visited Switzerland and England. In this country her husband's
connection with the scientific world led her to the society she best
liked. They then took up their abode at the family residence of Clos la
Platière near Lyons, with her husband's mother and elder brother.
Madame Roland had one child, a little girl;--to educate her; to render
her husband happy; to spread the charm of peace and love around, and in
the midst of this to cultivate in her own pure mind the most elevated as
well as the gentle virtues; to be useful to their peasantry, and
mitigate as well as she could the many hardships to which the poor in
France were exposed;--this was the scope of her life, and the entire
prospect spread out before her. Her husband had so little expectation of
change, that he endeavoured to get his right to letters of nobility
acknowledged, as, madame Roland observes, "who would not have done the
same in those days?" The time was apparently far off when it could be of
general good to reject the privileges of class; and these privileges
were so great that the sphere of usefulness was considerably extended to
any one who possessed them. Failing in this attempt, the republican pair
sometimes deliberated emigrating to America, that they might there enjoy
equal institutions, and the sight of public happiness and prosperity.
The age of M. Roland was an insurmountable obstacle, however, to this
plan.
Her letters, during this period, afford a picture of her mind; showing
her love of duty and of study; her enjoyment of the beauties of nature,
and, above all, the warm affectionateness of her disposition, which made
her supremely happy in the happiness of others, and caused her to share,
with tender sympathy, all the joys or sorrows of those she loved. Her
husband's relations were disagreeable, but she bore the interference
that prevented her living exactly in the manner she preferred with an
unruffled temper.
[Sidenote: 1786.
Ætat.
32.]
She tolerated every fault in others, and secluded herself to secure her
liberty: she never repines. "Seated in my chimney corner," she writes to
M. Bose, "at eleven before noon, after a peaceful night and my morning
tasks--my husband at his desk, and my little girl knitting--I am
conversing with the former, and overlooking the work of the latter;
enjoying the happiness of being warmly sheltered in the bosom of my dear
little family, and writing to a friend, while the snow is falling on so
many poor wretches overwhelmed by sorrow and penury. I grieve over their
fate, I repose on my own, and make no account of those family annoyances
which appeared formerly to tarnish my felicity.--I am delighted at being
restored to my accustomed way of existence." This country life was
alternated by visits to Lyons, where Roland had employment, where she
mingled in society; but the provincial tone that reigned was little
consonant with her taste.
The revolution came in the midst of this peaceful existence, to give new
life and expression to opinions which she had hitherto considered as
merely theoretical, and for which no scope for practice had been
afforded in the state of society before that epoch. All at once, from
out of ancient wrong and tyranny, from the midst of the great miseries
and intolerable oppressions which her country groaned under, the spirit
of justice, of redress, and of freedom, sprung up. It seemed, at first,
to every strong and honest mind, that France would throw off outworn,
yet still subsisting and oppressive, abuses, and grow wise, virtuous,
and happy, under the fosterage of liberty and equality.
How gladly her soul hailed these hopes! Soon she found that they were
accompanied by fears, and that the popular party grew insolent and
despotic in prosperity. "Is the question to be whether we have one
tyrant or a hundred," she writes, and she became eager to ally herself
to the liberal, but constitutional, party, by which freedom would be
secured, without anarchy or public convulsion.
[Sidenote: 1789.
Ætat.
35.]
Almost immediately on the breaking out of the revolution, her husband
was elected into the municipality of Lyons. His integrity and firmness,
and his attachment to the popular party, of course excited many enemies;
but he was immovable in his course, and denounced all the abuses which
had multiplied in the administration of the finances of the city. It was
discovered that Lyons had 40,000,000 of livres of debt; the
manufactories, meanwhile, were suffering, during a period of popular
ferment, and 20,000 workmen were thrown out of employ. It was necessary
to represent these things to the national assembly, and to ask for aid.
Roland was charged with this mission.
[Sidenote: 1791.
Ætat.
37.]
Madame Roland had not visited Paris for five years. She was familiar
with the names of the heads of the various parties, and a commerce of
letters and civilities had had place between her husband and Brissot,
chief of the girondists. He visited them, and her house became the
rendezvous of his party. Her talents, beauty, and enthusiasm, produced
an effect of which she was scarcely aware herself, and which the party
itself rather felt than acknowledged. "Roland," writes Thiers, in his
"History of the French Revolution," "was known for his clever writings
on manufactures and mechanics. This man, of austere life, inflexible
principles, and cold repulsive manners, yielded, without being aware, to
the superior ascendancy of his wife. Madame Roland was young and
beautiful. Nourished in seclusion by philosophical and republican
sentiments, she had conceived ideas superior to her sex, and had erected
a strict religion from the then reigning opinions. Living in intimate
friendship with her husband, she wrote for him, communicated her
vivacity and ardour, not only to him but to all the girondists, who,
enthusiastic in the cause of liberty and philosophy, adored beauty, and
talent, and their own opinions, in her." She, meanwhile, did all she
could to render her influence covert. She might converse with energy and
freedom with the different members of the party during their chance
visits; but when they assembled in her house to discuss present
proceedings and future prospects, she was present, but maintained
silence. Apart from the deliberators, occupied by needlework, or writing
letters, she listened, nor interfered till, the conference breaking up,
she could in privacy, and without ostentation, express her sentiments to
them individually. This reserve caused all her friends to speak of her
with respect, and yet to discuss their opinions eagerly with her. She
had the fault, in which those who are wedded to opinions are apt to
indulge, of preferring the men who agreed with her, who hated royalty
and courts, and aimed at equality and republicanism, to those of
superior endowments and virtues, but who differed from her. Discontented
at the same time with the talents of the former, she found most of the
men thus collected about her far below the estimate she had formed at a
distance: they talked at random; they had no fixed plan; theoretical
rather than practical, they could make paper constitutions, but knew
little how to deal with their fellow men during the clash of interests,
and the tempest of revolutionary passions. She had none of the vanity
that seeks to shine in conversation, and grew impatient when witty
sallies and argumentative discussions, instead of serious resolves and
heroic acts, occupied her friends.
Roland's mission retained them at Paris for seven months. They were
months crowded with events pregnant with the fate of France. Madame
Roland, in her letters to her friend, Henri Brancal, then in London,
paints the various events, and the sentiments they inspired. She was a
warm partisan of liberty and equality, and mourned over the lukewarmness
of the national assembly on these great questions; or, rather, the
number of the moderate party who wished to assimilate the government of
France to the English constitution. To prevent the extension of these
views, the jacobins agitated and excited the people. Madame Roland at
first approved their measures: she saw no safety for the newly acquired
freedom of her country, except in the enthusiasm by which it was
defended by the many. She had to learn, through tragical experience, how
much more difficult it is to restrain than to excite the French. Her
letters breathe impatience and disapprobation with regard to the actual
state of things. "Represent to yourself," she writes, "a number of good
citizens carrying on a perpetual, active, painful, and often fruitless
struggle with the mass of the ambitious, the discontented, and the
ignorant." The flight of the king filled her with alarm, mingled with
enthusiasm, as she saw danger approach herself and her friends; danger
to proceed from the triumph of despotism--she could not then imagine
that any would arise from freedom. "While we were at peace," she writes,
"I kept in the back ground, and exercised only the sort of influence
suited to my sex; but, when the departure of the king declared war, it
appeared to me that every one ought to devote himself without reserve. I
caused myself to be received in fraternal associations, persuaded that
the zeal and intelligence of any member of society must be useful in
critical moments." The arrest and return of the king and his family
kindled a thousand hopes. "It would be a folly, an absurdity, almost a
horror," she writes, "to replace the king on the throne. To bring Louis
XVI. to trial would doubtless be the greatest and most just of measures;
but we are incapable of adopting it." Little did she anticipate the
progress of events.
Meanwhile the project of her party was to suspend the king from
exercising the royal functions. It must be remembered that we, from a
distance, judge Louis from facts, as history records them: then, when
events were passing, no one could fairly judge the other; and while the
French expected invasion, and saw in the flight of their king the
infraction of the oath he had taken to maintain the constitution, those
attached to it regarded him as a traitor. Madame Roland sided with those
who regarded his dethronement as the safety of France, and the erection
of a republic as the promise of its welfare. She thought that both were
imminent. "I have seen," she writes, "the flame of liberty lit up in my
country; it cannot be quenched, and late events have served as fuel;
knowledge and reason are united to instinct to maintain and augment it;
it must devour the last remains of despotism, and subvert thrones. I
shall die when nature pleases, and my last sigh will be a breathing of
joy and hope for the generations to come." The tumults, however, that
succeeded seemed to crush these hopes. Brissot fell into disrepute:
there was an endeavour to crush the republican party, which, in the
moment of danger, had been willing to ally itself to the most violent
jacobins. In the midst of this agitation and tumult the mission of
Roland came to a close, and he prepared to leave Paris. The elections
were about to commence, and he was candidate for Lyons, but was not
elected. The autumn, therefore, was spent in the country. Madame Roland
was evidently dispirited by the obscurity of her life and absence from
the scene of action. "I see with regret," she writes, "that my husband
is cast back on silence and obscurity. He is habituated to public life:
it is more necessary to him than he is himself aware; his energy and
activity injure his health when not exercised according to his
inclinations: in addition, I had hoped for great advantages for my child
in a residence at Paris. Occupied there by her education, I should have
excited and developed some sort of talent. The recluse life I must lead
here makes me tremble for her. From the moment that my husband has no
occupation but his desk, I must remain near to amuse him, and diversify
his daily labours, according to a duty and a habit which may not be
eluded. This existence is in exact contradiction to that suitable to a
child of ten years of age. My heart is saddened by this opposition of
duties, already too deeply felt. I find myself fallen into the nullity
of a provincial life, where no exterior circumstances supply that which
I cannot do myself, and a dark veil falls over the future. If I believed
that my husband were satisfied, it would be otherwise; hope would
embellish the prospect. However, our destiny is fixed, and I must try to
render it as happy as I can."
The discontent of madame Roland was natural to her ardent disposition.
She desired to be great, not for the sake of riches, or even power; but
to have scope afforded her to exercise those virtues which, nourished in
solitude, and excited by important events, inflamed her heart to
enthusiasm. She wished to be great as her favourites in Plutarch were
great: she did not look forward to actual peril, but to a life of
activity and usefulness on a grand scale, and to be numbered among those
whose names were to be recorded in future history as the parents of the
liberty of her country.
[Sidenote: 1792.
Ætat.
38.]
In the December of the same year they returned to Paris, and in the
following March, a new ministry being formed from the girondist party,
Roland was named minister for the interior. It was a post of honour, but
heavily burdened with responsibility. Dumouriez, then fluctuating,
attracted by a court that flattered, yet desirous of conciliating his
own party, was minister for foreign affairs. At first Roland felt
assured of the good dispositions of the king towards the new state of
things. "I could not believe," writes his wife, "in the constitutional
vocation of a monarch born under a despotism, brought up for it, and
accustomed to exercise it; and I never saw my husband leave me to attend
council, full of reliance on the good intentions of the king, but I
exclaimed, in my heart, 'What new folly will now be committed!'" She
goes on pleasantly to relate the surprise excited at court, when Roland
appeared in his quaker-like costume, his round hat, and his shoes tied
with riband. The master of the ceremonies pointed him out to Dumouriez,
with an angry and agitated mien, exclaiming--"Ah! sir,--no buckles to
his shoes!" "Ah! sir," replied Dumouriez, with mock solemnity, "all is
lost!"
We have no space for the details of Roland's ministry, nor the events
then passing. The king had undertaken the difficult game of satisfying
his enemies by slight concessions and apparent good humour; but he
refused to sanction a severe decree against the clergy, which their
inveterate opposition to the party in power rendered necessary in the
eyes of the lovers of liberty; and another to establish a camp of 20,000
volunteers to protect the assembly and the capital, during a grand
federative assembly to be held during the summer. It was projected to
address a letter to the king, on this refusal, in the name of all the
ministers: but they declined presenting it. Madame Roland insisted that
her husband should singly remonstrate with the monarch, and he resolved
on so doing. She wrote the letter. It was one calculated to irritate
rather than to persuade Louis; but she liked bold measures, and Roland,
once persuaded, was obstinate. The girondists wished, in fact, to bring
the king to an explanation, and preferred a rupture to uncertainty. Some
obstacles arising to Roland's reading his letter to the king, he sent it
to him; but this was not enough; and he took a speedy occasion to read
it aloud in full council, and to force the king to hear the rebukes and
remonstrances it contained. Louis listened with admirable patience, and,
on retiring, said he would make known his intentions. On the following
day, Roland and two of his more zealous colleagues were dismissed, while
Dumouriez took on himself to reform the ministry.
It was certainly a bold, and, if not beneficial, a presumptuous act in a
woman thus to put herself forward during these political agitations.
Madame Roland hated monarchical institutions, and her desire to subvert
them in her own country partook of the vehemence with which women too
usually follow up their ideas. She had always been accustomed to copy
and arrange her husband's writings. At first she did this servilely: by
degrees she emancipated herself from the task of being a mere copyist.
The pair were agreed in views, opinions, and plans of action. There was
a driness and hardness in Roland's writings that did not please her more
demonstrative nature. When he became minister, they conferred together
as to the spirit of any proposed writing, and then she, who could better
command leisure, took up the pen. "I could not express any thing," she
writes, "that regarded reason or justice, which he was not capable of
realising or maintaining by his character and conduct; while I expressed
better than he could whatever he had done or promised to do. Without my
intervention Roland had been an equally good agent: his activity and
knowledge, as well as his probity, were all his own; but he produced a
greater sensation through me, since I put into his writings that mixture
of energy and gentleness, of authority and persuasion, which is peculiar
to a woman of a warm heart and a clear head. I wrote with delight such
pieces as I thought would be useful, and I took greater pleasure in them
than I should have done had I been their acknowledged author."
Of the letter itself, we may say that it is eloquent, but very ill
judged, if it was meant to conciliate the king; but it was not. It was
written in a spirit of contempt for Louis's conduct; of menace, if he
did not pass the decrees; and of sturdy independence and republicanism
as far as regarded the minister himself. It naturally alienated the
monarch; but Roland and his wife were too enthusiastically attached to
the cause of liberty and equality, not to glory in expressing their
sentiments openly and boldly at the foot of the throne, even at the
expense of loss of office. On this event they secluded themselves in
private life, living in an obscure and modest abode in Rue St. Jaques.
They mingled in no intrigues, while they deplored the misfortunes of
their country, being persuaded that the king and his friends were about
to call in foreign troops to destroy its new-born liberty.
After the events of the 10th of August, Roland was recalled to the
ministry. He and his wife, both hating monarchy, could not understand
why the ruins of it in France should not at once be cast aside, and a
republic erected on the vacant space. Hitherto they had feared
monarchical reaction; add to which many of the tumults in the preceding
months had been fomented by the court party under the idea that popular
outrage would cause a return to loyal feeling among the moderate party.
The fear of the success of the court had made them, together with
Barbaroux and Servan, consult how far it would be possible to found a
republic in the south of France, if monarchy triumphed in the north.
There was no fear of this now: Louis XVI. was dethroned and imprisoned;
and the lovers of their country witnessed a more frightful scene than
any that had yet stained its annals, when the more violent jacobins, who
went by the name of the Mountain, excited the people to fury, so to
maintain their own power. Marat, Robespierre, and Danton were beginning
their reign of terror.
At the beginning of September, during the massacres in the prisons,
madame Roland wrote to Brancal, "We are under the knife of Robespierre
and Marat, These men agitate the people, and endeavour to turn them
against the national assembly and the council: they have a little army,
which they pay with money stolen from the Tuileries, or which is given
them by Danton, who, underhand, is the chief. Would you believe that
they meditated the arrest of Brissot and Roland? Had the arrest been
executed, these two excellent citizens had been taken to the abbey and
massacred with the rest. We are not yet secure; and, if the departments
do not send a guard for the assembly and the council, both will be
lost." Again she wrote, "My friend, Danton leads all; Robespierre is his
puppet; Marat holds his torch and dagger: this ferocious tribune reigns,
and we are his slaves until the moment when we shall become his victims.
If you only knew the frightful details of what is going on. You are
aware of my enthusiasm for the revolution; well, I am ashamed of it: it
is deformed by monsters, and become hideous. "What may happen within a
week? it is degrading to remain, but we are not allowed to quit Paris:
they shut us in to murder us when occasion serves." From this moment
madame Roland struggled unflinchingly to overthrow the power of the
jacobins. Her ill success conducted her to the scaffold.
The moderation and opposition of the girondists rendered them hateful to
the mountain, and every endeavour was made to excite the Parisians
against them. They cast on Roland the stigma of being governed by his
wife. When it was proposed in the national assembly to invite him to
resume the ministry, Garat said, "We had better invite madame; she is
the real minister." They accused her of using every feminine art to
secure partisans. These were the mere calumnies of the day, powerful for
her ruin, but not tarnishing her after-glory. Every impartial pen
describes her as carrying her simplicity and grace into her political
enthusiasm, and charming even those whom she did not convince.
Le Montey writes of her--"I met madame Roland several times in former
days: her eyes, her figure, and hair were of remarkable beauty; her
delicate complexion had a freshness and colour which, joined to her
reserved yet ingenuous appearance, imparted a singular air of youth. She
spoke, too, well, yet there was no affectation in what she said; it was
merely nature carried to a great degree of perfection. Wit, good sense,
propriety of expression, keen reasoning, naïve grace, all flowed
without effort from her roseate lips. I saw madame Roland once again at
the commencement of her husband's first ministry. She had lost nothing
of her air of freshness, youth, and simplicity: her husband resembled a
quaker, and she looked like his daughter. Her child flitted about her
with ringlets reaching to her waist. Madame Roland spoke of public
affairs only, and I perceived that my moderation inspired pity. Her mind
was highly excited, but her heart remained gentle and inoffensive.
Although the monarchy was not yet overthrown, she did not conceal that
symptoms of anarchy began to appear, and she declared herself ready to
resist them to the death. I remember the calm and resolute tone in which
she declared that she was ready, if need were, to place her head on the
block. I confess that the image of that charming head delivered over to
the axe of the executioner made an ineffaceable impression--for party
excesses had not yet accustomed us to such frightful ideas. Thus, in the
sequel, the prodigious firmness of madame Roland and her heroic death
did not surprise me. All was in harmony, nor was there any affectation
in this celebrated woman: she had not only the strongest but the truest
mind of our revolution."
Dumont writes of her--"Madame Roland had every personal attraction,
joined to excellence of character and understanding. I saw many
assemblies of ministers, and the principal girondists, held at her
house. A woman seemed somewhat out of place among them; but she did not
mingle in the discussions: she usually sat at her desk, writing letters,
and appeared to be occupied by other things, while she did not lose a
word. Her modest style of dress did not lessen her attractions, and,
though her occupations were those of a man, she was really adorned by
all the grace and exterior accomplishments of her sex. I reproach myself
now that I did not perceive then the full extent of her merit; but I was
rather prejudiced against female politicians; and I found in her a too
great tendency to mistrust, which springs from want of knowledge of the
world."
The influence of earnestness, sincerity, and clear views were great over
her husband and his party. If she had, from a rooted disapprobation of
royalty, urged him to any extremities with Louis, not less did she abhor
anarchy, and fearlessly incite him to oppose it.
During the frightful massacres of the 2d and 3d of September Roland
displayed an energy and heroism worthy of the woman who was said to be
the soul of his counsels. On the 3d, while terror still reigned, he
wrote to the mayor, Petion, who was in ignorance of the atrocities that
were going on, and to Santerre, who remained in ignominious inaction,
pressing them earnestly to come forward. He addressed a letter also to
the assembly, in which he fearlessly denounced the crimes of the people;
offering his own head as the sacrifice, but calling on the authorities
to suppress the massacres. The assembly applauded the letter; while
Marat and his partisans denounced him as a traitor, and issued an arrest
against him. Danton, whose views were more systematic, intervened, and
prevented an act which at that time had injured the jacobins more than
the party against whom it was directed.
Roland was not awed by the danger he incurred. When, on the 23d of
September, he gave in a report on the state of the capital and of
France, he described the disorders of Paris with energy, and insisted on
their causes, and the means of preventing a recurrence of them. His
character gained with his own party, and still more with posterity, by
this unflinching and persevering struggle with the jacobins; but he was
not seconded by men of sufficient vigour, and, wearied at length by an
anarchy so opposed to his probity and inflexible love of order, he
offered his resignation. The girondists, in reply, proposed that the
assembly should invite him to remain in office, while the mountain, of
whom Danton was the mouthpiece, complained of his feebleness and of his
being governed by his wife. His letter of the 3d of September was cited
as sufficient exculpation from the charge of weakness. The assembly,
without expressing an opinion, passed to the order of the day. The
girondists, and every worthy member, entreated Roland to remain in the
ministry; and he wrote to the assembly--"Since I am calumniated, since I
am threatened by dangers, and since the convention appear to desire it,
I remain. It is too glorious," he continued, alluding to his wife, "that
my alliance with courage and virtue is the only reproach made
against me."
These accusations against madame Roland, and the hatred borne her by the
mountain, were increased by the influence she continued to exercise.
Society, such as the Parisians had once gloried in--assemblies of the
wise, the witty, and the fair--were at an end. The drawing-room of
madame Roland was the only one in which elegance, and sense, and good
breeding reigned. Barbaroux, named, from his beauty, the Antinöus of
France, Louvet, Guadet, and others, met there, and added to the elegance
of the coteries of past times, the serious and deeper spirit of the
present hour. Too soon they were swept away by the torrent of the
revolution.
On the 24th of October Roland again came forward with a report on the
state of the capital, which was written with dignity, but with a strict
adherence to truth: he described with energy, and strongly reprobated,
the crimes committed on the 2d September. He cast the accusation of
sanguinary outrage on a few; but he blamed the many for their culpable
weakness in permitting such crimes. Robespierre rose to answer him; but
his known complicity with the Septembriseurs excited abhorrence and
confusion in the chamber. It was on this occasion when Robespierre,
relying on the terror felt by his enemies, defied them to accuse him,
that Louvet crossed the chamber to the tribune and exclaimed with
energy--"Yes; I accuse you!" The rest of the girondists supported him.
The speech that followed this denunciation was full of energy, daring
truths, and resolute measures. Had they been followed up on the instant,
France had been spared the reign of terror. Robespierre, confused,
overwhelmed, ghastly with terror, could only ask a delay to prepare his
defence. A disinterested but mistaken love of order and justice caused
his adversaries to assent to his request.
Marat had also been attacked by Louvet; Danton was enveloped more
remotely in the accusation; and these men, together with Robespierre,
saw safety only in the extirpation of the girondists. They spared no
pains to calumniate the party, and madame Roland shared in the odium
they cast upon her husband. They were accused of forming a society for
the purpose of corrupting the public mind, and of conspiring to separate
France, founded on the idea already mentioned, of establishing a
republic in the south, if the king should subjugate the north. Vague
charges were magnified into crimes, and punished by death, when the
people were above law, and anarchy prevailed.
[Sidenote: 1793.
Ætat.
39.]
Roland continued to struggle with the mountain party which each day
gained ascendency. The execution of Louis XVI. showed him that these
struggles were vain. He looked on the death of the monarch as a signal
for a course of sanguinary measures which he had no power to avert.
Roland had hitherto resolved to resist the men who steeped their country
in blood and crime; but he was now discouraged, not by the dangers which
he felt gather round himself, but by the impossibility of stemming the
tide of evil, and he sent in his resignation on the 23d of January. The
moderate party in the convention dared not utter a remonstrance, so
completely were they under the domination of the mountain. Roland
published his accounts, which exonerated him from the calumnies cast
upon him, but his enemies refused to sanction them by a report. He made
no other effort, but remained in seclusion, seeing only his intimate
friends, the girondists, and often discussing with them the possibility
of awing the capital through the influence of the southern departments.
Meanwhile the advance of the foreign armies plunged the nation in
terror, and induced it to place yet more entire confidence in the
demagogues who promised victory at the cost of the lives of all the
citizens who opposed them. The struggle between the girondists and
mountain party thus continued for several months, till the latter
completely triumphed, and passed a decree of arrest against twenty-two
of the opposite party. Some among them surrendered, to display their
obedience to the law. Others fled, for the purpose of exciting the
departments to resist the tyrants of the capital.
For some time madame Roland had expected arrest and imprisonment. She
had feared the entry of the mob into her house, and had slept with a
pistol under her pillow, that, if laid hands on by ruffians, she might
deliver herself by death from outrage. Latterly, finding her husband and
herself quite powerless for good, she had made preparations for
returning to the country, whither strong personal motives caused her to
wish to retire; she was delayed by illness, and before she recovered
strength, danger thickened. When the men came, on the 31st of May, to
execute the order of arrest on Roland, she resolved to announce this
circumstance, and his refusal to obey the order, herself, to the
convention. She hurried alone, and veiled, to execute her purpose. Her
entrance was opposed by the sentinels--she persisted, and sent in a
letter she had prepared, for the president, soliciting to be heard. The
disturbance that reigned in the assembly, and want of resolution on the
part of her friends who still sat there, prevented its being read. She
waited some time; penetrated by indignation, by compassion for her
country, while all she loved were exposed to peril, she was far above
personal fear; and earnestly desired to be permitted to speak, feeling
that she should command attention. Failing in her attempt, she returned
home. Roland was absent--he had already taken measures for flight--she
sought and found him, related her ill success, and again returned to the
assembly. It was now ten at night. When she arrived at the Place du
Carrousel, she saw an armed force around; cannon were placed before the
gate of the national palace; the assembly itself was no longer sitting.
She returned home. Roland was safe--she resolved to remain and await the
event, indifferent to her own fate. Since the resignation of Roland she
had lived in great retirement. There is a belief, more a tradition than
an asserted fact, that this noble-hearted woman, whose soul was devoted
to the fulfilment of her duties, to whom life was matter of indifference
compared to her affections and her sense of virtue, had felt for the
first time, now in mature life, the agitations and misery of passion. It
is supposed that Barbaroux, deputy from the commune of Marseilles, was
the object of her attachment,--Barbaroux, who was called. Antinöus from
his beauty: he was full of courage, ardour, and those republican dreams
so dear to madame Roland. In her portraits of various chiefs of the
revolution, she says of him that he was active, laborious, frank, and
brave, with all the vivacity of a Marsellais: full of attachment to
freedom, and proud of the revolution, he was one of those whom an
enlightened party would wish to attach, and who would have enjoyed great
reputation in a republic. She adds that when Roland resigned they saw
more of him: his open character and ardent patriotism inspired them with
confidence. No word she writes shows that he was regarded by her in any
light except that of her friend; but, in other portions of her memoirs,
she alludes darkly to the struggles of love; and it is evident that her
project of retiring into the country originated in her resolution to
conquer her own heart. And now this passion was there, with its
hopelessness and misery, to elevate her far above fear of prison or
death.
Emissaries came to inquire vainly for Roland. Disappointed in their
purpose they left a sentinel at her door. She at last retired to rest;
but, after an hour's sleep, she was awakened by her servant who
announced that the officers of the section demanded to see her. She
guessed at once their errand, nor was she deceived. For a moment she
deliberated whether she should resist an arrest, which, as being made in
the night, was illegal. But she saw that would be useless. Seals were
put on her effects: the house was filled by above 100 men. At seven
o'clock she left her home, amidst the tears and cries of her child and
servants. Outside she was hailed by the sanguinary cries of the mob. "Do
you wish the windows to be closed," said one of the men seated beside
her in the carriage. "No, gentlemen," she replied; "innocence, however
oppressed, will never assume the appearance of guilt. I fear the eyes of
no one, and will not hide myself." "You have more firmness than most
men," replied her guard.
Shut up in the prison of the abbey, she delayed only till the next day
to arrange her room, and make plans for her prison life. She asked for
books--Plutarch's Lives, Thomson's Seasons, in French, and a few English
books, were those she chose. She turned her mind from her sorrows, to
occupy herself by her mode of life and duties. She resolved to limit her
wants to mere necessities. A whim seized her to try on how little she
could subsist. She retrenched the number of her meals, and gave up
coffee, and chocolate, and wine: the money she saved by these privations
she distributed among the poorer prisoners.
At first, at the instigation of friends, she addressed letters to the
convention, and to the ministers, appealing against her imprisonment:
they met with no notice. She then occupied herself by drawing up notes
concerning the revolution, her views and conduct, and the characters of
the chiefs--wishing to leave behind a full exculpation of her opinions
and actions.
On the 24th of June she was exposed to a most cruel deception. She was
told that she was free--she left the abbey--but, on alighting at her
home, she was again arrested, and carried to the prison of St. Pélagie.
The change was greatly for the worse; the prisoners were of the lowest
and most infamous class of both sexes. She roused her courage to meet
this fresh indignity, for she felt keenly the insolent play exercised on
her feelings. Some hours' reflection restored calm to her firm soul. She
resolved again to cheat time and anxiety by occupation. "Had I not my
books and leisure?" she writes: "was I no longer myself? I was almost
angry at having felt disturbed; and thought only of making use of life,
and employing my faculties with that independence which a strong mind
preserves even in chains, and which disappoints one's most cruel
enemies." "Firmness," she continues, "does not only consist in rising
above circumstances by an effort of will, but by maintaining the tone of
mind by regulations that govern it." And thus, in the midst of terror
and death, she schooled herself to fortitude and peace. She portioned
out her days in various studies. She never left her cell, for her
immediate neighbours were women of that class which is lost to decency
and shame; she could not shut her ears to the conversation they held
from their windows with the men in the opposite cells. After a time this
shocking state of things was altered. The wife of the goaler,
compassionating her situation, gave her another room above her own; and
she was thus delivered from her unhappy neighbours, the sight of
turnkeys, and the depressing routine of prison rules. Madame Bouchaud
waited on her herself, and surrounded her with all that could soften
imprisonment. Jasmine was trailed round the bars of her window; she had
a piano in her room, and every comfort that the narrow space would
admit. She could almost forget her captivity, and began to indulge hope.
Roland was in a place of safety; her daughter under safe guardianship;
her fugitive friends were at Caen, assembling partisans, and she fancied
that political events were tending towards amelioration. Resigned for
the present, she was almost happy. She saw a few friends; Bose brought
her flowers from the Jardin des Plantes; and her occupations filled up
the intervals of the day.
Seeing no speedy termination to her imprisonment, it became eligible to
choose an occupation that would carry her forward from day to day,
imparting interest to their course. She began her own memoirs; at first
she almost forgot sorrow as she wrote; but the horrors that were
happening, the massacres, guillotinings, and sufferings of her country
grew thick and dark around, and often she interrupted herself, in
pictures of domestic peace, to lament the fate of lost friends, and the
ghastly ruin that overwhelmed all France. Nor could she always keep calm
the tenour of her personal cares and feelings. Separated from her child
and all she loved best, hearing only of distress and tyranny, she was
sometimes overpowered by grief. In spite of the kindness of the gaoler
and his wife, she saw and heard too much of vice and misery, such as is
ever found within a prison, more especially at a period when so many
innocent were victims, not to be frequently dispirited. The brutality of
a prison visitor in authority disturbed the little peace she had
acquired. He saw with anger the comforts of her room; and, saying that
equality must be maintained, ordered that she should be transferred to a
cell. A hard lesson on equality was this to the republican heroine;
equality between the guilty and the innocent, which mingled in revolting
association the victim of injustice with the votaries of vice.
The reign of terror had begun. A decree was passed to bring the
twenty-two accused deputies to trial. Her prison became filled with her
friends, and, as one after the other they were led to the guillotine,
they were replaced by fresh victims. She made some struggles, by letters
to men in power, to be liberated, since, as yet, she was accused of no
crime: these failing, she meditated suicide. At the beginning of October
she writes, in the journal of her last thoughts, "Two months ago I
aspired to the honour of ascending the scaffold. Victims were still
allowed to speak, and the energy of great courage might have been of
service to truth. Now all is lost: to live is basely to submit to a
ferocious rule, and to give it the opportunity of committing fresh
atrocities." She bade adieu to her husband, her child, her faithful
servant, her friends; to the sun, to the solitary country where she had
lived in peace, to hours of meditation and serene thoughts; and she
exclaims, "God! supreme being! soul of the world! source of all I feel
of great, good, and happy! thou in whose existence I believe, for I must
have emanated from something better than what I see, I am about to
re-unite myself to thy essence." With these thoughts she wrote
directions for the education of her Eudora, and a letter, in which she
bids her child "remember her mother."
The act of accusation against the chief girondists, among whom she was
included, and her expected examination before the revolutionary
tribunal, caused her to dismiss this purpose: she hoped to do some good
by speaking the truth courageously to her assassins. One after the
other, her friends underwent the mockery of a trial, while her turn was
delayed from day to day. The tenderness, the greatness of her mind
displayed itself in the most touching manner during this suspense. She
wrote to her friends, but her thoughts chiefly lingered round her child;
and again she wrote to] the person who had the charge of her in few, and
simple, but strong words, conceived in all the energy of maternal love.
On the 31st of October, the day of the execution of her revered friend
Brissot, she was transferred to the _conciergerie_, and placed in a
squalid cell amidst all the filth of a crowded prison. Her examination
took place on the following day, and continued for several days after.
Her crime was her intercourse with her friends, the deputies of the
gironde, now proscribed. She was scarcely permitted to answer, but her
courage enforced attention. She was bid choose an advocate for her
trial: she named Marceau, and retired with serene and even cheerful
dignity, saying to her accusers, "I wish, in return for all the ill you
bring on me, peace equal to that which I preserve, whatever may be the
value attached to it."
The following night she occupied herself by writing her defence. It is
eloquent and full of feeling, and concludes by a wish that she may be
the last victim immolated to party frenzy, and a declaration that she
shall joyfully quit an unhappy land drowned in the blood of the just.
This defence was not spoken. After her examination some witnesses were
examined; the act of accusation was drawn up, and judgment delivered,
which pronounced that "There existed a horrible conspiracy against the
unity and indivisibility of the republic, the liberty and safety of the
French people; that madame Roland was proved to have been an accomplice
in this conspiracy, and was therefore condemned to death; and that the
judgment was to be put in execution within twenty-four hours."
During the few eventful and miserable days which this courageous woman
passed in the _conciergerie_, she often forgot herself in endeavours to
console her companions in adversity. Riouffe, in his "Mémoires d'un
Détenu," who was confined in the same prison, writes, "The blood of the
twenty-two victims was yet warm when madame Roland arrived at the
_conciergerie._ Perfectly aware of the fate that awaited her, her
tranquillity was not disturbed. Though past the bloom of life, she was
yet full of attractions: tall, and of an elegant figure, her physiognomy
was animated; but sorrow and long imprisonment had left traces of
melancholy in her face that tempered her natural vivacity. Something
more than is usually found in the eyes of woman beamed in her large dark
eyes, full of sweetness and expression. She often spoke to me at the
grate with the freedom and courage of a great man. This republican
language falling from the lips of a pretty French woman, for whom the
scaffold was prepared, was a miracle of the revolution. We gathered
attentively round her in a species of admiration and stupor. Her
conversation was serious without being cold. She spoke with a purity, a
melody, and a measure, which rendered her language a sort of music, of
which the ear was never tired. She spoke of the deputies, who had just
perished, with respect, but without effeminate pity; reproaching them,
even, for not having taken sufficiently strong measures. Sometimes her
sex had the mastery, and we perceived that she had wept over the
recollection of her daughter and her husband. The woman who waited on
her said to me one day--'Before you she calls up all her courage; but in
her room she remains sometimes for hours together leaning against the
window, weeping.'"
On the 10th of November she was led to die. She went to the scaffold
dressed in white. As she went, she exerted herself to inspire another
victim who accompanied her, whose fortitude failed him, with resolution
similar to her own. Twice, it is said, she won him to smile. Arriving at
the place of execution, she bowed before the statue of Liberty, saying,
"Oh, Liberty! how many crimes are committed in thy name!" She then bade
her companion ascend first, that he might not have the pain of seeing
her die. Her turn followed; and to the last she preserved her courage,
and her calm and gentle dignity of manner.
She perished at the age of thirty-nine. Her death crowned her life, and
has bequeathed her name to an illustrious immortality.
Her husband was in safety at Rouen when he heard of her death. He
resolved not to survive her. He consulted with his friends whether he
should deliver himself up to the revolutionary tribunal, or destroy
himself. The interests of his child made him determine on the latter, as
his legalised execution would have caused his fortune to be confiscated.
He left the house where he had taken refuge, to prevent the friends who
sheltered him from suffering persecution. He stabbed himself with the
blade of a sword-stick, on the 15th of November, on a high road near
Rouen. In his pocket was found a paper, declaring the cause of his
death. "The blood that flows in torrents in my country," he wrote,
"dictates my resolve: indignation caused me to quit my retreat. As soon
as I heard of the murder of my wife, I determined no longer to remain on
an earth tainted by crime."
The grandeur, courage, and sincerity of madame Roland's character fill
us with admiration; her sweetness, and tenderness, and virtue add charms
to the impression. How easy it is in all that is human to spy defects!
Her autobiography is full of traits that betray considerable vanity; and
her husband, it is said, would have been spared much ridicule had she
not put herself so forward during his ministry. It does not appear,
however, that Roland wished to be spared his share of the ridicule which
low-minded men delight in affixing on superior beings of the other sex.
We entertain a conviction that, if her husband had wished her to mingle
less in his deliberations and labours, she would at once have yielded;
but her enthusiasm and her aid was in his eyes the reward of his upright
and manly conduct, and he gave token by his death that life was
valueless when he was deprived of her sympathy and affection.
MADAME DE STAËL
1766-1817.
According to the custom of the people of Geneva, which is to throw their
children on their own resources very early in life, the parents of
Necker sent him to Paris at the age of fifteen, as clerk in the
banking-house of Vernet. He quickly displayed talents for business, and,
becoming a partner in the house of Thellusson, laid the foundation of his
fortune. He quitted the bank, as better speculations opened, when he was
named resident for the republic of Geneva at the French court. The duke
de Choiseul liked and advanced him. He named him administrator of the
French East Indian company; and at this post, and by speculations in the
English funds, he made a large private fortune.
His early years were devoted to these pursuits, and he was so absorbed
by them that he enjoyed few of the pleasures of youth. He, meanwhile,
acquired both experience and knowledge in finance. Wishing to bring
himself into notice, he wrote the "Eloge de Colbert" in 1773, which
gained the prize in the French academy. His essay on the corn laws
increased his reputation. Maurepas consulted him when alarmed by the
disastrous state of the finances; and, by degrees, all eyes turned
towards him as the man who alone could save France from bankruptcy,
through his knowledge of business, and the great resources which his
plans opened in the regulation of the taxation and expenditure of the
country. As difficulty, distress, and alarm gathered thick and dark
round the government, and the expectation of a war rendered it necessary
to supply the requisite expenses, the hopes placed in Necker caused him,
in 1777, to be raised to the office of director-general.
Soon after his appointment as minister from the republic of Geneva, he
had married mademoiselle Churchod. The name of this lady is familiar to
the English reader as being that of the object of the first and only
love of the historian Gibbon. On the mother's side she was descended
from a high French protestant family of Provence, which had been driven
into exile by the edict of Nantes. Her father was a clergyman, and
exercised the function of minister in a Swiss village. He had spared no
pains in the education of his daughter. She was versed in several dead
and living languages; her understanding was sedulously cultivated, and
her beauty and amiable disposition combined to render her an
extraordinary woman. She was devotedly attached to her husband, and he
regarded her with a mixture of admiration, reverence, and love. The
object of her life was to make him happy. She gathered the beaux esprits
of Paris round their table to divert him after the fatigues of the day.
Their house became the resort of the best society. They were considered
exemplary and clever, yet dull and pedantic. The talents of Necker,
however, were respected; and madame Necker, though she was adorned by
none of the light and trifling, yet winning and elegant, manners and
conversation of a Parisian lady, yet pleased by her beauty, and a
certain ingenuousness and purity of mind, that gave sweetness to her
countenance and a native grace to her manners.
This exemplary pair had an only daughter. She was born in Paris on the
22d April, 1766. Her mother was desirous of bestowing on her a perfect
education. Madame Necker possessed great firmness of character, and a
strong understanding. She submitted every feeling and action of her life
to the control of reason. She carried her love of logical inference into
the smallest as well as the most important events of life; and fulfilled
to the letter every the slightest duty of daily and hourly occurrence.
Finding her young daughter apt and willing to learn, she thought she
could not teach her too much, nor store her mind with too many facts and
words. This was not done as an English mother would have practised in
the seclusion of the schoolroom, but in the midst of society, in which
the young lady soon learnt to shine by her eloquent sallies and
vivacious spirits. We have a sketch of what mademoiselle Necker was at
eleven years of age, which presents a singular picture of the diversity
of the objects and modes of education on the continent from our quiet
and reserved notions of what is becoming in childhood. Madame Necker was
desirous of establishing a friendship between her daughter and a
mademoiselle Huber, the child of an old friend of the family. The young
people were introduced to each other, and mademoiselle Necker showed
transports of delight at the idea of having a companion, and promised
her, on the instant, to love her for ever. "She spoke," mademoiselle
Huber writes, "with a warmth and facility which were already eloquence,
and which made a great impression on me. We did not play like children.
She immediately asked me what my lessons were, if I knew any foreign
languages, and if I went often to the play. When I said I had only been
three or four times, she exclaimed, and promised that we should often go
together, and when we came home write down an account of the piece. It
was her habit, she said; and, in short, we were to write to each other
every day.
"We entered the drawing-room. Near the arm-chair of madame Necker was
the stool of her daughter, who was obliged to sit very upright. As soon
as she had taken her accustomed place, three or four old gentlemen came
up and spoke to her with the utmost kindness. One of them, in a little
round wig, took her hands in his, held them a long time, and entered
into conversation with her as if she had been twenty. This was the abbé
Raynal; the others were Messrs. Thomas, Marmontel, the marquis de Pesay,
and the baron de Grimm. We sat down to table. It was a picture to see
how mademoiselle Necker listened. She did not speak herself; but so
animated was her face that she appeared to converse with all. Her eyes
followed the looks and movements of those who talked: it seemed as if
she guessed their ideas before they were expressed. She entered into
every subject; even politics, which at this epoch was one of the most
engrossing topics of conversation. After dinner, a good deal of company
arrived. Each guest, as he approached madame Necker, addressed her
daughter with some compliment or pleasantry: she replied to all with
ease and grace. They delighted to attack and embarrass her, and to
excite her childish imagination, which was already brilliant. The
cleverest men were those who took greatest pleasure in making her talk.
They asked her what she was reading, recommended new books, and gave her
a taste for study by conversing concerning what she knew, or on what she
was ignorant."
Thus this extraordinary woman imbibed, as it were with her mother's
milk, a taste for society and display. She learnt to take intense
pleasure in the communication of ideas with intelligent men, and in
sharing in the sparkling wit that gathered round her. She enjoyed the
excitement of spirits that results from the sense of expressing her
thoughts, and at the same time having the sphere enlarged by the instant
interchange with others. The sensations of success in society, of praise
and reputation, were familiar to her in childhood, and no wonder they
became as necessary as her daily bread in after years.
It was her mother's plan to tax her intellects to their height. She was
incited to study diligently, to listen to conversation on subjects
beyond her years, to frequent the theatre; her pleasures and occupations
alike were so many exertions of mind. She wrote a great deal. Her
writings were read in society, and applauded. The praises she received
developed also the feelings of her heart. She passionately loved her
parents and her friends; she read with an enthusiasm and interest that
made books a portion of her existence. She was accustomed to say, that
the fate of Clarissa Harlowe was one of the events of her youth.
Susceptible of impression, serious in the midst of her vivacity, she
rather loved what made her weep rather than laugh.
The species of perpetual excitement in which she lived, and the
excessive application and attention required of her by her mother, had
at length a bad effect on her health. At the age of fourteen it became
apparent that she was declining. The advice of Tronchin was asked; he
was alarmed by the symptoms, and ordered her to be removed into the
country, to spend her life in the open air, and to abandon all serious
study. Madame Necker was deeply mortified. She saw all the materials for
a prodigy of learning and knowledge in her daughter, and was almost
angry that her frame was injured by the work she required from her to
bring her to the perfection she meditated. Unable to continue to its
height her system of education, she abandoned it altogether. Henceforth
no longer looking on her as her own work, she ceased to take interest in
her talents, which she regarded as superficial and slight; when she
heard her praised, she replied, "Oh! it is nothing, absolutely nothing,
in comparison to what I intended to make her."
The young lady meanwhile enjoyed the leisure she obtained: no longer
called upon to store her mind with words and facts, she gave herself up
to her imagination. She and her friend passed the summer at St. Ouen, a
country-house of Necker, two leagues from Paris; they dressed themselves
like muses; they composed poetry, and declaimed it; they wrote and acted
plays. Giving the rein to her fancy, and impelled by natural vivacity,
she became poetess, tragedian, actress, thus, almost in childhood. The
carelessness that her mother showed, after her disappointment with
regard to her education, had the effect of developing in the young girl
the chief passion of her heart--filial affection towards her father: she
had now leisure to seek his society; and his great goodness, his
admiration of herself, and the perfect friendship and openness of
communication that subsisted between them, gave rise to the passionate
attachment towards him which she dwells upon in her writings with so
much fervour. She seized every opportunity of enjoying his society; and
he perceived and delighted in her talents, which displayed themselves
with peculiar advantage when with him. She saw that, overwhelmed as he
was by public cares and engrossing business, he needed to be amused in
his moments of leisure. He adored his wife, but no one was ever less
amusing; his daughter, on the other hand, exerted herself to divert him:
she tried a thousand ways and risked any sally or pleasantry so to win
him to smile, and smiles quickly came at her bidding. He was not
prodigal of his approbation; his eyes were more flattering than his
words; and he believed it to be more necessary and even more amusing to
rally her for her defects, than to praise her for her excellences. She
saw that his gay reproofs were just, and modelled herself by them. She
often said to her friends, "I owe to the inconceivable penetration of my
father the frankness of my character and the sincerity of my mind: he
unmasked every affectation or pretension, and when near him I got into
the habit of thinking that every feeling of my heart could be read."
Madame Necker grew a little jealous of the superior power her daughter
possessed of amusing her husband; besides, although she had ardently
wished her to shine in society, yet she had desired her to be remarkable
for her attainments and knowledge, not for her wit and imagination. She
looked coldly therefore on the admiration she excited, and even
protested against it. The young girl turned from her chilling and prim
rebuffs to the encouragement she found in her father's sympathy and
gladdening smiles. In the drawing-room she escaped from the side of
Madame Necker, who regarded the mistakes which her giddiness and
vivacity caused her to make with severe and correcting eyes. She
listened with respect when reproved, but gladly sheltered herself behind
her father's chair; at first silently, then throwing in a word, till at
last, one after the other, the cleverest men in the room gathered round
to listen to her sallies and to be charmed by her eloquence.
The position that her parents held was exceedingly calculated to enchain
the affections and raise the enthusiasm of the ardent girl. Her father
was looked up to as the man whose exertions and talents were saving
France. When named director-general of finances, he had refused the
salary appended to the situation, that he might feel more free to
diminish that of others, and benefit France by his economy with a
clearer reputation. Her mother used his power for the most admirable
purposes. She ameliorated the condition of the hospitals in the capital;
and established near Paris, at her own expense, a charitable
institution, so well directed that it became the model of every other.
The young are apt to think their parents superior to the rest of the
world. The claims which M. and Madame Necker possessed to real
superiority, from their virtues and talents, naturally added to the
warmth of their daughter's affection. The distinction in which they were
held made the path of her life bright; and even the first check that
occurred in her father's career tended to excite still more her
admiration for him, as opposition gives form and strength to every power
exerted to overcome it. Necker was too conscientious and too firm in his
schemes of reform not to have enemies: he was too vain also not to
desire to have his plans universally known and approved. Publicity is
indeed the proper aim of every honest public man; but it was in utter
variance with the policy of the old French government.
[Sidenote: 1781.
Ætat.
15.]
For the purpose of making his system known to the nation, Necker
published his "Compte Rendu," which was a statement of the past and
present condition of the finances, addressed to the king. It occasioned
a great clamour. His daughter read his pamphlet, and heard the
discussions concerning it. She addressed an anonymous letter to her
father on the subject: he recognised the style; and his affection was
increased by this testimony of her talents and filial affection. The
"Compte Rendu," however, increased the number and importance of his
enemies; the impropriety of the act was urged upon the king: Maurepas
had already become hostile to him. Necker was attacked and calumniated.
He, and his wife still more, were very susceptible to public blame: they
wished to silence the libellers, who grew the more bitter and active the
more they perceived that their stings were felt. Necker then demanded a
sign of favour from the king, necessary, he thought, for the support of
his influence: he asked for the _entrée au conseil_ (a seat in the
cabinet), which was refused on the score of his being a protestant. On
this he committed an act which he ever after regretted, an act that
showed that he preferred his own private feelings to the good of the
country which he had promised to save,--he resigned his office.
His daughter gathered pleasure rather than mortification from his
resignation. It was acknowledged that by so doing he had plunged the
royal family in distress. He had repaired, on the first moment of his
returning to a private station, to St. Ouen: all France, as she calls
it--that is, all the nobility and all the best society of the capital,
the magistrates, the clergy, the merchants and men of letters--came to
see him, to express their regrets, their fears for France, their hopes
that he would return to office. She heard that Paris was in commotion.
At the theatre, every verse in the play of the night ("Henri IV." was
acted, and the mention of Sully afforded wide scope) that could be
converted into an allusion to the favourite minister was applauded with
acclamations; the public walks, the _cafés_, every public place, were
filled by an eager yet silent crowd. Consternation was painted on every
face--ruin was anticipated for the country which Necker had abandoned.
From St. Ouen the ex-minister proceeded to Switzerland. He bought the
mansion and estate of Coppet; on the lake of Geneva, and varied his
residence between that place and visits to Paris. He was addressed by
various sovereigns--Catherine II., Joseph, emperor of Austria, and the
king of Naples, to undertake their affairs as minister of finance; but
he preferred literary leisure and domestic peace, with a wife whom he
adored, and a daughter who was becoming each day dearer and more
interesting.
In the retreat at Coppet he published a work on finance, of which 80,000
copies were sold in one day. Mdlle. Necker shared the triumph; she was
his companion, his friend. On her part she was not idle; and, even at an
early age, began the career of authorship in which in after life she
became so distinguished. It was the custom in French society to meet to
hear an author read his productions. In this country, such a style of
amusement would be considered very dull and tiresome; but it was
otherwise in Paris. The audience was easily pleased. The women wept at
the right moment--the men were ready to start from their chairs:
enthusiasm became contagious. If the subject were pathetic, the room
resounded with sobs and suppressed cries; if comic, with bursts of
laughter. Mediocre authors reaped easy but animating success; and many
works, like the "Saisons" of St. Lambert, were vaunted to the skies by
listening friends, which were acknowledged to be poor and wearisome when
published. In the same way, the plays and tales of Mdlle. Necker were
read by her in numerous companies. These productions were afterwards
printed, and possess slight merit. The plays are flat, and what in
common parlance is called maudlin; the tales inflated, and without
originality: when read in society, they were applauded with transport.
It cannot be doubted that this sort of encouragement must rouse to its
height the power of an author of real genius. In this country, writers
receive little praise except that which results from the number of
copies that are sold; and must rely entirely on the spirit of
inspiration to carry them through the toils of authorship. How seldom,
how very seldom, does an English author hear one word of real sympathy
or admiration! Over reserve, over fear of compromising our opinions, and
being laughed at for being in the wrong, holds us in. Madame de Staël,
animated by the fervour of her French friends, believed in her own
genius, even before it was developed; and self-confidence gave it a
strength of wing that enabled her to soar to the extreme height that her
abilities permitted.
The were stirring days in which she lived. Calonne succeeded to Necker
as minister, and, having thrown every thing into confusion, was obliged
to yield his place; he was succeeded by Fouquereux and Villedeuil, men
of nothing, who abandoned the state of finances as hopeless. Lomenie de
Brienne, archbishop of Toulouse, replaced them; and he caused the king
to engage to assemble the states-general, and plunged the finances in a
worse state than ever. Necker looked on with anxiety, partly for France,
and partly for himself; for he felt sure that he would be summoned to
save the country at the last gasp, and trembled to lose his reputation
if called in too late. "Why have they not given me the archbishop's
fifteen months?" he exclaimed, when at the end of that time he was
called in to repair Brienne's faults. Calonne had attacked his "Compte
Rendu." He wrote a memoir, addressed and sent to the king, to defend
himself, which the king requested him not to publish. But Necker laid
great store by the public voice, and did not hesitate to act in
opposition to the king's wish, and, in consequence, was exiled by a
_lettre de cachet_ to forty leagues from Paris; but four months after he
was recalled and named minister.
[Sidenote: 1788.
Ætat.
22.]
We dwell upon these circumstances of Necker's life, as they were the
events that chiefly interested his daughter. She had been struck with
dismay at the moment of his exile. She was married at this time; but it
is a singular circumstance that in her life her marriage is a very
secondary event, and her husband's name seldom mentioned. As the only
daughter of a millionaire, Mdlle. Necker's hand had been asked by many
French nobles; but it was determined not to marry her to a Catholic, at
the same time that she and her parents were anxious to make a marriage
that should enable her to reside in France, and to appear at court. It
is told of the childhood of madame de Staël, that, at the age of
eleven, she offered to marry Gibbon. He being a favourite friend of her
parents, she hoped to please them by giving them a son-in-law of whom
they were fond, with little regard to his strange repulsive figure and
ugly face. And now she thought of station and convenience, and not at
all of finding a friend or companion--far less a lover--in her husband.
The baron de Staël Holstein, chamberlain to the queen of Sweden, had
resided in Paris for some years, first as counsellor to the Swedish
embassy, and afterwards as ambassador. He frequented the society of the
French liberals, was a friend of Necker, and entered the lists of his
daughter's admirers. He was a protestant and a noble, and he was also an
amiable honourable man. The only objection to the union was the
likelihood of his being recalled to his own country. The king of Sweden,
Gustavus III., with whom he was a favourite, favoured the match, and
promised that he should continue for several years to be ambassador at
the French court. In addition, M. de Staël promised never to take her
to Sweden without her own consent. On these considerations the marriage
took place in the year 1786, when she was just twenty. Madame de Staël
appeared at court. It is related that, desirous as she had been of
acquiring this privilege, yet Parisian society was ill-naturedly amused
by the numerous mistakes in etiquette which the young ambassadress had
made on her presentation. She gaily related them herself, so to disarm
her enemies. At this time, also, she appeared as an authoress in print,
publishing her letters on the writings of Rousseau. We find in this work
all the traits that distinguished madame de Staël's writings to the
end,--great enthusiasm and eloquence, a pleasure in divining the
mysteries of existence, and dwelling on the melancholy that attends
it,--considerable power of expressing her thoughts, and much beauty and
delicacy in the thoughts themselves, but an absence of strength and of
the highest elevation both of talent and moral feeling.
We have a "portrait" of madame de Staël at this epoch, such as it was
the fashion for friends to write of friends in Paris at that time. It is
a favourable description, yet marked by distinctive features and
characteristic touches. "Zulma advances; her large dark eyes sparkle
with genius; her hair, black as ebony, falls on her shoulders in waving
ringlets; her features are more marked than delicate, yet they express
something superior to the destiny of her sex. There she is! every one
cried, when she appeared, and all became breathless. When she sang, she
extemporised the words of her song; the celestial brightness of
composition animated her face, and held the audience in serious
attention; at once astonished and delighted, we knew not which most to
admire, her facility or perfection. When her music ceased, she talked of
the great truths of nature, the immortality of the soul,--love of
liberty--of the fascination and the danger of the passions; her features
meanwhile have an expression superior to beauty, her physiognomy is full
of play and variety, the accents of her voice have a thousand
modulations, and there is perfect harmony between her thoughts and their
expression. Without hearing her words, the inflections of her tones, her
gestures, her look, cause her meaning to be understood. When she ceased,
a murmur of approbation ran round the room; she looked down modestly,
her long eyelashes covered her flashing eyes, and the sun was clouded
over." There were many people in Paris, who, of course, were willing to
turn the pretensions of the young and brilliant improvisatrice into
ridicule; but though her want of beauty, her heedlessness, which often
led her into mistakes, her vivacity, which over-stept the mark of
feminine grace, opened a field for sarcasm, no one could listen to her
in public without admiration, no one could associate with her in private
without love. She stept, as on to a stage, in the first brilliancy of
youth, to be admired and to enjoy; but public events were swelling and
disturbing the stream of time, and it became a tempestuous flood, that
wrecked her dearest hopes, and consigned her at last to that domestic
retirement and peace, for which her outset in life had not formed her,
and which, instead of being a haven of rest and enjoyment, was as a dead
sea on which she weltered in misery and despair.
Necker was restored to the ministry in August, 1788; public credit
revived under favour of his name, and famine and alarm were exchanged
for plenty and security. He found the king pledged to assemble the
states-general, and he did not hesitate in advising him to redeem his
word; yet he met the questions and difficulties that arose with regard
to the details of the measure with an irresolution that showed that,
however clever he might be in matters of finance, he was ill fitted for
weightier questions of general politics.
The convocation of the states excited the national enthusiasm to its
height; and Necker, giving the weight of his influence to the liberal
party, augmented his own popularity. He admired greatly the English
constitution, and wished it to be imitated in France. Madame de Staël
coincided in his views, and viewed the assemblage of the different
orders with sentiments resembling rapture. According to her views, the
horrors of approaching famine and the perils of bankruptcy were to be
averted by this measure, and the future welfare of France, individual
liberty, and national prosperity, were to be placed on durable
foundations. The first struggles of the _tiers état_ with the king and
privileged orders excited her sympathy. Yet her father wished to act a
moderate part, while even his moderation seemed treason to the blinded
royalists. He thus incurred the distrust of both parties. Though
minister, he was not permitted to direct the counsels of the king; and,
at the same time, by only partially upholding the pretensions of the
commons, he began to excite the mixed contempt and aversion of the more
democratic leaders. During the struggle of the _tiers état_ to obtain a
voice in the direction of affairs, he advised the king to meet their
demands half way; but the court resolved to crush them altogether, and
so fell itself into the pit. Necker saw with terror the purpose of the
king in collecting troops round the capital to overawe both the
Parisians and the deputies, and his remonstrances showed that he would
be no party in the scenes of massacre that must ensue. He offered
several times to resign; but the court party felt that it risked too
much in the odium which his dismissal would excite. Driven on, however,
by evil counsellors, who saw no good to arise in the constitutional
liberty of their country, and weighed the blood of their countrymen as
nothing in the opposite scale to their power and privileges, the king
assembled troops, and the moment drew near when the people and their
representatives were to feel the power of the bayonet, and to be reduced
to obedience under the bolts of the artillery. The temporising spirit of
Necker was more hated by the royal than the popular party, since the
former saw injury, and the latter benefit, in any the least infraction
of the old state of things. But the king well knew that Necker would
never consent to the measures which he had in view, and that, before the
military were called on to destroy his subjects, it was necessary to
remove a minister round whom the popular party would rally with
confidence. Necker continued to attend the king each day, but no affair
of importance was discussed before him. This silence filled him with
disquiet; he expected to be arrested, and communicated his suspicion to
his wife and daughter. Madame de Staël wished him to go a step
further in enouncing his opinions, and so to confirm the popular favour;
but Necker considered his obligations as servant to the king as
paramount. On the 11th of July, as he was about to sit down to dinner,
he received a letter from Louis XVI., ordering him to send in his
resignation, and to quit France without exciting observation. _Sans
bruit_ were the words that signified the fears of the court that his
dismissal should become the signal of popular commotion. Necker obeyed
to the letter and the spirit of the command. No one person was informed.
He and his wife stept into the carriage prepared for their usual evening
airing, and, without change of dress or attendant, travelled day and
night till they reached Brussels. On the morning of the 12th of July
madame de Staël received a letter from her father, announcing his
departure, and bidding her retire into the country, lest the Parisians,
for his sake, should pay her public homage. She obeyed, and, a new
courier having brought her intelligence of his route, she set out on the
15th July to join him. "When I reached them," madame de Staël writes,
"three days after, they still wore the full dress which they had on
when, after a large dinner party, and while no one suspected the
agitating position in which they were placed, they silently quitted
France, their friends, their home, and the power which they enjoyed.
This dress, covered with dust, the name assumed by my father for the
sake of avoiding recognition in France, and so detention through the
favour in which he was still held,--all these circumstances filled me
with feelings of reverence that caused me to throw myself at his feet as
I entered the room of the inn where I found him." Necker had chosen
Brussels as his way to Switzerland, as not being the direct road, and so
less likely to betray him to the population. To this mark of obedience
to the king, he added a testimony of love for France, which, in the days
of mammon, was an act of heroism in a moneyed man. Necker had borrowed
two millions of livres for the royal treasury, for the purpose of
purchasing corn for starving Paris. He had secured this loan on his
private fortune. The transaction was not completed when he was
dismissed; and he feared that the news of his exile would retard the
supply. He wrote, therefore, to confirm his guarantee. These
circumstances find place in the biography of madame de Staël, because,
the ruling passion of her heart being love and veneration of her father,
we mark the acts that naturally, by their virtue, excited to their
height her filial feelings.
True to his resolve of avoiding his partizans in France, Necker
proceeded to Basle through Germany. He was accompanied by M. de Staël.
His wife and daughter followed more slowly by a different route. At
Frankfort, the latter were overtaken by the king's courier that recalled
Necker for the third time to the ministry. The commotions in Paris, the
destruction of the Bastille, frightened the court into submission to the
people. The recall of Necker was a necessary mark of acquiescence in the
wishes of the nation. At Basle the family met together, and Necker
resolved to return. He was not dazzled by his triumph; he felt the
perils he was about to encounter. He wished to serve France as a
constitutional minister, but he apprehended a further system of
innovation; and he felt he should lose the favour of the people by
opposing it, as he had lost the king's by refusing to support his
arbitrary measures. He felt, as Burke afterwards expressed it, that he
was recalled, like Pompey, for his misfortune; and, like Marius, that he
sat among ruins; but he thought that his return at the present crisis
would be serviceable to the sovereign and his adherents, and he resolved
on it at once. "What a moment of happiness, notwithstanding," Madame de
Staël writes, "was our journey from Basle to Paris, when my father
decided to return! I do not think that the like ever occurred to any man
who was not sovereign of the country. The French nation, ever so
animated in the demonstration of its sentiments, gave itself up, for the
first time, to hopes, the boundaries of which experience had not yet
taught them. Liberty was then only known to the enlightened classes by
the noble emotions with which it was associated; and, to the people, by
ideas analogous to their necessities and sufferings. Necker appeared as
the precursor of the expected good. The liveliest acclamations
accompanied every step: the women threw themselves on their knees afar
off in the fields when they saw his carriage pass: the first citizens of
the different places we traversed acted as postilions; and in the towns
the inhabitants took off the horses to drag the carriage themselves. It
was I that enjoyed for him--I was carried away by delight, and must not
feel ungrateful for those happy days, however sad were the ones that
followed." Various circumstances occurred to display to the returning
exiles the overthrow of the royalists and the triumph of the people.
Madame de Polignac had already arrived at Basle, on her way to
emigration. At ten leagues from Paris, they heard of the arrest of the
baron de Besenval, who was being led back prisoner to the capital, where
he would infallibly have been massacred in the streets. Necker
interfered to keep him where he was till further orders. He, as his
first act, went to Paris, to the Hôtel de Ville, to obtain the pardon
of M. de Besenval, and a universal amnesty. He was followed and welcomed
by joyful acclamations; delight at his restoration to power calmed, for
the moment, all party spirit, all political hatred; the assembled people
granted all he asked with transport. Madame de Staël and her mother
accompanied him. "Oh! nothing," she writes, "can equal the emotion that
a woman feels when she has the happiness of hearing the name of one
beloved repeated by a whole people. All those faces, which appear for
the time animated by the same sentiment as one's self; those innumerable
voices, which echo to the heart the name that rises in the air, and
which appears to return from heaven after having received the homage of
earth; the inconceivable electricity which men communicate to each other
when they share the same emotions; all those mysteries of nature and
social feeling are added to the greatest mystery of all--love--filial or
maternal, but still love; and the soul sinks under emotions stronger
than itself. When I came to myself, I felt that I had reached the
extreme boundary of happiness."
She had reached it, and the recoil soon came. The popular party, each
hour rising in power, disdained the half measures and weak concessions
of the minister:--from that hour, in spite of his feeble, though
virtuous, endeavours to restrain popular violence, and, at the same
time, to supply the wants of the people, and mitigate their sufferings
by great and unwearied exertions and personal sacrifices, the popularity
of Necker declined. His propositions were weak and inconsistent; the
king had no confidence in him; the people withdrew their favour. His
daughter could not perceive that his want of energy, and total
incapacity to cope with the necessities of the times, were the occasion
of this change; she saw only ingratitude, perversity, and ignorance. Her
father still continued, in her eyes, the first of men; when he triumphed
he was a hero, when he fell he was a martyr.
Madame de Staël witnessed nearly all the more deplorable events of the
revolution. On the 5th October, when she heard of the march of the
people to Versailles to bring the king and queen to Paris, she hastened
to join her parents, who were in attendance at court. When she arrived,
Necker hastened to the castle to join the council, and madame Necker and
her daughter repaired to the hall preceding the one where the king
remained, that they might share Necker's fate. The tumult, the
inquietude, the various projects, and the trembling expectation of the
hour agitated all, and augmented as night approached. A noble arrived
from Paris with the latest news. He appeared in the royal presence in a
common dress. It was the first time that any man had entered the king's
apartment, except in court dress. His recital of the furious armed
multitude, which was gathering and approaching, increased the general
terror. On the morrow the storm burst. Murder assailed the gates of the
palace, and the royal personages, for the first time, were attacked by
those outrages, at once sanguinary and insulting, which, thus beginning,
never stayed till their destruction was accomplished.
Madame de Staël was present during the whole scene. She stood near when
the crowd forced the queen to appear before them, and when at their
demand the royal family were carried to Paris. Such scenes could never
be forgotten. When the king and queen set off to the capital, the family
of Necker repaired by another route. "We crossed," madame de Staël
writes, "the Bois de Boulogne; the weather was beautiful, the breeze
scarcely stirred the trees, and the sun was bright enough to dispel alt
gloom from the scenery. No exterior object replied to our sadness." When
they arrived at the Tuileries, the Parisian palace of the kings of
France, which had not been inhabited for many years, they found that the
beds of the royal children were put up in the room where the queen
received them; Marie Antoinette apologised. "You know," she said, "that
I did not expect to come here." Her beautiful face expressed anger as
she spoke; and madame de Staël must have felt that her father, as
popular minister, and herself, as a lover of liberty, were included in
the sentiments of resentment which filled the queen's heart.
[Sidenote: 1790.
Sept.
8.]
The resignation and departure of Necker, some months after, was a
circumstance full of mortification for his daughter. He traversed the
France which had hailed him with such transport on his return from
Basle, and found himself surrounded by enemies. Execrations followed his
steps, and he was arrested at Arcis-sur-Aube, and obliged to wait for a
decree, of the national assembly before he was suffered to proceed; his
name was held in detestation--his acts reviled. He did not deserve
this; for, though weak as a politician, his acts were those of an
honourable and generous man. The immediate cause of his resignation of
office was the issue of the assignats, which he looked on as the ruin of
the public credit; yet he left 2,000,000 of francs, the half of his
fortune, in the funds, to run a risk of loss, which he himself deemed,
as indeed it proved, inevitable. He retired to Coppet, while his
daughter was detained in Paris by illness.
[Sidenote: 1791.
Ætat.
25.]
She continued to remain there, and, according to French manners, mingled
deeply in various political intrigues. Her friend M. de Narbonne was
named minister of war, and many of his projects were discussed in her
drawing-room. She shared in the project set afoot by Lafayette, of
facilitating the escape of the king to the army at Metz. Narbonne, at
the head of the royal guard, and several thousand national guards
belonging to the department of Jura, were to carry off Louis by force
from the Tuileries. Talleyrand was informed of the plan, and approved,
but the king rejected it; he was averse to any project that needed the
co-operation of Lafayette, whom he hated. Soon after Narbonne was
dismissed, and the nomination of Dumouriez and Roland placed the power
in the hands of the girondists.
[Sidenote: 1792.
Ætat.
26.]
Madame de Staël was in Paris during the fatal August that decided the
fate of the French monarchy. On the 9th of that month she stood at her
window with some friends, and heard the forty-eight tocsins of Paris
sound the alarm, which continued all night their monotonous, frequent,
and lugubrious tolling. The volunteer patrole sent her intelligence of
all that passed, but no one knew what the morrow would bring forth. The
attack on the Tuileries began early in the morning; madame de Staël was
told that three of her friends, who guarded the outside of the palace,
had been seized and massacred. She instantly, with all the intrepidity
of a French woman, hurried out to learn the truth. Her carriage was
stopped on the bridge. She was told that the work of slaughter was going
on the other side. Still she persisted, and, after a delay of two
hours, crossed the bridge, and learnt that her friends were alive, and
hiding from the enraged multitude. In the evening she went to see them
in the obscure houses in which they had taken refuge; drunken men were
lying about on the steps of doors, who roused themselves only to
vociferate oaths and execrations. Many women were in the same state;
their howlings were still more frightful. She fled when the patrole
approached; for they maintained order by protecting the assassins, and
assisting them in the work of murder. The interval between the 10th of
August and the 2d of September was one of horror; arrests were frequent,
and it became known that the massacre of the prisoners was meditated.
The outlawed friends of madame de Staël went from house to house as
danger menaced; she received two in her own, hoping that, though her
husband was absent, the name she bore, of Swedish ambassadress, would
protect her from a domiciliary visit. She was mistaken; the
commissioners of police, men named from among the lowest class,
accompanied by the soldiery, who guarded the outlets of the house to
prevent escape, demanded to search. She resolved to dispute their right,
as the only means of saving her friends. She talked to the men; told
them that the laws of nations declared an ambassador's house inviolable,
and assured them that Sweden was a country on the frontiers of France,
and that it would declare war at once if its ambassadress were insulted.
She perceived that her arguments made some impression; and, while her
heart sank within her, she roused herself to joke them on the folly of
their suspicions, and dismissed them with every appearance of politeness
and gaiety.
She had already prepared to leave France, and obtained passports. She
delayed a few days, anxious to be re-assured with regard to her friends,
before she placed herself in safety. During this interval she exerted
herself to save M. de Lally-Tollendal, and succeeded, by applying to
Manuel, a member of the commune of Paris: he who published Mirabeau's
letters, written in the prison of Vincennes, and who, six months
afterwards, during the reign of terror, died on the scaffold. On the 2d
of September, when the news of the taking of Longwy and Verdun had
roused the ferocity of the Parisians to the utmost, and those massacres
of helpless prisoners began which remain a perpetual sanguinary stain on
the French character, she prepared to set out. Her passports were all
regular; and, fancying that the title of wife of a foreign ambassador
would be her safeguard, she set out in her carriage, drawn by six
horses, and her servants in full livery. Her calculations failed;
scarcely had her carriage advanced a few steps when it was surrounded by
a crowd of furious women, who seized the horses, and, with ferocious
cries, ordered the postilions to drive to the assembly of the section of
St. Germain, to which she belonged. She entered the chamber of the
assembly, which was in full deliberation, and by it she was ordered to
proceed to the Hôtel de Ville. To reach this latter place she was
obliged to traverse Paris; and on the steps of the Hôtel de Ville
several men had been assassinated on the 10th of August. She trembled to
obey, and yet had no resource. She was three hours on her way, as she
was slowly drawn through a crowd who threatened death with hideous
shouts and unremitting cries. She addressed several gendarmes who passed
near, asking protection; they replied by disdainful and menacing
gestures. At length, one gendarme, who had been put in the carriage with
her, was touched by her situation (she was with child), and promised to
defend her at the peril of his life. She alighted from the carriage at
the Hôtel de Ville, in the midst of an armed multitude, and advanced
under an avenue of pikes. As she went up the steps a man pointed one
against her; the gendarme protected her with his sabre, and she reached
the chamber of the commune, where Robespierre presided. Collet d'Herbois
and Billaud Varennes acted as his secretaries. The hall was full of
people--men, women, and children, shouting _Vive la nation!_ She was
taken to the raised platform where the president sat, and told to sit
down. While she was representing her right, as ambassadress from Sweden,
to depart, Manuel, whom she had persuaded to liberate Lally-Tollendal,
entered: he was astonished to see her in such a miserable position, and,
answering for her, withdrew her from the dreadful hall, and shut her up
in his cabinet with her maid. They remained for six hours, oppressed by
hunger, thirst, and terror. The windows of the room looked on the Place
de Grève, and assassins passed from the prisons, their arms bare and
covered with blood, uttering horrible shouts. Her carriage remained in
the square. The crowd wished to pillage it: it was defended by Santerre.
He respected the daughter of Necker, whose exertions to victual Paris
during the scarcity he had witnessed; and besides he made this task his
pretext for not doing his duty in protecting the prisoners. He boasted
to Madame de Staël of the service he rendered her; but she could not
help reminding him of the manner in which he ought to have been
employed. Manuel exclaimed, as he entered, "Ah! how glad I am I set your
two friends at liberty yesterday!" When night came on he conveyed her
home in his carriage. The lamps were not lighted in the streets, but men
passed with torches, whose flare occasioned more terror than darkness
itself. The following day she was allowed to depart with her maid only,
and a gendarme to conduct her as far as the frontier, so to make sure
that she should take with her none of the unfortunate outlaws doomed to
death. Tallien conducted her to the barrier. After some difficulties it
was passed. "Leaving the capital," she writes, "the tempestuous waves
grew calmer, and the mountains of Jura gave no token of the frightful
tumults of which Paris was the theatre." And there she found calm refuge
beneath her father's roof. Such were the scenes that awaited the early
womanhood of madame de Staël:--the sight of every cruel and horrible
passion in action in others,--pity, fear, and generous self-devotion
excited to their height in her own heart,--harrowing grief, when those
whom she loved were butchered,--throbs of transport, when she felt that
she had secured their safety. Had she been of a concentrated
disposition, such scenes and emotions must have given sublimity to her
character. As it was, it confirmed the active generosity and warm
benevolence of her disposition; it gave animation to her expression of
every sad and heart-moving feeling; while to her credit it must be said,
that, even in the midst of such iniquitous and cruel scenes, she
gathered no misanthropy, no gall, no hatred, and no revenge.
She paid at this period a short visit to England, and then returning to
Geneva, found personal safety and peace with her parents at Coppet; but
the political events passing in France, and the horrors of the reign of
terror, spread darkness and dismay even to Switzerland. Her father
published a pamphlet, the object of which was to save Louis XVI.; and
she wrote an eloquent appeal in favour of Marie Antoinette. Soon even
the impression made by the fate of these illustrious victims was almost
lost in that of the death of added thousands immolated by Robespierre.
Madame de Staël by turns feared for the lives and deplored the death of
beloved friends, who day after day died under the axe of the guillotine.
She concealed in her house many of the friends of liberty outlawed by
the revolutionary tribunal. They assumed Swedish names, under the
sanction of M. de Staël. Scaffolds were erected for them on the
frontier by their countrymen, as enemies of freedom; foreign nations
held them in detestation, as accomplices of the butchers of Paris; but
Necker and his daughter, with sounder views and more humane hearts,
befriended and saved virtue, whatever might be the opinions which it
assumed as the guise in which to manifest its spirit to the world. "One
of the reflections that struck us most," madame de Staël writes, "in
our long walks on the shores of the lake of Geneva, was the contrast of
the beautiful nature by which we were surrounded with the desolation of
mankind." In these walks she conversed with her father: his benevolence;
the pain he expressed at the idea of being hated by the French, to serve
whom he had sacrificed so much; the interchange of intimate and virtuous
thought, filled her heart with still more ardent affection towards him,
and made him, in her eyes, the greatest as well as the best of men.
[Sidenote: 1794.
Ætat.
28.]
It was at this time of comparative retirement that she wrote
"Reflections on the Peace," which Fox quoted as full of sound political
views and just argument.
This period was checkered by the illness, and finally the death, of
madame Necker. She died of a lingering nervous disorder. Her husband was
unwearied in his attentions and watchful tenderness, and madame de
Staël shared his fatigues, and sympathised with and consoled him in his
grief. The warmer kindness testified by her father caused her to prefer
him; and madame Necker herself, looking on her daughter as a rival in
her husband's affections, had repelled her. But death obliterated these
passions, and madame de Staël acknowledged her mother's talents and
virtues; she lamented her death, and respected her memory.
It might be thought that madame de Staël, escaped from the sanguinary
scenes of the reign of terror, would have been averse to returning to
that Paris which had been the theatre of such harrowing tragedies. Far
from it. Accustomed to the society of the French, the pedantic, precise,
and presumptuous tone of the Genevese was particularly disagreeable to
her. While considering herself a French woman, she was eager to mix in
the busy scenes that followed the death of Robespierre--to be of use to
her friends, and even to influence the choice of a system of government
which was to be established in France. She had some remorse in quitting
her father; but he encouraged her to go. He felt for her struggle
between her dislike to leaving him and her tastes, her friends, her
hopes of glory, which called her to France; and, with the truest
feelings of sympathy, persuaded her to seek her own happiness, promising
to find his in her letters from the scene of action.
[Sidenote: 1795.
Ætat.
29.]
M. de Staël being sent by the king of Sweden as minister to Paris, she
repaired thither. Her arrival formed an epoch in society. She threw open
her drawing-rooms, and all foreigners of distinction, ambassadors, and
literary men were charmed to meet in them. It attracted universal
attention, and became the signal of the revival of refinement in the
capital. Her chief exertions tended to getting the names of various
friends erased from the list of emigrants, which, while party spirit ran
so high, and the name of monarch and Bourbon was still held in
detestation and terror, was matter at once of difficulty and odium.
Legendre, a man who had figured during the reign of terror, denounced
her in the tribune of the convention, while the newspapers complained of
the influence exercised by women in their _salons dorés_, as they were
vulgarly called, and by the society that gathered there. She succeeded
in benefiting several of her friends, and this happiness counterbalanced
the attacks made against her.
[Sidenote: 1797.
Ætat.
31.]
During the whole of the reign of the directory, the influence of madame
de Staël was great. The expectation of a civil war became more imminent
as the royalists rested their hopes on the armies of la Vendée, and the
victories of the republican troops on the eastern frontiers, supporting
the new state of things, gave energy to the men in power. Moderate and
enlightened lovers of freedom desired to reconcile the two parties, and
prevent a struggle. Madame de Staël attempted to effect this
reconciliation. She had no desire for the return of the Bourbons; for
such a change could only have been operated through the subjugation of
France by foreign troops, a circumstance to be looked upon as the lowest
fall in its political greatness. She was the centre of a brilliant
society, which, while it regarded the chiefs of the republic as vulgar,
was attached to a form of government full of promise of distinction and
power to able and daring men. In France the influence of women is one of
the engines used by the other sex for their advancement. Madame de
Staël had already placed one of her friends in an elevated post; she
exerted herself for others. She was generous and active. No gall--no bad
feelings of hatred, or love of mischief, mingled in her desire to be
influential. But passionately loving glory, and eager to take a part in
the busier scenes of life, she made her house the rendezvous of all
parties, and sought her own elevation in trying to reconcile them all,
and to diffuse abroad a spirit of moderation and mutual toleration, and
was often exposed to the danger of imprisonment and exile from the
preponderance of the more popular party. Her mind was active, her
imagination lively; but she was without prudence. Her father said of
her, that she was like the savages, who sell their cabin in the morning
and find themselves without shelter at night. Ardent but without
forethought, ambitious of distinction without selfishness, she looked on
danger as a crown of laurel, and, as far as she was personally
concerned, cared more for the excitement of the combat than the repose
of success. Thus, though she failed in her attempts to reconcile
contending factions, she felt neither despondency nor sorrow. Meanwhile,
the struggle of parties--the violence of each occasioning the weakness
of all--became the stepping-stone to the man who, raising himself by the
sword, and establishing and increasing his power by the same method,
fell, when his weapon failed to be able to deal with all the enemies
from the extremities of the earth whom he challenged to the contest.
Bonaparte and madame de Staël were neither impressed favourably by the
other when first they met. He saw in her a factitious but a not the less
powerful influence with which he could only cope by trampling it in the
dust; and she found in him a man unimpressible by words or sentiments,
aiming at one goal, and wholly indifferent to the thousands to be mowed
down or the one tortured by the methods he used for his success. In
their encounter she felt her existence strike against a rock which,
while it wrecked whole fleets, did not disdain to swamp a skiff which
had every right to expect shelter beneath its shadow. When, after the
treaty of Campo-Formio, Bonaparte arrived in Paris, he and madame de
Staël often met in society. She declared that a feeling of fear always
overcame her in his presence. She was struck by his superiority, but
repelled by a certain coldness that remained as a wall between them.
When, for the sake of amassing funds for his expedition to Egypt,
Bonaparte proposed the invasion of Switzerland to the directory, madame
de Staël regarded the cause of the independence of that country as so
sacred, that she sought a conference with the general for the purpose of
turning him from his design. Nothing can better show the difference of
French manners from ours than this circumstance; and Bonaparte, a child
of the army, little conversant with the spirit of French society,
regarded a woman's interference on such a subject as impertinent and out
of character with her sex; but, although he was not to be moved by her,
such was her acknowledged influence that he did not disdain to discuss
the question with her with an appearance of candour, till, having
pronounced certain words which he considered sufficient to refute her
arguments, declaring that men must have political rights, and advancing
the falsehood that the Swiss would have more as a portion of France than
as an independent insignificant state, he turned the conversation, and
talked of his love of retirement,--of the country and the fine
arts,--expressing himself as sharing many of the lady's own tastes.
Madame de Staël felt the influence of his power of pleasing, but was
mortified to be treated like a mere woman. He, on the other hand,
perceiving that she had talents sufficient to persuade and influence
men, and that she was likely to exert this power against himself,
conceived a dislike, which he afterwards showed in a series of
persecutions.
[Sidenote: 1798.
Ætat.
32.]
The invasion of Switzerland being resolved on, madame de Staël quitted
Paris to rejoin her father at Coppet. His name was still on the list of
emigrants, which, as he was a Genevese, was altogether unjust. His
daughter implored him not to risk the danger of being condemned to death
when the country he inhabited should be occupied by a French army; but
he refused to stir: he would not in his old age wander over the earth,
nor would he quit the neighbourhood of the tomb of his wife, which had
been erected under her own directions, with the fervent hope that her
husband's remains would repose near hers. When the day came, fixed for
the violation of the Swiss territory by the French armies, Necker and
his daughter, with her infant children, remained alone at Coppet. Their
servants assembled in the avenue to see the passage of the troops, while
they themselves stood in a balcony which commanded the high road. It was
mid winter, but the weather was clear: the alps were reflected in the
lake at their feet, while the sound of military music alone broke the
silence of the scene. Madame de Staël's heart beat with fear for her
father's sake. Her vivid imagination painted, her impetuous heart
anticipated, a thousand horrors which transported her with terror. She
perceived an officer quit a troop on its way, and direct his steps
towards the château,--it was Suchet. He came charged by the directory
to offer a safeguard to her father. Thus re-assured with regard to the
dearest interest of her life, she began to feel fresh anguish for the
Swiss, attacked thus against the law of nations. She heard at Coppet the
cannon of the battle between the Bernese and French;--her heart, for the
first time, was against the latter. As soon as the triumph of France
united Geneva to its own territory, it became necessary that Necker's
name should be erased from the list of emigrants. Madame de Staël
visited Paris, and presented a memorial from her father to the
directory. His request was accorded instantly and unanimously; and his
daughter, so much more easily moved to kindly than angry emotions, felt
grateful for this act of simple justice. She endeavoured also to treat
with the French government for the payment of the two millions of francs
which Necker had deposited in the public treasury. The directory
acknowledged the debt, and were ready to defray it from the property of
the church. Necker refused so to be repaid, from the noble motive of not
choosing to mingle his worldly interests in the great question of the
revolution, and so to forfeit the reputation for impartiality by which
he laid store.
[Sidenote: 1799.
Ætat.
33.]
Madame de Staël witnessed, in Paris, the 18th Brumaire, when Bonaparte
overthrew the power of the directory and established his own supremacy.
Her feelings were much divided: if the jacobins triumphed, sanguinary
scenes might be renewed; but she anticipated with prophetic grief the
result of Bonaparte's success. As she always lived in a numerous circle,
and openly discussed her opinions, the first consul soon heard of the
dissatisfaction that she expressed with regard to his rising power.
Joseph Bonaparte, to whom she was partial, came to her and said, "My
brother complains of you. 'Why,' he said yesterday, 'does not madame de
Staël attach herself to my government? What does she want? The payment
of her father's deposit? I will order it to be made. To remain in Paris?
I will permit it. In short, what does she want?'" "The question," she
replied, "is not what I want, but what I think."
A tribunate made a portion of the constitution instituted in the first
instance by Bonaparte. The tribunes were to have the right to speak. The
first consul was aware that he must please the French at first by a
shadow of freedom; but a few men were found among the tribunes who
wished to turn the shadow into substance, and then Bonaparte put forth
his power, and claimed the lion's share. Benjamin Constant, on the eve
of attacking a measure proposed by the first consul, consulted madame de
Staël. She encouraged him, through noble and conscientious motives,
while she felt in her heart the injury that might redound to herself.
The possibility of being forced to quit Paris filled her with alarm and
wretchedness: her love for its society, her horror of retirement, had
been implanted, as we have seen, in her breast from her earliest
infancy; her brilliant powers of conversation fostered the taste, and
she well knew also that Bonaparte was aware of her weakness, and would
wound her through it. "He joined," she writes, "to the power by which he
could threaten, and the wealth by which he could entice, the
dispensation of ennui, which is held in terror by the French." Her
drawing-room on this occasion was crowded by men ready to give in their
adherence to the new government. Benjamin Constant drew near, and said,
"your room is filled with persons whose society is pleasing to you: if I
speak, to-morrow it will be a desert. Think of this." "One must follow
one's conviction," she replied. In narrating this anecdote, she frankly
adds that she spoke on the impulse of the moment; but that, if she could
then have foreseen the sufferings in store, she should not have had
strength to refuse the offer Constant made to remain silent. He proved a
true prophet. On the following day she received multiplied excuses for a
party she gave. As they came she felt disturbed, and she began to find
fault with her courage of the preceding day. To add to her inquietude,
the minister of police, Fouché, sent for her to say, that the first
consul suspected that she had excited her friends to speak against him.
She replied that Constant was a man of too superior talents to need the
interference of a woman in his political conduct. The result was that
Fouché advised her to go into the country for a few days, saying that
all would be well on her return. Such is the account that she gives of
the commencement of Bonaparte's persecution. Other writers vary. The
flatterers of Napoleon insinuate that she wished to gain an interest in
his heart. Napoleon himself, when at St. Helena, says, that she became
his enemy because he would not become her pupil. It were, perhaps, a
fairer statement to assert, that he oppressed her because she refused to
be his tool. At the same time it must be remembered, in exculpation of
Bonaparte's arbitrary acts with regard to her, that he was then making
difficult way up the slippery path of power; that she opposed his
progress not only by epigrams and repartees, but by political intrigues.
It was necessary to reduce her to silence and inaction. But this does
not excuse his after persecution, which was wanton and unmanly.
Soon after, when Bonaparte passed through Switzerland on his way to
Italy, having expressed a wish to see Necker, the latter waited on him,
and spent two hours in conversation. The fallen and aged minister was
gratified by this mark of interest on the part of the first consul, and
pleased with his conversation. He did not mention, as a meaner minded
man would have done, the debt owed him by the French government; but he
alluded to his daughter's position, and spoke of her as one whose name
and talents would adorn the society of the capital. The first consul
replied with courtesy; and the result was that she was hereafter to be
permitted to reside in Paris.
Bonaparte felt that his present power needed the prop of opinion.
Perhaps he hoped to gain the daughter by his civility and apparent
respect for the father. But neither were to be bent from their
convictions. This became apparent when, towards the end of the same
year, she published her work on literature. Her talents had now reached
their full development, and this book is one of the most masterly that
has emanated from her pen. It is full of liberal opinions; it restored
her to popularity; her salons again became thronged. Her society was
chiefly composed of foreigners and the _corps diplomatique._ Fouché
granted various requests made by her with regard to emigrants, and she
had thus the pleasure of being useful to, and moreover became popular
among, a class distinguished for urbane manners and the various charms
that attend refinement. But her book added to the irritation nourished
against her by the first consul. He wished the world to be filled with
his name; and, in this point of view, the influence possessed by
literary persons was of value in his eyes. Madame de Staël had not
mentioned him, nor alluded to his achievements, in her work; and he
looked on the omission as a wilful and galling insult. She never
appeared at his court; he said of her that every one left her house less
attached to him than when they went in; the rebel tribunes were among
her friends; and all tended to nourish his discontent. One day she was
asked to dinner by general Berthier, in company with Bonaparte. As she
heard that he often expressed himself sarcastically with regard to her,
she conjectured that he might address her with some of those rude
speeches which were so much feared by the courtiers; and, afraid of
losing her presence of mind, she went prepared with various studied
repartees. But he scarcely spoke to her, and she had the comfort of
believing that he feared to sting a dangerous enemy.
She spent her summers at Coppet with her father. In 1799, M. de Staël
had been recalled to Sweden. His extravagance had occasioned a
separation from his wife, who feared that the fortunes of her children
might be injured.
[Sidenote: 1802.
Ætat.
36.]
A reconciliation was, however, set on foot, and it was agreed that the
whole family should take up their residence at Coppet. On their way
thither M. de Staël fell ill and died, his wife attending on his last
moments.
Her novel of "Delphine" appeared about this time. It was attacked by the
French critics as immoral. Madame de Staël was indignant. "They dared
blame a book approved by Necker!" she exclaims. "Delphine" affords
scope, however, for such criticism. She allows that it displays too
eager a desire for happiness, the result of young and ardent feelings;
but, worse than this, it inculcates no spirit of courage under disaster.
Balwer speaks of "fortitude, the virtue of the ancients, and
resignation, the duty of Christians," as the chief aim of a philosophic
or pious mind: madame de Staël--and in this she is the founder of the
Byronic school--made the chief feeling of her work impatience of life
under sorrow, suicide in despair. This at once blights existence. To
feel that adversity and prosperity are both lessons to teach us a higher
wisdom, the fruition of which we hope hereafter to inherit, and which at
the same time is the ornament and crown of good men during life, ought
to be the aim of every writer. Sorrow is rife with desperation; we fly
to the pages of the sage to learn to bear; and a writer fails in his
duty when he presents poison instead Of medicine. With all this,
"Delphine" is a beautiful book. The character of the heroine is full of
charm: the hero is delineated with a truth, a fervour, and a reality,
that reaches home. The characters of madame de Valmont and her daughter
are finely portrayed. "Delphine," it was said, was an ideal of the
authoress herself; and the false friend was drawn from Talleyrand. "They
tell me," he said to her, "that you have put us both in your novel in
the character of women." Madame de Staël could well bear this sarcasm:
she was truly feminine; her very faults belonged to her sex.
Her father published a book at this time which greatly irritated
Bonaparte, and added to his dislike of the daughter. In his "Last View
of Politics and Finance" Necker unveiled the progress which the first
consul of the republic was making towards a throne. This untimely
disclosure of his secret ways injured Bonaparte: he spoke bitterly of
Necker, and said of madame de Staël that she should not visit Paris
again, since she conveyed such false impressions to her father.
Love for this father was the master passion of madame de Staël's life.
She looked on him as the wisest and best of men; but, more than this,
his kindness and sympathy gifted him with something angelic in her eyes.
He was her dearest friend--the prop of her fortunes; her adviser, her
shelter, her teacher, her approver--the seal of her prosperity and her
glory. He was an old man, and this imparted unspeakable tenderness to
her attachment. Her very love of Paris, and her consequent absences from
him, added force to her feelings. While away she gathered anecdotes and
knowledge for his amusement. Their correspondence was regular and full.
It contained a thousand narrations and sallies, observations on events
and persons full of piquancy, a gaiety adopted for the purpose of
diverting him; and over all was spread a tone of tenderness and
reverence, which accompanied the very idea of her father. When she
returned to him, she checked a little the demonstrations of her delight,
but it overflowed in her conversation. Things, men, and politics, the
effect she had herself produced, were all related with an effusion of
joy, accompanied by caresses, by tears of gladness, and laughter full of
love. Necker listened with proud delight. He loved her fondly. Her very
faults, her want of forethought, which made his cares necessary; her
uncertainty and doubts with regard to all the minor affairs of life,
which she joyfully submitted to his direction; her exuberant yet
uncertain spirits; her imagination that often plunged her in gloom, were
so many ties to unite father and daughter in bonds of the fondest
affection.
Yet she could not contentedly remain with him long. She disliked
Genevese society; she was wrapt up in that of Paris. Her parents had
planted the seeds of this love of display and eager desire for the
arena, where wit and all that is the salt of life is to be met in
perfection, and it was but fair that her father should reap the fruits
of the education he had bestowed. He felt for her, and was deeply
grieved that his publication had augmented the annoyances of her
position.
[Sidenote: 1803.
Ætat.
37.]
When the peace of Amiens was broken, and Bonaparte and all France were
occupied by the meditated descent on England, she hoped to be forgotten.
She drew near Paris, and established herself at the distance of thirty
miles. The first consul was told that the road to her retreat was
crowded by people paying her visits. This was not true, but it alarmed
his jealousy; she heard that she should receive an order to depart.
Hoping to escape by leaving her home, she went from house to house of
her friends, but in vain. She was at that of madame Recamier when she
received the fatal order to leave France in twenty-four hours. She would
not at once yield; she asked for day after day of reprieve. Junot and
Joseph Bonaparte interceded with the first consul for her; she pleaded
as for life; but the petty resentment of the great man could not be
mollified. He has done worse deeds during his reign, but take the worst
said of madame de Staël, by his chief flatterers, and still no revenge
could be meaner, no act of tyranny more flagrant, than that which exiled
from his capital, and the country he ruled over, a woman, whatever
offence she had committed against him, who promised silence; who asked
but for the society of a few friends; whose crime was that she would not
celebrate the liberticide in her writings.
Forced to go, she could not persuade herself to appear disgraced and
driven away among the Genevese. She hoped, and her father hoped for her,
that new scenes, and the welcome afforded her among strangers, would
blunt the blow she had received, and revive her spirits. She determined
to visit Germany, with the intention of seeing its great writers,
studying their productions, and of afterwards presenting the French with
an account of the, to them, sealed book of German literature. Joseph
Bonaparte gave her letters of introduction for Berlin, and she set out.
Benjamin Constant accompanied her; yet this very kindness was the source
of pain, as he also was partial to a residence in Paris. "Every step of
the horses," she writes, "was a pang; and, when the postilions boasted
that they had driven fast, I could not help smiling at the sad service
they did me. I travelled forty leagues before I recovered possession of
myself. At length we stopt at Chalons, and Benjamin Constant rousing him
self, through his wonderful powers of conversation, lightened, at least
for a few moments, the burden that weighed me down."
Constant continued to accompany her. She was well received at Weimar and
Berlin. She was at Berlin at the time of the assassination of the duke
d'Enghien, and shared the horror that this unnecessary act of cruelty
excited. This circumstance added to her detestation of Napoleon.
Meanwhile she greatly enjoyed the kindness she found, and the vast field
of knowledge opened before her.
[Sidenote: 1804.
Ætat.
38.]
A fatal event put an end to her pleasure. She received tidings of the
dangerous illness of her father--the intelligence of his death quickly
followed. She left Germany. She returned to Coppet overwhelmed with
grief. Generally speaking, there is exaggeration and traces of false
sentiment in her writings. Her best work for style and simplicity of
narration is her "Dix Années d'Exil;" and the best portion of this book
describes her feelings during her journey from Weimar to Coppet. All who
have suffered the worst of sorrows--the death of one dearly loved--will
find the echo of their inmost thoughts in that passage.
The death of Necker changed the course of her existence, as far as
internal feelings operate on the exterior of life. Her father had looked
on her as incorrigibly thoughtless in all worldly and pecuniary
concerns; but she was no longer in the heyday of youth; experience
taught her prudence; and, being thrown entirely on herself, her
conscience bade her preserve the fortunes of her children. She was a
good mother. Having obeyed and reverenced her father--she exacted the
same towards herself from her offspring; nor did she ever regard them
with the exuberant trembling tenderness she had lavished on her beloved
parent. But was kind--ever ready to serve them, and eager for their
well-being. Her notions on education were sensible and just: she did not
give trust to extraordinary systems; she contented herself by inspiring
them with piety and generous sentiments; and was perfectly open and true
in her conduct. They sincerely loved, while they a little feared her.
The society of her children and her friends could not console her for
the loss of her father and exile from the country she loved. Her first
occupation was to publish the writings of Necker, accompanied by a
biographical memoir, in which she pours forth, with touching
earnestness, all the ardour of her filial affection. Her health sunk
beneath her sorrow.
[Sidenote: 1805.
Ætat.
39.]
To revive her spirits and change the scene she visited Italy. There, as
everywhere, her astonishing powers of conversation gathered an admiring
audience round her. She enjoyed, with all the warmth of her disposition,
the delights afforded by that enchanting country; and, impelled to
express on paper the overflowing of her thoughts, she embodied her
enthusiasm, her pleasure, and the knowledge she gained, in her novel of
"Corinne." There is a charm in that work that stamps it as coming from
the hand of genius. The personages live, breathe, and speak before you.
We hope or fear for, admire or censure them, as if they were our
friends. She speaks of love with heartfelt knowledge of the mighty
powers of passion, and of all those delicate, so to speak, fibres and
evanescent tints that foster and adorn it. The faults of such a book are
a very secondary consideration. The Italians will not allow that it is
by any means a true representation of society in their country; and any
one who has lived there can perceive that she had but a superficial
knowledge of Italy and the Italians; still she gives a true picture of
the surface such as she saw it. Her account of Corinne's life in England
is admirable. The English, with all their pride, are less vain than the
Italians, and readily acknowledge their faults. Every English person is
at once astonished and delighted with the wonderful truth of her sketch
of county society in England. In this novel, as in "Delphine," the
heroine dies broken-hearted. Her lover proving false, she lives
miserably a few years, and then closes her eyes on a world grown dark
and solitary. Madame de Staël was naturally led to portray death as the
result of sorrow; for when we are miserable, we are apt to dwell on such
as the dearest relief; yet we do not die. The authoress also might wish
to impress on men an idea of the misery which their falsehood produces.
That is a story as ancient as Dido, and told by Virgil more impressively
and beautifully than by any other writer. For the dignity of womanhood,
it were better to teach how one, as highly gifted as Corinne, could find
resignation or fortitude enough to endure a too common lot, and rise
wiser and better from the trial.
Madame de Staël was exiled to forty leagues from Paris; her love of
France caused her to approach so near to its capital. She established
herself first at Auxerre and afterwards at Rouen. Here she terminated
and brought out "Corinne." She exercised the utmost caution in her
conduct, saw but few friends, and observed that silence with regard to
politics which Napoleon rigorously exacted throughout his empire.
Fouché, who had no love of wanton mischief, allowed her to settle
herself within twelve leagues of Paris. But the publication of her novel
put an end to this indulgence, and redoubled the oppression in force
against her. She continued to refuse to advert to Napoleon's victories
and Napoleon's power; and the great man, than whom no hero was ever less
a hero in all magnanimous sentiments, ordered her to quit the country.
She returned to Coppet half broken-hearted.
[Sidenote: 1807.
Ætat.
41.]
The visits she received from her friends and illustrious foreigners
somewhat relieved the tedium of her life. She was occupied by her work
on Germany, and visited Vienna to gather additional materials for it. On
her return, she devoted two years to its completion. She tried to make
an existence for herself at Coppet, but did not succeed. Alas! for her.
Goldsmith's lines on French society are but too applicable to her state
of mind:--
"For praise too warmly loved, or dearly sought,
Enfeebles all internal strength of thought;
And the weak soul, within itself unblest,
Leans for all pleasure on another's breast."
She was, with all her vivacity, naturally melancholy. The _society of
nature_, as she termed it, nursed her darkest reveries, and she turned
from her own thoughts as from a spring of bitterness. As existence
became stagnant, _ennui_ generated a thousand imaginary monsters of
mind; she felt lost and miserable. Death and solitude were, in her mind,
closely allied. Take away the animation of conversation; the
intercommunication of ideas among the many; the struggle, the applause,
the stirring interest in events; the busy crowd that gave variety to
every impression; and the rest of life was, in her eyes, a fearful vigil
near the grave. It is beautifully said, that God tempers the wind to the
shorn lamb. Sometimes, however, the exact contrary has place, and our
weak and sore points are sought out to be roughly handled. Thus madame
de Staël, brought up to act a foremost part on the brilliant theatre of
the civilised world, was cast back on herself, and found there only
discontent and misery. To us sober English, indeed, her life at Coppet
seems busy enough. She assembled all travellers about her; her domestic
circle was large; she acted plays; she declaimed; but it would not do:
Paris was interdicted, and she was cut off from happiness.
[Sidenote: 1810.
Ætat.
44.]
Having finished her "Germany," she desired to overlook its progress
through the press at the permitted distance of forty leagues from Paris.
She established herself near Blois, in the old château of
Chammont-sur-Loire, erst inhabited by cardinal d'Amboise, Diane de
Poitiers, Catherine de Medicis, and Nostradamus. A few friends gathering
round her, she enjoyed the amusements and occupations she shared with
them. Madame Recamier was chief among them, and very dear to her. Her
plan was, as soon as her book was printed, to reach England by America,
that being the only path left open to our island by Napoleon. She had
submitted her work to the censor, and, having made all the alterations
exacted, she felt herself safe. But the storm gathered, and broke
unexpectedly. She had not praised Napoleon; she had not mentioned the
success of the French armies in Germany; she had tried even to enlarge
the sphere of French literature, by introducing a knowledge of and taste
for the German--an attempt anti-national in the emperor's eyes. He did
not hesitate to condemn such a work. The duke de Rovigo, minister of
police, sent to seize on the edition, to demand the manuscript, and to
order her to quit France in three days. She was proud of her book, and
had every right to be so; and she gladly anticipated the applause and
increased reputation that would follow it. The loss of this could be
borne, but the renewed sentence of exile struck her to the heart. She
was forced to obey. Her first idea was to embark for America; but her
purpose in so doing was to get on board an English ship, and reach
England. Her plans were disturbed by an intimation from Savary that she
must embark only at the ports of France furthest from her desired goal.
The minister wrote to her with flippancy, that her book was not French,
and that her exile was the consequence of the course she had followed
for years. The air of France evidently disagreed with her; but the
French were not reduced to seek for models in the countries which she
admired. Savary was still more frank when speaking on the subject. He
asked why she had made no mention of the emperor or his armies? He was
told that such allusions were out of place in a book that treated solely
of literature. "Do you think," he replied, "that we have carried on a
war in Germany for eighteen years for so well-known an author to omit
all mention of us? The book shall be destroyed, and we should do well to
send the writer to Vincennes."
Her plans disturbed, hope dead within her, she returned to Coppet,
almost resigned to pass her life in the château; but the hour had
passed away when she was allowed to enjoy the tribute of visits from
foreigners of distinction, and to gather round her such friends as she
best loved. A series of the most tormenting and cruel persecutions were
instituted, that acting on an imagination easily disquieted, and on a
temperament that needed the atmosphere of joy to feel at ease, drove her
into a state of intense and uninterrupted suffering. She gave up all
idea, which must always be agreeable to an author, of publishing; she
scarcely dared write. All her acquaintance as well as friends were
looked on with unfavourable eyes. She could not venture to ask a guest
to dinner; she was so afraid of compromising the whole family of any one
who came near her. The prefect of Geneva was changed as being too
favourably disposed. The new magistrate urged her to eulogise Napoleon
as the sure means of putting an end to all her annoyances: would she
only celebrate the birth of the king of Rome? She replied that she did
not know how to do so: she could only express her hopes that he would
have a good nurse. The prefect took his leave, and never came near her
again. Her children were forbidden to enter France. She went to Aix, in
Savoy, for the benefit of the health of her youngest son; she was
ordered to return; she was advised never to go further than two leagues
from Coppet. William Schlegel, whom she had engaged to live with her to
assist in the education of her children, was ordered to quit her
château. He had published a work, in which he showed a preference to
the Phædra of Euripides over that of Racine; he was judged
anti-Gallican; and she was told that his society was injurious to her. A
thousand terrors seized her. Confined within narrow precincts, deprived
of her friends, she began to fear a prison, where she would have been
left to perish, miserable and forgotten. She resolved to escape--it was
difficult to choose a route. She was told that she would be arrested on
her way through any country under the dominion of the French. She passed
her life, she says, in studying a map of Europe, to find how she could
escape beyond the wide-spread poison tree of Napoleon's power. She
traced a route through the Tyrol on her way to Russia and Sweden, and
thence to England. A thousand difficulties presented themselves for the
execution of this plan, but it was her best.
"There is physical pleasure," she writes, "in resisting unjust power;"
the act of resistance was animating, but when the hour of defeat came
all was stagnant, fearful, and oppressive. The worst blow dealt her was
when she found that any friend who visited her was involved in the same
oppression. An old friend, M. de Montmorency, visited Coppet; the
delight of seeing him made her blind to danger. She made a tour through
Switzerland with him in spite of the advice given her not to go further
than two leagues from Coppet. They afterwards returned to her château,
where M. de Montmorency speedily received an order of exile. This news
plunged her in agony--that her friends should be wounded through her was
worse than her own misfortunes. While still suffering from this
disaster, she received a letter from madame Recamier, saying that she
was on her road to Aix, in Savoy, and announcing her intention of
visiting Coppet in her way. Madame de Staël implored her not to come;
but her generous friend could not pass so near without spending a few
hours with her;--a few hours only, but they sufficed to call down
banishment on her head: henceforth she was driven from her home and
friends, and forced to take up her residence at Lyons in solitude and
exile. All this was done to drive her to dishonour herself by praising
him whose tyranny made him every day more odious, as the persecutor of
herself and the oppressor of France. The prefect of Geneva was ordered
to annul her, and he took pains to impress every one with the dangers
that would accrue from any intercourse with her. He waylaid every
stranger, and turned them aside from the path to her house; her
correspondents in Paris were exiled; she felt that she ought to refrain
from seeing any one. By a natural struggle of feeling she was disquieted
when her friends generously sought, and still more miserable when they
selfishly abandoned her.
She never saw the day return, she says, that she did not repine at being
obliged to live to its end. She was married again at this time. This
event, which was kept secret till after her death, is one of the most
singular of her history.
In the year 1810 there came to Geneva a young Spaniard of the name of
Rocca. He was an officer in the French army, and had been wounded
dangerously in Spain. He inspired great interest through the reputation
he enjoyed for brilliant courage and for talent. He was young and very
handsome; but his wounds had reduced him to a state of great weakness
and suffering; and the contrast was striking and interesting between his
youth and noble physiognomy, and his extreme pallor and attenuated
figure. He heard madame de Staël talk, and was seized with enthusiastic
admiration. Necker said of his daughter that her conversation imparted
an idea of the beautiful; and thus, though twenty years older than
himself, and, except for her eyes, with no beauty of face, the young
Rocca was attracted by that of her mind, and said, "I shall love her so
much that at last she will marry me." These words were soon fulfilled.
But she refused to acknowledge a marriage which, from disparity of age,
might have excited ridicule; and in all things of that sort madame de
Staël was singularly timid. She was averse also to change her name.
"Mon nom est à l'Europe," she replied to Rocca, when they were in
England, and he jestingly asked her to marry him. She does not in her
narratives advert to this marriage; but the fear must have haunted her
that Napoleon would exile Rocca from Coppet; while, on the other hand,
she found it difficult to leave an infant child, the offspring of their
union, uncertain when again she could rejoin it.
These terrors and doubts threw her into a nervous state of the most
painful kind. Now, she thought it wrong and foolish to leave her house,
where she enjoyed every bodily comfort and the society of her
children,--again, the fear of prison, the terror of who next among her
friends would be the tyrant's victim, distracted her. At length she
resolved to depart, and ultimately to reach England; whether by Russia
and Sweden, or Greece and Constantinople, was to be decided by
circumstances that might occur during her progress.
Her account of her journey is full of interest. An abridgment can give
little idea of its difficulties,--the petty yet stinging annoyances by
which she was beset,--the delays, the terror, the disappointments. Now
she feared for her daughter's health,--and then still more for the
safety of M. Rocca. The order for his arrest as a French officer had
been forwarded through Germany. It is true he had sent in his
resignation, his wounds preventing him from active service; but, if he
had been taken, there is no doubt that he would have been treated with
the utmost rigour. They were often obliged to separate, and he rejoined
her once or twice in moments full of peril to himself. She traversed
Germany and Poland in this way; and even in Russia she was not sure of
escape from Napoleon. His armies had entered that vast empire, and were
close behind her.
It was matter of joy to her when at last, after passing through Moscow,
she arrived at St. Petersburg, to find the emperor Alexander full of
resolution and ardour to resist the despot. He treated her with great
distinction; and she proceeded on her way to her old friend Bernadotte,
at that time crown prince of Sweden. She remained eight months at
Stockholm. She had begun a portion of her "Dix Années d'Exil" at
Coppet, it being copied as fast as written by her friends, feigned
English names and old dates being substituted for the real; since under
Napoleon's police regulations it was not safe to preserve a page of
manuscript in which he was blamed.
From Sweden she passed over to England, where she occupied herself in
publishing her "Germany." She was courted as a _lion_ in English
fashionable society; and, though her style of life and conversation were
very opposite to our manners, still she impressed every one with high
ideas of her talents and genius. The Whig party were a little surprised
at her tone in politics. They were not yet accustomed to regard Napoleon
as the tyrant and oppressor, and they thought that madame de Staël had
changed her principles when she warmly advocated war against the
emperor. She was intimate with all the English of distinction. Her
compliments seemed a little _outré_ to us, and she made a few mistakes
that excited smiles; still she was liked. Lord Byron was among her
favourites,--his genius possessed fascination for her. There was a
notion at one time that he would marry her daughter, whom he admired;
but Albertine was reserved for a better fate.
All her patriotism as a Frenchwoman was painfully roused when the allies
entered France; still she hailed the overthrow of Napoleon, and the
restoration of the Bourbons, with delight, hoping that the latter would
deserve well of their country. She was liked by Louis XVIII., who repaid
her the two millions which Necker had lent the state. The return of
Napoleon from Elba filled her with terror, and she instantly left Paris
for Coppet. He, who now appeared with a professed attachment to
constitutional liberty, invited her to return and assist him in
modelling a constitution. She replied, "He did without me or a
constitution for twelve years, and has no liking for either of us." The
occupation of France by the allies filled her with grief; that her
"belle France" should be held in these degrading chains seemed
desecration, and she retreated to Coppet not to witness the humiliating
spectacle.
[Sidenote: 1816.
Ætat.
50.]
She was there when lord Byron resided at Diodati in 1816. He visited
her, and she gave him a good deal of advice to which he listened, and
was induced to make an attempt to be reconciled to his wife. When she
preached lessons of worldly wisdom, he quoted the motto to
"Delphine"--"Un homme doit savoir braver l'opinion, une femme s'y
soummettre." But she replied that she feared that both sexes would reap
evil only from resistance.
The marriage of her daughter to the duke de Broglie, and the admirable
character of this lady, formed the chief happiness of her latter life.
Her children were all dutiful and affectionate. Her chief sorrow
resulted from the ill health of M. Rocca, who tottered on the brink of
the grave. He deserved the affection he inspired. His tenderness towards
her was extreme, and his admiration never waned. His chivalrous
sentiments, his wit, and his poetic imagination, varied and filled her
life. His ill state of health, while it disquieted her, yet annihilated
their difference of age. At one time she visited Pisa, that he might be
benefited by a milder climate. He was there at the point of death: she
compared herself to marshal Ney, who was then expecting at each moment
to receive his sentence. Endowed by an imagination which never blunted
any sorrow, but which exaggerated all, she said afterwards that she had
composed a book, with the title, "The only Misfortune of Life, the Loss
of a Person beloved."
Her character softened as she advanced in life, and she appreciated its
real blessings and disasters more rationally, at the same time that she
acquired greater truth and energy in her writings. This may often be
observed with women. When young, they are open to such cruel attacks,
every step they take in public may bring with it irreparable injury to
their private affections, to their delicacy, to their dearest prospects.
As years are added they gather courage; they feel the earth grow
steadier under their steps; they depend less on others, and their moral
worth increases. She was an affectionate and constant friend, and the
sentiments of her heart replaced the appetite she formerly had for the
display of talent: she placed a true value on courage and resignation,
when before she had reserved her esteem for sensibility. She grew
calmer, and ceased to fabricate imaginary woes for herself, happy when
she escaped real ones. She grew pious. From her earliest years she had
strong feelings of religion, resulting from dependence on Providence,
from adoration for the Supreme Being, and hope of a future life. The
Christian principles mingled more entirely with these sentiments in her
latter years. As her health declined, her sleepless hours were spent in
prayer, and existence lost, as it often does to those about to leave it,
its gay and deceptive colours. "Life," she said, "resembles Gobelin
tapestry: you do not see the canvass on the right side; but when you
turn it the threads are visible. The mystery of existence is the
connection between our faults and our misfortunes. I never committed an
error that was not the cause of a disaster." And thus, while the idea of
death was infinitely painful, the hope of another life sustained her.
"My father waits for me on the other side," she said, and indulged the
hope of hereafter being rejoined by her daughter.
She perished gradually: the use of opium, from which she could not wean
herself, increased her danger; nor could medicine aid her. She died in
Paris on the 14th July, 1817, in her fifty-second year. Rocca survived
her but a few months.
She possessed too much merit not to have many enemies during her life,
and these were increased by her passion for display, and the jealous
spirit with which she competed with those whom she looked on as rivals.
The eagerness with which during the days of the republic she mingled in
politics, and her attempts to acquire influence over Napoleon, were arms
that she put into the hands of her enemies to injure her. They accused
her of an intriguing meddling disposition, saying of her, that to make a
revolution she would throw all her friends into the river, content with
fishing them out the next day, and so showing the kindness of her heart.
But her faults were more than compensated among her friends by the truth
and constancy of her attachment. Her temper was equable, though her mind
was often tempest-tost, clouded by dark imaginations, torn by unreal but
deeply felt anxieties and sorrows. "I am now," she said, in her last
days, "what I have ever been,--sad, yet vivacious." To repair wrong, to
impress on the minds of princes benevolence and justice, were in her
latter years the scope of, so to speak, her public life. She loved
France with passion. Lord Brougham records the alarm and indignation
which caused her to pant for breath, as she exclaimed, "Quoi donc, cette
belle France!" when lord Dudley, half in jest half seriously, wished the
Cossacks, in revenge for Moscow burnt, to nail a horse-shoe on the gates
of the Tuileries.
Our memoir has extended to so great a length that we can only advert
cursorily to her writings. M. Anneé, a French critic, observes of her,
that her understanding had more brilliance than profundity; and yet that
no writer of her epoch had left such luminous ideas on her route.
Chateaubriand, while he deplores the party spirit which gave irritation
to her sentiments and bitterness to her style, pronounces her to be a
woman of rare merit, and who would add another name to the list of those
destined to become immortal. She wrote on a vast variety of subjects,
and threw light on all. Yet she gathered her knowledge, not by profound
study, but by rapid dipping into books and by conversation with learned
men; thus her opinions are often wrongly grounded, and her learning is
superficial. Still her conclusions are often admirable, granting that
the ground on which she founds them is true. She has great felicity of
illustration, and her style is varied and eloquent, the fault being that
it sometimes abounds in words, and wants the merit of concentration and
conciseness; often, too, she is satisfied with a sentiment for a reason.
Her wit is not pleasantry, but it is pointed and happy. She neither
understood nor liked humour; but she enjoyed repartee: many are recorded
as falling from her, and they are distinguished by their point and
delicacy. Her "Dix Années d'Exil" is the most simple and interesting of
her works; but her "Germany," perhaps, deserves the highest rank, from
its research, and the great beauty of its concluding chapters. Of her
novels we have already spoken. They do not teach the most needful
lesson--moral courage; but they are admirable as pictures of life and
vivid representations of character, for subtle remark and vivid detail
of what in youth forms our joys and sorrows. She puts much of herself in
all; and thus adds to the charm and truth of her sentiments and ideas.
Her "Considerations on the French Revolution" is valuable, from its
affording us a personal picture of the impressions made by that epoch;
but the great preponderance of praise which she gives to Necker renders
it a work of prejudice. Like him, she had no strong republican
sentiments. She desired an English constitution; she disliked the
girondists as well as the mountain, and attempted the impossible task of
reconciling the interests of the nation as established by the revolution
with that of the _ancienne régime._ Her feelings are praiseworthy, but
her views are narrow.
Such is the defect of human nature that we have no right to demand
perfection from any individual of the species. We may sum up by saying
that, though the character and writings of madame de Staël, in some
respects, display weaknesses, and though she committed errors, her
virtues and genius raise her high; and the country that gave her birth,
and which she truly loved, may, with honest pride, rank her among its
most illustrious names.
INDEX
A.
Abbeville, condemnation of the
chevalier de la Barre at, II. 84.
Academy, the French, its judgment
on the "Cid," I. 47. Cardinal de
Richelieu's marginal observations
on that critique, 48. Question of
electing Molière, 141. La Fontaine,
academician, 167. Boileau's
election, 167. The "Dictionary"
of, 168. Furetière's Dictionary
in competition to it, 168.
Academy of Sciences, the French
Royal, II. 25.
Æschylus, I. 40.
Alembert, _see_ D'Alembert.
Amelot, M., secretary of state, II.
46, 47.
Angennes, Mlle. Julie d', deity of
the Hôtel Rambouillet, I. 108.
Duchess of Montauzier, 123.
263, n.
Angennes, Angélique, married to
the chevalier de Grignan, I. 247,
248.
Anne of Austria, regent during the
minority of Louis XIV., I. 66.
She withdraws from Paris, with
the young king and Mazarin, to
St. Germain, 70. The capital
blockaded by Condé, 70. A short
peace, 71.
Antoine, Faubourg St., battle
between Condé and Turenne near
the gates of the, I. 81. Turenne
victorious, 81.
Arbuthnot, Dr., character of, I. 30.
Argenson, M. d', anecdote relative
to, I. 235.
Argental, count d', II. 53. 100.
Ariosto, I. 154. Imitated by La Fontaine,
165. 181.
Aristotle, controversy respecting,
excited by Rabelais, I. 31. Ramus's
Anti-Stagyrite, 31.
Arlechino, or Harlequin, Italian
actor, I. 102.
Arnaud, Antony, the abbé, controversialist,
I. 198. 267. 315. 339.
Arnaud d'Andilli, brother of Antony,
I. 198.
Arnaud, Angélique, abbess of Port
Royal, I. 198.
Arouet, M., father of Voltaire, II. 4.
7. 9. 11.
Artagnan, M. d', I. 223, n.
Assoucy, d', musician and poet,
kindly entertained during his
peregrinations by Molière and his
brother comedians, I. 104.
Atmospheric air, properties of, I.
191.
B.
Bacon, Francis lord, his opinion of
Rabelais, I. 23.
Ballads, Spanish and Moorish, I.
45.
Balzac, poetry of, I. 153.
Barante, M., his "Literature of the
Eighteenth Century," II. 14, n.
Bardou, French poet, I. 265.
Baron, excellent comedian, I. 131.
132. 143.
Barre, chevalier de la, execution of
the, II. 84.
Beauvilliers, duke de, I. 335.
Béjart, brothers, comedians in Molière's
troop, I. 102. Facetiousness
of the younger, 121.
Béjart, Madeleine, actress, her
beauty, I. 102.
Béjart, Armande, is married by
Molière, I. 102. Their union infelicitous,
117. 131. Implores
Louis XIV. that her deceased
husband should be buried in holy
ground, 140. She marries M.
Guérin, comedian, 148.
Bellay, du, archbishop of Paris,
friendly to Rabelais, I. 24, 25. 27.
Ambassador from Francis I. to
Paul III., 28. He receives Rabelais
in his household at Paris,
33. Supposed dying message by
Rabelais to, 39.
Bellerose, Pierre le Meslier named,
tragedian, I. 98.
Benedictine order, claims of for
respect, I. 25.
Benserade, court poet, I. 226.
Bergerac, Cyrano de, I. 99.
Bernier, traveller in the East, I. 99.
100.
Bible, English, an example for
language, I. 61.
Boccaccio, his works acknowledged
to be diverting by La Fontaine, I.
154. 181.
Boétie, Etienne de la, friendship of
Montaigne for, I. 7. Latin poem
by, 16. Death-bed of, 9.
Boileau Despréaux, Nicholas, epigram
on Corneille by, I. 57. His
high estimate of Molière's genius,
97. 118. 146. His regret for the
loss of Molière's early farces, 105.
He criticises "Les Fourberies de
Scapin," 134. His advice to Molière,
142. His poetry remarkable
for wit, but without humour,
146. His observations on La
Fontaine, 160. 165. In favour
with Louis XIV., 163. Is elected
of the French Academy, 167.
His admiration of the "Lettres
Provinciales" of Pascal, 202.
His father, Giles Boileau, 259.
Birth of Nicholas in 1636, 259.
At school he commenced writing
poetry, 260. Studies law, and
named advocate, 261. Attacks
Chapelain and Cotin, 263. 265.
Substitutes fresh victims of his
satire in place of such as had
surrendered at discretion, 265.
His friends, 267. He speaks of
his own success, 268, n. His "Art
Poétique," 270. The "Lutrin,"
270. Passages from, 272-279.
Leigh Hunt's parallel of Boileau
and Pope, 271, n. Boileau eulogises
Louis XIV., and is favourably
received at court, 278. Is
named historiographer conjointly
with Racine, 279. These poets
accompany Louis to Ghent, 280.
Is liable in camp to alarms,
his phlegmatic disposition, 281.
His conversations with madame
de Maintenon and Racine, 283.
Desires a seat in the French
Academy, 167. 284. Repairs to
the baths of Bourbon for health,
285. His correspondence by
letter of much interest, 285.
286. Is indignant as to Perrault's
"Siècle de Louis Quatorze,"
287. His Satire on Women,
288. His pension, 289. His
tender regard for Racine, 289.
He loses his valued friend, 290.
His interview with Louis as sole
historiographer, 291. His retirement,
291. His amusements in
old age, 291. Sells his house at
Auteuil, 292. His piety, 293.
Completes an edition of his works,
293. Account of several of his
works, 293. _et passim._ Dies of
dropsy on the chest at seventy-five
years of age, 294. His superior
wit, 294. His verses highly
finished and regular, 295. The
"Lutrin" his best poem, 295.
Teaches Racine that easy versification
is the result of painstaking,
307. He reconciles Antoine
Arnaud, and Racine, 315. His
enduring kindness for Racine,
327. His name of Despréaux, II.
21.
Boisrobert, French poet, I. 43. 47.
Bonaparte, general, his first interview
with madame de Staël, II.
322. Appointed first consul, 323.
Surmises as to the causes of Bonaparte's
enmity, 324. His interview
with M. Necker, 325. He
permits madame de Staël to reside
in Paris, 326. Not being lauded
by her, he seizes her "Germany,"
and exiles her from France, 332.
On his return from Elba, invites
her to assist him in forming a
constitution; her answer, 340.
Bonnecorse, French writer, I. 265.
266.
Bordeaux, the father of Montaigne
mayor of, I. 1. Michel Montaigne
(the Essayist) mayor, 19. Re-election
of Montaigne, 19. Warfare
of the Fronde against the
royal party, at, 73. The prince of
Condé joyfully received by the
Bordelais, 77. Molière patronised
by the duke d'Epernon at, 102.
Bose, M., letter from madame Roland
to, II. 272. He visits her in
prison, 289.
Bossuet, bishop of Meaux, witnesses
the death of the duke of Rochefoucauld,
I. 90. His intended marriage,
334. Abandons it for the
church, 334. Appointed preceptor
to the dauphin, 334. 336. His
funeral oration on Henrietta, duchess
of Orléans, 334, n. His "Discours
sur l'Histoire Universelle,"
334. He causes the misfortunes
of Fénélon by his zeal against the
doctrines of quietisme, 345. No
reconciliation takes place between
Bossuet and Fénélon, 356.
Bonhours, le père, jesuit, I. 203, n.
Bouillon, duke of, I. 73. His death
of typhus fever, 82.
Bouillon, duchess of, I. 70. Niece
of Mazarin, 158. She conducts La
Fontaine to Paris, 159. 172. 177.
Bouillon, M., his "Joconde," I. 165.
Bourdaloue, le père, I. 202, n. 257, n.
Said to surpass his instructor,
Bossuet, in pulpit eloquence, 334.
Boursault, French dramatic author,
I. 265. His visit to Boileau, 266.
Bretons, character of this race, I.
216. Their loyalty romantic and
excessive, 216.
Brissot, M., and the Girondists, II.
273. 314. He falls into disrepute,
276. Their known moderation,
281. 283. Louvet accuses Robespierre,
but is ill supported except
by the Gironde deputies, 284. Act
of accusation against them, 290.
Execution of Brissot, 291.
Brittany, province of, I. 214. 216.
Affairs of, 243.
Broglie, duke de, espouses Albertine,
daughter of madame de
Staël, II. 340.
Bruyère, _see_ La Bruyère.
Buchanan, George, applauds the
early teaching Latin to Montaigne,
I. 4.
Budæus, referred to as to Rabelais,
I. 24.
Burke, right hon. Edmund, his opinion
of Oliver Goldsmith, I. 182.
Burgundy, duke of, grandson of
Louis XIV., his preceptors, I. 335.
359. 364. His death, 365. II. 10.
Bussy-Rabutin, Roger, count de,
cousin of madame de Sévigné, I.
217. Her letters to the count,
217. His letters to madame de
Sévigné, 217. 219. Particulars of
his career, 218, n. His licentious
works, 221.
C.
Cailhava, his "Art de la Comédie,"
I. 154, n.
Calas, Jean, inquiry into the injustice
of the condemnation of, II. 80.
Calonne, administration of this financier,
II. 304.
Calvin, John, his reproof of Rabelais,
I. 31.
Castro, Guillen de, the "Cid" of, I.
45.
Catherine II., her correspondence
with M. de Voltaire, II. 107.
Caumartin, M. de, II. 10.
Cavoie, M. de, I. 281. 317.
Chamfort, his éloge of Molière, I.
148.
Champmélé, mademoiselle de, celebrated
actress, I. 307.
Charles VI., the emperor, death of,
II. 42.
Chapelain, French poet and critic,
I. 47. 48. Character of, 262. His
poem of "La Pucelle d'Orléans,"
262. 263, n. Other allusions to,
301.
Chapelle, poet, education of, I. 99.
His good-fellowship, 115. 131. 132.
Allusions to, 216.
Chateauneuf, the abbé de, II. 5. 6.
Chateauneuf, marquis de, II. 7.
Châteauroux, duchess of, II. 44. 47.
Châtelet, marquis du, his castle of
Cirey affords a refuge to Voltaire,
II. 24. 26.
Châtelet, madame du, Voltaire's
intimacy with, II. 21. She learns
English of Voltaire, 25. 26. Her
literary taste, 25. 29. She revisits
Paris with Voltaire, 42. Visits
Sceaux, 48. Her death, 52.
Châtillon, duchess of, I. 217.
Chaulnes, duke of, governor of Britany,
I. 248.
Chaulnes, duchess of, I. 243. 248. 252.
Chavigni, duke of, I. 82.
Chevreuse, duchess de, favourite of
Anne, regent of France, I. 64. 65.
66. Is banished, 67.
Chimène, or Ximena, part of, critique,
I. 45. 46.
Choiseul, duke of, II. 81. 82. 101.
"Cid," the, of Guillen de Castro, I.
45. 101.
"Cinna," tragedy of, by Corneille,
I. 49.
Cirey, château of the marquis du
Châtelet in Champagne, II. 24. 27.
Voltaire's mode of life there, 28.
Clairon, mademoiselle, actress, II. 44.
Clement VII., pope, I. 25.
Clement XI., I. 367.
Colbert, minister of Louis XIV., I.
163. 166. 222. 287, n. 301.
Colletet, French author, I. 43.
Comedy, French: Corneille's "Mélite,"
I. 42. His "Illusion," 44.
His "Le Menteur," 51. Racine's
"Les Plaideurs," 53. _See_ Theatre.
Condé, the great prince of, I. 53. 60.
Defeats the Spaniards at Rocroi,
67. Blockades Paris, 70. Is imprisoned,
70. And liberated by de
Retz and the Frondeurs, 73.
Joined by the Spaniards in the
south of France, 77. Quits Guienne
to join the forces of the duke of
Nemours, 78. Perilous journey,
79. Is opposed by Turenne, 80.
Contest between these great commanders
near Paris, 81. The Parisians
show great regard for him,
82. On occasion of a tumult and
partial massacre, he incurs their
hatred, 82. His admiration of
Molière, 113. 124. Further allusions
to, 278. 313. 327. 331.
Condorcet, Marie Jean Antoine de
Caritat, marquis de, born in Picardy,
II. 175. His scientific works,
172. _et seq._ His examination of
the "Pensées de Pascal," 177.
Intimacy with men of science, 178.
Replies to Necker's book, 178. His
edition of Voltaire, and a life of
that author, 103. 178. Replies to
De Lolme on the English Constitution,
179. Character of Condorcet,
179. What share he had in the
French revolution, 180. Violent
speech of against monarchy, 182.
184. His political writings, 182.
184. 187. Supports in his speeches
the cause of liberty, 182. 184. 187.
Esteemed for his integrity, 184.
His metaphysical deductions, 185.
His enlarged views regarding
national education, 186. His vote
went to save Louis XVI., 188.
Denounced by Chabot, as an
accomplice of Brissot, 190. His
"Historical Sketch of the Progress
of the Human Mind," 190.
His views of human perfection,
191. His epistle in verse
to his wife, 192. He retires to
Chamont, 192. Is discovered, and
imprisoned at Bourg-la-Reine,
193. Dies of cold and hunger in
jail, 193. His character as given
by madame Roland, 193. His wife
escaped the dangers of the revolution,
194. She wrote some philosophical
works, 194.; and died
in 1822, 194. Mademoiselle de
Condorcet married Arthur
O'Connor, 194.
Conti, Armand de Bourbon, prince
of, I. 60. 68. Engaged in the civil
war on the side of the Fronde,
I. 60. 68. Holds out in Bordeaux
and Guienne for several years,
83, n. Educated in the college
of Clermont, 99. He patronizes
Molière at Pezenas, 105. 106. Allusions
to, 236.
Conti, the princess of, I. 286.
Conti, the prince of, entertains
J. J. Rousseau, II. 159. Affords
him a refuge, 162.
Corbinelli, M., account of, I. 256.
His wit, 237. His letters, 245.
Corneille, Pierre, the father of
French tragedy, I. 40. His parents,
40. His brother, Thomas
Corneille, also a dramatist of celebrity,
41. His sister Marthe,
mother of Fontenelle, 41. Taught
at Rouen by Jesuits, 41. His first
work, "Mélite," a comedy, 42.
Mediocrity of his first dramas,
42. Corrects the plays of Richelieu,
43. His associates in that
task, 43. He retires from Paris
to Rouen, 43. His poems to madame
Du Pont, 43. His "Medée"
unsuccessful, 44. "Illusion," a
comedy, 44. His genius fires with
the study of Spanish dramas, 44.
Reads the "Cid" of Guillen de
Castro, 45. Corneille's drama of
the "Cid," 45. 46. 101. Its plot
and action, 101. Its renown, 47.
Critique of the "Cid," by the Académie
Française, 47. 48. Richelieu's
observations thereon, 48.
Corneille's tragedy of "Horace,"
48. His tragedy of "Cinna,"
49. "Polyeucte," 50. His
comedy of "Le Menteur," 51.
"Rodogune," 52. Ill success of
"Don Sancho," "Theodore,"
and "Pertharite," 52. His "Essays
on the Theatre," 54. His
translation of the "Imitation of
Jesus Christ," 54. Tragedy of
"Œdipe," 54. Its success, 54. His
genius afterwards unequal to his
former fame, 54. Pension granted
him by Louis XIV., 55. 60. Character
of the great dramatist, 60.
His fruitless attempts in later
tragedies, 56. His "Agesilas
and Attila," 57. His wife and
sister described, 56. Is established
in Paris, 56. Parallel of Racine
and Corneille, 57. "Berenice,"
a subject treated by both poets,
58. Corneille less successful than
his rival, 59. "Pulchérie," and
"Suréna," his last plays, 59.
Death of Corneille, aged seventy-nine,
59. Unison of his character
with his works, 59. Public applause
of the poet, 60. Eloge of,
by Racine, 61. A great-niece of,
adopted by Voltaire, 61, n. II. 78.
His sons, I. 61. Allusions to, 262.
Corneille, Thomas, dramatic author,
I. 41. Success of his "Timocrates,"
56. "Le Comte d'Essex"
popular, 56. He and his
brother Pierre marry the demoiselles
de Lamperière, 56. Harmony
of the Corneille family, 56.
Some quotations from, 43, n. 55, n.
59, n.
Corneille, Marthe, the mother of
Fontenelle, I. 41. 56.
Cotin, l'Abbé, his death hastened
by critics and satirists, I. 147.
Molière's attack on, 153, 154. Boileau's
satire on, 263.
Coulanges, Marie de, baronne de
Chantal, mother of madame de
Sévigné, I. 215.
Coulanges, Christophe de, abbé de
Livry, takes charge of his orphan
niece, madame de Sévigné, I.
215. His consolations afforded her
on the death of the marquis her
husband, 218. His death, 251.
Coulanges, M. de, cousin of madame
de Sévigné, I. 232. Lawsuit
of, pleaded by himself, 232. Dialogue
in verse by, 232, n. Impromptu
by, 235. His death,
235.
Coulanges, madame de, I. 232. Celebrated
for wit and beauty, 234.
339.
Couvreur, mademoiselle, death and
mode of sepulture of this actress,
II. 23.
Crébillon, dramatic poet, II. 43. 50.
A rival of Voltaire, 51. 57.
Cuspidius, Lucius, will of, I. 37.
D.
D'Alembert, M., proverbial saying
of, I. 163. Remarks of, 334. 336.
His éloge of Fénélon, 345, n. 369.
371. The Encyclopédie, II. 77.
His friendship with Condorcet,
176.
D'Angeau, marquis do, I. 58. His
fortune at play, 244, n.
Dauphin, the, son of Louis XIV.,
I. 334. 336, n.
Davenport, Mr., permits Rousseau
to occupy his house at Wotton in
Derbyshire, II. 160.
Denis, madame, niece of Voltaire,
II. 53. 55. 58. 69. 89. 98. 99. 105.
Descartes, his celebrity for science,
I. 185.
Desfontaines, the abbé, II. 31, 32.
Deshoulières, madame, her sonnet
on Racine's "Phèdre," I. 312.
Des Marais, bishop of Chartres, I.
342.
Des Marets, French academician, I.
47.
Devaux, M., II. 33.
Diderot, M., writes a large portion
of the Encyclopédie, II. 77. That
work was condemned by the parliament
and clergy, and suppressed,
77. Is confined at Vincennes
for publishing a pamphlet,
133. Visited by J. J. Rousseau,
133. High reputation of, 171.
Drama, the: France indebted to
Spanish tragic authors, I. 41. 45.
In comedy to Lope di Vega, 51.
The Greek drama not suitable to
modern times, 305. Voltaire's critique
on the tragedies of Sophocles,
II. 15. _See_ Theatre.
Dubois, cardinal, II. 10.
Du Deffand, la marquise, letter
from Voltaire to, II. 89. 103.
Dumouriez, general, minister for
foreign affairs, II. 277. 278. 314.
Dupin, madame, II. 128. 129.
Duprat, chancellor, invades the
privileges of the faculty at Montpellier,
I. 27. The gift of tongues
an introduction of Rabelais to, 27.
Dupuis, M. and madame, II. 89.
Duverdier, the Bibliothèque Française
of, I. 39. His Prosographie,
39.
E.
Encyclopédie, by MM. Diderot,
d'Alembert, Voltaire, and others,
II. 77. 148.
Enville, duchess d', II. 81.
Epinay, madame d', II. 138. 143. 145.
164.
Etallonde, the chevalier d', II. 86.
107.
Euripides, I. 40.
F.
Fables of La Fontaine, I. 164. 178.
180. Gay's, 179. Anonymous
English fables imitated from La
Fontaine, 179.
Fayette, countess de la, her novel
of "La Princesse de Clèves," I.
84. Her taste and erudition, 85.
Friendship of the duke of Rochefoucauld
for, 85. 87. Her mansion
the resort of French literati, &c.,
231. Her portrait or character of
de Sévigné, 255.
Fénélon, François de Salignac de
la Mothe, born in 1651, I. 329. His
ancestry, 329. His education, 331.
Takes his degree at Cahors, 331.
The abbé Fénélon's sermons at
nineteen applauded, 331. His strict
attention to the sacerdotal duties,
332. His purpose of becoming missionary,
332. Louis XIV. desires
him to convert the Huguenots,
333. Is the pupil and friend of Bossuet,
335. Writes on female education,
335. His "Telemachus,"
337. 356. 371. Appointed archbishop
of Cambrai, 339. Is deceived
by the zeal and pretended
visions of madame Guyon, 340.
Declines approval of Bossuet's
condemnation of her, 343. Louis
XIV. did not like Fénélon, 345, n.
Exiled to his diocese, 346. 360.
His "Exposition des Maximes
des Saints sur la vie intérieure,"
344. The pope condemns the
book, 352. Controversy on this
subject among the great prelates,
344. 350. Fénélon's letters, 360.
His religious principles, 362. _et
passim._ Is visited by the duke of
Burgundy at Cambrai, 364. His
active charity, 365. Louis XIV.
becomes sensible of his unjust
treatment of this great prelate,
366. The archbishop's sickness
and death, 367. His character,
368. 370. His conversation, 368.
Ramsay, a Scottish baronet, describes
his habits and disposition,
369. 370. His dialogues on eloquence,
372. Political views in
his "Telemachus," 373.
Fénélon, marquis de, I. 331. 367.
Ferney, château of, Voltaire's seclusion
at the, II. 76. Visitors to,
90. Marmontel, 91. Countess de
Genlis, 96.
Ferney, village of, II. 101.
Fleuri, cardinal de, II. 32. 42. 44.
His death.
Fleury, abbé de, sous-précepteur
of the princes, I. 336.
Fontaine, _see_ La Fontaine, I. 150.
&c.
Fontenelle, nephew of Corneille, I.
41. Observations by, on La Fontaine,
178.
Fouquet, minister of finance, incites
Pierre Corneille to write
"Œdipe," a tragedy, I. 54. His
mistake in entertaining his monarch
too sumptuously, 111. Offends
mademoiselle de la Vallière.
112. Louis XIV. restrains his
anger during the fête given by
the financier, 113. His disgrace,
162. Is brought to trial, 222.
Imprisoned in Pignerol until his
death in 1680, 224. His correspondence
seized, 224.
France, the civil war between Catholics
and Huguenots, I. 11.
Consequences of civil war, the
rise of statesmen and warriors,
and next of poets and authors,
41. Events on the death of Louis
XIII., 64. Corruption of manners,
67. Condé and Turenne
defeat the Spaniards, 67. Broils
and adventures in the contest of
the Fronde against Mazarin and
the court, 70. 75. The kingdom
suffers in commerce, learning,
arts and sciences; and demoralization
a further consequence of
civil war, 77. Licentiousness
resulting from the war, 104.
French manners liable to ridiculous
interpretation, 109. Molière
lashes these foibles, 109.
Anecdotes descriptive of the state
of society, 171. 217. 230. II. 45.
Literature not good at the commencement
of Louis XIV.'s
reign, I. 262. War of the Spanish
succession, 362. Invasion of
Flanders, 364. The nation vain,
and fond of glory, II. 21. Intolerance
of the clergy of, 99. 108.
Franceuil, M., his friendship for
J. J. Rousseau, II. 128. 129. 135.
Francis I., court of, I. 27. 30. He
protects Rabelais against the Sorbonne,
32.
Franciscan order, the, I. 24.
Frederic the Great, king of Prussia,
his correspondence with Voltaire,
II. 35. He visits Strasbourg,
39. Voltaire's interview with
Frederic at the castle of Clèves,
39. Description of the monarch,
39. 41. He attacks the principles
of Machiavelli, 40. He seizes on
Silesia, 42. Concludes peace with
the empress Maria Theresa, 46.
Negotiations with France, 47.
The king welcomes Voltaire to
Potsdam, and grants him a place
and a pension, 57-65. Appoints
Maupertuis, president of the Royal
Academy, 54. Refuses permission
to Voltaire to quit his service,
67. Their interview, 67.
Reconciliation effected, 68. Frederic
sends to Voltaire at Frankfort
for a volume of the king's
poems, 69. Voltaire's arrest until
he can receive the volume left
at Leipsic, 69. Frederic defeated
in battle, addresses an epistle in
verse to Voltaire, 73. He gains
two victories, 74. His opinion of
Voltaire's powers of conversation,
90. Invites J. J. Rousseau to
Berlin, 157.
French language: affected and extravagant
style of Mlle. de Scudéri
and others of the Hôtel
Rambouillet, I. 107. 108.
Fronde, civil war of the, described,
I. 68. &c. Great men of this party
enumerated, 69. The new and
old Fronde, 74. Character of
the times of the Fronde, 95. 96.
_See_ Life of Rochefoucauld.
Furetière, abbé, his Dictionary, I.
168. Anger of against the French
Academy, 168.
G.
Galen, edition of, by Rabelais, I. 26.
28. "Ars Medicinalis" of, 37.
Galileo, his investigation of atmospheric
laws, I. 191.
Gallanous, Peter, controversy of
respecting Aristotle, I. 31.
Gamache, viscountess de (Eléanore
de Montaigne), I. 21.
"Gargantua, the Giant, and Pantagruel,"
of Rabelais, I. 31. Supposed
personages pourtrayed in,
32. Editions thereof, 38.
Gascony and Guienne, character of
the people of, I. 1.
Gassendi, astronomer and mathematician,
instructs Chapelle and
Molière, I. 99.
Gaussin, Mademoiselle, celebrated
and beautiful actress, II. 22.
Gauthier Garguille, excellent comedian,
I. 101.
Gay's Fables, comparison of La
Fontaine's with, I. 179.
Geneva, residence of "Les Délices"
acquired by Voltaire near to,
II. 71. 74. 75. Quits it for the
château de Ferney, on the adjacent
French territory, 76. Rousseau's
early years passed at
Geneva, 112. Kind reception of
him at a later period by his
countrymen, 137. Voltaire and
d'Alembert desirous of softening
the tone of society in, by establishing
dramatic, representations,
149. Rousseau replies to
their article for that object in the
Encyclopédie, 149. Ferment at,
in which the writings of Rousseau
were concerned, 157.
Genlis, countess de, narrates her
visit to Voltaire at Ferney, II. 94.
Rousseau offended by, 167.
Gex, town of, II. 100.
Gibbon, Edward, esq. the historian,
an admirer of mademoiselle
Churchod, the mother of madame
de Staël, II. 296. 305.
Gilbert, tragedy of "Rodogune" by,
I. 53.
Ginguené, M., criticisms of, I. 34.
Goldsmith, Oliver, opinions relative
to his conversation, I. 182.
Gournay le Jars, Marie de, I. 20.
Publishes the Essays of Montaigne,
who had treated her as a
daughter by adoption, 21.
Gourville, secretary to de la Rochefoucauld,
I. 67. 70. 78. 79. His
Memoirs referred to, 84. 120.
Graffigny, madame de, II. 26. 30. 33.
Grammont, count de, espouses
miss Hamilton, I. 119.
Greek, Rabelais familiar with, I. 38.
Greek tragedy, unities of the,
I. 45. 49. 52.
Grignan, count de, his marriage,
I. 227. Praise of him by madame
de Sévigné, 227. He repairs to
Provence as lieutenant-governor,
228.
Grignan, countess de, daughter of
madame, de Sévigné, educated
by her mother, II. 218. Is presented
at court, 225. Appeared at the
fêtes of Versailles, 226. Her
beauty celebrated by Benserade,
226. Accepts the hand of the
count de Grignan, a widower,
227. Accompanies her husband
to Provence, 228. Portraiture of
the countess, 229. Visits of madame
de Sévigné to her in Provence,
228. 241. Madame de
Grignan attends her mother in
Paris when ill, 245. But returns
to Provence herself in ill health,
246. Renewed journeys to see
her mother, and to Provence, 246.
247. 249. Her children, 248. Is
on terms of affection with her
mother, 250. Attended in sickness
by her mother, 254.
Grignan, marquis de, their son, I.
230, n. 250. 251. 254. 258.
Grignan, chevalier de, an uncle,
I. 246. His family, 246. 247.
Grignan, Pauline de, daughter of
the countess, I. 248, n. 251. She
marries the marquis de Simiane,
254. 258.
Grimm, baron de. Correspondence
of, I. 63. II. 103. J. J. Rousseau's
friendship for, 144. Account of
the baron, 145. His report as to
Rousseau, 164. 171.
Gros Guillaume, comedian, I. 101.
Gros René, comedian, I. 102.
Gros René, madame, actress, I. 102.
Guibert, count de, II. 98.
Guise, duke of, assassinated at Blois,
I. 11.
Guyon, madame, enthusiasm or
mysticism of, I. 340. _et seq._ Her
fervour occasions the disgrace of
Fénélon, 342. He speaks in her
cause to Bossuet, 342. Her party
punished, 343.
H.
Hamilton, la belle, countess of
Grammont, I. 119.
Hardy, early French dramatic author,
I. 41.
Harlay de, archbishop of Paris, I.
140. 333.
Harpe, La, M., critical remarks of
I. 178. 258. II. 102.
Helvetius, M., II. 171. Madame
Roland's opinion as to, 263.
Henrietta of England, duchess of
Orléans, I. 58. 308. Her death,
164.
Henry, king of Navarre, I. 11.
Henry IV. king of France, I. 11.
Character of his court warlike and
unlettered, 41. The "Henriade"
a history of this great monarch
and his times, II. 12.
Herbault, Puits d', monk of Fontevrault,
I. 31.
Hippocrates, edited or translated by
Rabelais, I. 26. 28. 37. His system,
26.
Holland, lord, on the Spanish
Drama, &c., I. 45, n.
Houdetot, countess d', II. 128. Her
visit to J. J. Rousseau at the Hermitage,
141.
Huguenots, blame attached by
Montaigne to their party, I. 12.
Oppression of the, 257. Bourdaloue
sent into the south to
convert protestants, 257, n. Fénélon
commissioned to convert
the Huguenots, 333. Out of the
pale of the Romish church, 339.
II. 79. The _dragonnades_, 79. 87.
Hume, David, persuades Rousseau
to visit England, II. 159. Is indignant
at the folly and jealousies
of Jean Jacques, 162.
I.
Innocent X., condemns the five propositions
on grace and election,
said to be from the book on Augustin
by Jansenius, I. 200.
Intolerance, cases of, II. 79. 83. 85.
J.
James II., arrival of, in France, I.
251.
Jansenius, Cornelius, bishop of
Ypres, five propositions selected
by the Jesuits from his work on
St. Augustin, and condemned by
the Sorbonne, I. 200.
Jansenists, origin of the, I. 200.
Controversies respecting the abbé
Arnaud, 200.; and the Lettres
Provinciales, 207. Praise of
education by the Jansenists, 298.
Their spirit of controversy, 339.
Fénélon opposed to Jansenism,
362. Persecution of the, II. 87.
Jesuits, order of, I. 200. 207. They
employ themselves particularly in
education, 298. Polemical spirit
infused by the religious orders,
and an apathy for the affairs of
this world, 298. Banishment of
the, II. 87.
Jordan, Mrs., her excellent taste,
and vivacity in comedy, I. 117.
Jura Mountains, peasants of the,
II. 100.
K.
Keith, lord, his regard for Rousseau,
II. 157.
Kœnig, Prussian mathematician,
II. 65.
L.
La Beaumelle, his attack on Voltaire
in Prussia, II. 66.
La Bruyère, his critique on Rabelais,
I. 34. Describes Corneille's
conversation and manner, 55. His
portrait of La Fontaine, 181.
La Fare, anacreontic poet, I. 171.
La Fontaine, Jean de, versifier of
Rabelais' Tales, I. 34. His life
peaceful, 150. Born in 1621 at
Château Thierry, 150. His father,
151. He enters the community
of the Pères de l'Oratoire,
151. Renounces the cloister, and
espouses Mlle. Marie d'Héricart,
151. Becomes master of the royal
domains in his district, 151.
Hears Malherbe's ode on the assassination
of Henri IV., and
commences poet, 152. Studies
the Roman poets, 153. Verses by,
112. His "Adonis" in heroic
verse, 155. His character indolent
and _insouciant_, 155. Resides
long at Château Thierry, 155.
Fights M. Poignan, on account
of madame de la Fontaine, 156.
That officer disarms the poet both
of sword and jealousy, 156. Divers
reports as to the placid temper
of his wife, 157. Visits Paris,
but neglects business, 157. Becomes
domiciled with the duke
and duchess of Bouillon, 159.
His intimacy with Racine, Molière,
and Boileau, 160. Comfortable
amid Parisian society, he
forgets his wife and his home, 161.
Fouquet grants him a pension,
162. He solicits that finance
minister's pardon from Louis
XIV., 162. 222. His "Contes et
Merveilles en vers," 163. 173. Tale
of "Pysche and Cupid," 163. 177.
Noticed by Henrietta duchess of
Orléans. 164. His tale of "Joconde,"
165. His "Fables," 164.
178. 180. Is elected of the French
Academy, 167. Anecdote on that
subject, 167. He has the ill luck
to displease the abbé Furetière
by an inadvertence, 168. La Fontaine
incorrigibly forgetful, 169.
Forgets that he has a son, and
admires him as a stranger, 169.
Anecdotes exhibiting him, 170,
&c. Resides in the house of madame
d'Hervart, 172. 170. Decline
of his health, 173. The
priests constrain him to destroy
some of his works, 173. And to
make public reparation for the
evil influence of his "Fables,"
175. He recovers and writes
more tales, 176. Dies, aged
seventy-four, 176. Criticism on
his works, 177. His dramatic
pieces, 178. His tables and tales,
178. 180. English fables compared
with, 179. Opinions by his
contemporaries of, 181. Epitaph
by himself, 182.
La Harpe, M., criticisms of, I. 178.
258. II. 102.
Lally-Tolendal, M. de, saved by
madame de Staël, II. 315. 316.
Lamb, Miss, pretty song by, I. 108.
La Metrie, physician at Potzdam,
II. 62.
Lamoignon, M. de, premier président,
I. 267. 271.
Langeron, the abbé de, I. 366.
"Langey, Chevalier de, Military
Stratagems and Prowess of," by
Rabelais, I. 37.
La Noue, tragedian, II. 43.
Leibnitz, letter of the celebrated,
II. 65.
Le Kain, tragedian, II. 54. He resides
with Voltaire, and performs
on his stage, 54.
Le Nôtre, architect, &c., I. 112.
Lettres Provinciales of Pascal, I.
198. Object of this work explained,
201. Condemnation of
the book, 207. Misfortunes resulting
therefrom at Port Royal,
207.
L'Huilier, M., engages Gassendi to
educate Chapelle the poet, I. 99.
Ligne, prince de, visits Rousseau
incognito, II. 165. Declares himself
by letter, and kindly offers
a home to J. J. Rousseau, 166.
Locke, John, works of, II. 18. 24.
His "Treatise on Education,"
151.
Longueville, duke of, I. 69.
Longueville, duchess of, I. 68. Her
beauty, 70. Various allusions to
this princess, 72. 74. 77. Her character
and religious sentiments,
83, n.
Louis XIII., accession of, I. 64.
Death of, 66. M. Poquelin and
his son Molière his deputy, valet-de-chambre
to, 100. The king
causes M. de Cinq-Mars and De
Thou to be beheaded, 100. Allusions
to this monarch, 215.
Louis XIV., grants a pension to
Pierre Corneille, I. 55. His attachment
to Henrietta duchess of
Orléans, 58. Splendour of his
court begins to be remarkable,
111. Takes a part in the ballets at
court, 118. 119. Discontinues to
do so, from a passage in "Britannicus"
alluding to Nero, 118,
n. His journeys, 120. Flattery
of by the poets and savants, 163.
Did not comprehend La Fontaine,
164. And delays his ratification
of his being received in the French
Academy, 167. Trial of Fouquet,
finance minister, 112. 113. 222.
223. The king refuses to pardon
him, 224. The fêtes at Versailles,
225. 256. Tournament at, Louis
representing count Roger, 225.
His affection for the beautiful
La Vallière, 112. 119. 162. 225.
236. His court described, 244, n.
His queen, 236. Secret marriage
with madame de Maintenon, 87.
236. 237. 248. His reign, animadversions
on, 257. 323. Age of
Louis XIV. described, 269. Louis
XIV. conceives a dislike for Fénélon,
333. 346. Perceives his injustice,
but burns his papers, 366.
Anecdotes of the king, 319. 323.
Preceptors to his son and grand-sons,
334. 336, n. The Gallican
church, its state in the reign of
Louis XIV., 339-362. References
to Louis XIV., in the life
of Voltaire, II. 6. 10.
Louis XV., I. 368. II. 44. 46. 47. 55.
57. 60. His inglorious old age,
101.
Louis XVI., II. 86. 100. 104. _For
the historical events of his reign
and fall, see the Lives of Condorcet,
Mirabeau, &c._ in Vol. II.
Love and gallantry, novels breathing
of, I. 107. 108. Ill taste of
language relating to, 108. Purity
of sentiment aimed at nevertheless,
108.
Lucian, by whom imitated, I. 35.
Lucretius, II. 144.
Lulli, musical composer, solicits
La Fontaine to write the opera of
"Daphne," I. 166. His death
described, 176.
Luxembourg, maréchal duc de, II.
149. His kind attentions to his
neighbour Jean Jacques Rousseau,
150.
Luxembourg, duchess of, II. 150.
152. Her conduct with regard to
Rousseau, when he was danger of
arrest, 153.
Lyons, almanacs calculated under
the meridian of, I. 37.
M.
Machiavelli, studied by La Fontaine,
I. 154. Frederic the Great's
work against the principles of, II.
40.
Maillezieux, bishop of, correspondence
of Rabelais with the, I. 28.
30. "Letters from Italy" to, 37.
Maine, duchess du, festivities at her
château of Sceaux, II. 48.
Maintenon, madame de, I. 87. Her
portrait of the duke de la Rochefoucauld,
88. Her friendship for
madame de Coulanges, 234.
Anecdotes of, 236. 237. 248. 282.
283. 320. 322. 323. Her estate of
Maintenon, II. 21.
Mairet, his tragedy of "Sophonisbe,"
I. 44.
Malesherbes, M. de, Rousseau's correspondence
with, II. 136. His
benevolent attentions to Rousseau,
151. 152.
Manardi, Medical Epistles of, I. 37.
Mancini, nieces of cardinal Mazarin,
I. 159. 172.
Marmontel, M., his visit to Voltaire
at Ferney, II. 90-94.
Marot, Clément, admired by La
Fontaine, I. 154.
Marsillac, prince de, I. 65. His advice
to the duchess de Chevreuse,
66. _See_ Duke de la Rochefoucauld.
Marsillac, prince de, son of the
above, assists the duke of Rochefoucauld
in the battle of St. Antoine,
I. 81. Espouses his cousin,
Mlle. de la Roche-Guyon, 83.
Attends the duke his father in
his last illness, 89.
Mattecoulon, M. de, brother to
Montaigne, I. 15.
Maucroix, poet and scholar, I. 154.
Maupertuis, M. de, II. 39. 65. His
dissension with Voltaire at Potzdam,
66. "Akakia," a satire by
Voltaire on, 66. 67. He challenges
Voltaire, who laughs at
him, 68.
Maurepas, count de, II. 45. 295. 302.
Mauroy, poetry of, I. 265.
Mazarin, cardinal, succeeds Richelieu,
I. 66. Is minister in the
regency of Anne of Austria, 66.
Imprisons the princes Condé,
Conti, and Longueville, 72. Is
obliged to fly, 73. Successes of,
in the royal cause, 81. Is displaced
for a time, for the sake of
an accommodation of the civil
dissensions, 82. On his return to
power he permits de la Rochefoucauld
to appear at court, 84.
Mazarin, duchess of, I. 159. 172.
Ménage, instructs Marie de Rabutin-Chantal,
I. 216.
Mersenne, le Père, scientific correspondence
of, I. 192.
Mirabeau, Gabriel Honoré, marquis
of, descended from an Italian
family named Arrighetti, II.
195. His grandfather, Jean Antoine,
196. His father, comte Victor
de Mirabeau, wrote "L'Ami
des Hommes," 197. The comté's
marriage, 198. His lady's domestic
happiness obstructed by a madame
de Pailly, a beautiful woman, who
chose to reside with them, 198.
The marquis's idea of his own
infallibility, 199. He became a
persecutor of his son, Gabriel
Honoré, the fifth child, 199.; who
was born with teeth, and suffered
severely from the small-pox, 199.
His early talent, 199. Memoirs
of Mirabeau, by M. Lucas Montigny,
noticed, 200, n. Madame
de Pailly cruel to this boy, 201.
His early education, 201. Severity
of his father, 202. The abbé
Choquart, his preceptor, proud
of him, 202. Is sent to join the
marquis de Lambert's regiment,
202. His subsequent expostulations
with his hard-hearted parent,
who had imprisoned him in
the fortress of the Isle of Rhé,
204. The governor sends him on
the expedition to Corsica, 204.
His history of that island, and an
Itinerary from personal observation,
204. He avows his liking
for the military profession, 205.
His father praises him on his return,
206. Marries the daughter
of the marquis de Marignane,
207. He incurs debts, 207. His
father procures a lettre-de-cachet
to confine him, 208. He writes
an "Essay on Despotism," 208.
Becomes jealous of the chevalier
de Gassaud, 209. On hearing his
explanation, he escapes to forward
his projected marriage by
pleading for him, 209. Meets a
nobleman who had insulted his
sister, and gives him a blow, 209.
His father hearing of his evasion,
shuts him up in a dismal castle,
209. His love adventures, 211.
He escapes with Sophie de Ruffey
de Monnier, to Holland, 215.
Translates for the booksellers of
Amsterdam, 215. M. de Monnier
proceeds against the fugitives,
who are condemned to
punishment, 216. He is imprisoned
at Vincennes, 217. His
letters, 217. Fate of Sophie
de Monnier, 222, n. He quits
prison on coming to terms with
his father, 224. He tries by law
to oblige his wife to live with
him, 224. Fails in his suit,
224. Is no longer injured by
private enemies, 227. Is esteemed,
and employed in public services,
228. His impetuous eloquence,
228. He foresees the
revolution, 228. Desires to be
elected a representative to the
states-general, 230. The nobles
of Provence exclude him
by a vote from their body,
231. The people greet him on
his return towards Paris, 232.
Allays some outbreaks of the
people of Marseilles and of Aix,
233. Is elected deputy from both
those places, 234. Takes his seat
in the tiers-état, 234. He declares
the power of the people to
be independent of the crown,
236. His eloquence in the debates,
239. Death of his father,
240. His speeches all-powerful
with the assembly, 241. Supports
the financial proposition of
Necker for a tax on property, 243.
His influence preponderates over
every other, 245. Accused of
being an Orleanist, 246. 247. His
negotiations with the court, 248.
249. His speech on the question
of the National Convention,
250. His hôtel sumptuously
provided, 251. His _treaty_ with
the court, in the handwriting of
Louis XVIII., 252. He declines
in health, 253. His right to stand
up as a dictator in the assembly
questioned, 254. His policy was
to head a moderate party of royalists,
and to repress the Jacobins,
248. 250. 254. The king and
the people alike anxious for his
recovery, 255. His opinion of
William Pitt, 256. His death,
aged forty-two, in 1791, 256.
He was the first buried in the
Pantheon, 257. Courageous and
warm-hearted, 258. His sayings
and bon-mots are on record, 258.
His style of oratory, 259. His
military talents, 259.
"Misanthrope, Le," of Molière, I.
5.
Molière, Jean Baptiste Poquelin,
considered by Boileau as the first
writer of his day, I. 97. His parentage
respectable, 97. Education
of, 98. Taught by Gassendi,
99. Does the duty of valet-de-chambre
to Louis XIII. for his
father, 100. Studies the law at
Orléans, 101. Private theatricals
with some young friends, 101.
Makes the stage his profession,
101. His company of actors, 102.
Ill success of his "Thebaid" prevents
his writing tragedy, 103.
His early comedies, 103. 105. Performs
in the provinces, 102. 105.
On the restoration of tranquillity
at Paris, his company perform in
presence of Louis XIV. and the
queen-mother, 106. They are
styled "Les Comédiens de Monsieur,"
107. His success in dramatic
satire, 110. His "Ecole des
Maris," 111. 112. Account of
"Les Fâcheux," a satirical farce,
112. Louis XIV. commands Molière
to introduce a sporting character,
113. Anecdotes of the rebuffs
experienced by the dramatist
as royal valet-de-chambre, 114.
Louis protects him, 114. Scandal
relative to Molière refuted, 115, n.
118. His marriage, 116. Not
productive of Felicity, 117. 131.
Writes the "Critique de l'Ecole
des Femmes" in reply to his detractors,
131. His "Impromptu
de Versailles," 131. Louis XIV. is
godfather to Molière's eldest child,
118. Molière performs "Sganarelle,"
119. His "Tartuffe,"
anecdotes as to, 119. 120. Tumult
of soldiers at his theatre,
121. The "Misanthrope," 122.
"Amphitryon," scene from the,
124. "George Dandin," scene
from, 127. "L'Avare," criticised
by Schlegel, 127. Success of "Le
Tartuffe" on its representation,
129. Molière a favourite of Parisian
society, 130. Anecdotes of
his circle of friends, 131. His
house at Auteuil, 131. His portraiture
of himself, 131, n. His
"Monsieur de Pourceaugnac,"
132. "Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme"
approved by Louis XIV.,
133. "Fourberies de Scapin,"
134. "Les Femmes Savantes,"
scene from, 135. His "Malade
Imaginaire," 138. His own malady
unfeigned, 139. Death of
Molière, aged fifty-one, 139. 147.
Mode of his burial because a
player, 140. 141. His generosity,
143. Talent as an actor, 144. Criticism
of his works, 145. 146. Eloge
of, 148. Marriage of his widow,
148.; and of his daughter, 149.
His prediction as to "le bon homme"
La Fontaine, 160. Molière
willing to employ Racine as a
young dramatic writer of promise,
304. His quarrel with Racine on
the ill-success of "Andromaque,"
304. His admiration of Racine's
"Les Plaideurs," 311. Further
allusions to, 262. 372.
Molina, the jesuit, I. 200.
Molinists, their controversy with
the Jansenists, I. 201. Louis XIV.'s
predilection for their doctrine,
II. 6.
Mondorge, comedian, relieved by
Molière when in need, I. 143.
Montaigne, Michel de, born Feb. 8.
1533, in Périgord, I. 1. Pierre
Eyquem, seigneur de Montaigne,
his father, 1. Education of Michel,
2. Taught to speak Latin
from his cradle, 3. Tardiness
of his mind in infancy, 4. He
loses at school the power of
speaking good Latin acquired as
a child, 5. Fond of Ovid's "Metamorphoses,"
5. Reads Virgil, Terence,
and Plautus, 5. Memory
defective, 6. His cheerful temper,
6, n. Lively imagination, 6, n.
Pourtrays the character of Etienne
de la Boétie, 7. Poem of
the latter on their friendship, 7.
Death of Boétie, 9. He marries,
and is a good husband and tender
father, 9. He loses his father
Pierre Eyquem, 9. Is careful of
his paternal inheritance, 10. Domestic
habits, 10. Writes his Essays,
7. 10. His travels in France,
10. Visits the court and capital,
10. His moderation in politics,
11. He complains of the religious
feuds, and of his being pillaged,
12. Takes no measures for
defence of his château of Montaigne,
12. Is surprised by an
officer and his party, who refrain
from injuring him, 14. His calm
composure again preserves him
from danger when taken prisoner,
14. Afflicted by painful disorders
he resorts to Plombières for the
waters, and proceeds to Munich,
&c., 15. 16. He visits Venice and
Rome, 17. Is well received by
the pope, 17. Familiar with Roman
history, 17. He prints two
books of his Essays, 17. Mode
of treating the papal censures,
17. His pleasure on being declared
a citizen of Rome by a
bull for that purpose, 18. He
offers a silver sculptured tablet,
at the shrine of Loretto, 18. 19.
His wife, and daughter Eléanore,
19. Sojourns at Lucca, 19. Is
elected mayor of Bordeaux,
crosses Mont Cénis and arrives
at his château of Montaigne, 19.
Is commanded by the king to till
the office of mayor, and is re-elected
to the same, 19. His decline
and bad state of health, 19.
His friendship for mademoiselle
Marie de Gournay le Jars, and
portrait of that lady, 20, n. His
resignation when attacked with a
fatal quinsy, 20. His devout behavioural.
Dies 13th Sept. 1592.,
21. His disposition and vivacity,
21. Descendants of, by his daughter
Eléanore, 21, n. Edition of
his Essays dedicated to Richelieu,
21. Instructive and entertaining
character of the Essays, 22. Their
originality, 22.
Montaigu, M., ambassador to Venice,
his character, II. 128.
Montauzier, duke of, husband of
Julie d'Angennes, I. 128. 263, n.
312.
Montespan, madame de, I. 167.
244, n. 279. 282.
Montfleuri, tragedian, cause of his
death, I. 308.
Montpellier, the faculty at, I. 27.
Duprat, chancélier, deprives the
physicians of their privileges, who
are defended by Rabelais, 27.
Montpensier, mademoiselle de,
daughter of Gaston d'Orléans, I.
81. Her spirit in the contest before
the walls of Paris, 82. Her
intercourse with madame de Sévigné,
217.
N.
Nantes, revocation of the edict of, I.
257. 323. II. 79.
Necker, M., minister to Louis XVI.
_See_ Staël.
Nemours, duke of, joined by the
great Condé, I. 78. Is wounded
in the battle of St. Antoine, 81.
Killed in a duel by his brother-in-law
the duke of Beaufort, 82.
Nevers, duke of, I. 313.
Newcastle, duke of, his "Sir Martin
Marplot" an imitation of
"L'Etourdi" of Molière, I. 103.
Newton, sir Isaac, II. 18. 24. 25.
Nicole, M., theologian, I. 198. 267.
307. 315.
Ninon de l'Enclos, a trust confided
to, I. 120, n. Molière reads his
"Tartuffe" to, 120. The marquis
de Sévigné her admirer, 217. 230.
The marquis de Grignan, 230, n.
Ladies of the court friendly to
her, 235.
Noailles, de, archbishop of Paris
and cardinal, I. 339.
Noyer, madame du, II. 7. 8.
Noyer, mademoiselle du, admiration
of Voltaire for, II. 8. She marries
the baron de Winterfeld, 9.
O.
"Œdipe," tragedy by Corneille, I. 54.
"Œdipe," Voltaire's, II. 15.
Olivet, l'abbé, observations on La
Fontaine by, I. 151. 155.
Orléans, Gaston duke of, I. 66. 81.
_See_ Henrietta, duchess of.
Orléans, duke of, regent, I. 363. II.
10. Voltaire suspected of writing
the "Philippiques," a satire on
the regent, 15.
Ormesson, M. d', I, 223.
P.
"Pantagruel," by Rabelais, I. 31.
32. 34. Editions of, 38. Pantagruelian
caricatures, wood-cuts,
38. "Pantagrueline Prognostication,
the," I. 37.
Panurge, portraiture by Rabelais, I.
32. 35. 38.
Paris, day of the barricades, I. 68.
Blockade of, 70. 217. The troops
of the capital despised, 71. Riot
and licentiousness, 71. The prince
of Condé defeated by Turenne
under the walls of, 81. Paris not
favourable to stage representations
during the civil war, 102.
Parisian society ridiculed by Molière
in his plays, 107. Parisian
society in the time of Voltaire, II.
6. _et seq._ Reception of Voltaire
at Paris in 1788, 102. Paris during
the Revolution, see vol. II., lives
of Mirabeau, &c.
Pascal, Blaise, exalted character of,
I. 183. His family noble, 184. His
parents, 184. Education as proposed
by his father Etienne, 185.
His companions, men of science,
136. His untutored exertions in
mathematics, 187. His father's
delight on discovering his studies,
187. Reads Euclid by himself,
188. Writes on conic sections,
188. His sisters, 188. Jacqueline
Pascal assists in obtaining their
father's recal by Richelieu, 189.
He studies languages and metaphysics,
190. Chronical ill-health
the result of excessive application,
190. His arithmetical
computator, 190. His investigation
of the properties of atmospheric
air, 191. "On the Equilibrium
of Liquids," 194. "On
the Weight of the Atmosphere."
194. His early piety, 195. His
loss of health, 195. And of his
father, 196. An accident in a
coach influences his mind, 196.
His seclusion from worldly intercourse,
197. His visits to Port
Royal, 198. "Lettres Provinciales"
by, 199. Success of Pascal,
201. Reputation of his work
among the learned for style and
eloquence, 202. His adherence
to rules of privation, &c. causes
chronical maladies, 204. His solution
of the problem of the cycloid,
and other questions in
geometry, 204. His challenge to
furnish a solution of these problems
accepted by Wallis and
Huygens, &c., 205. Pascal's triumph
therein, 205. His self-denial
and consequent debility,
205. 206. His "Lettres Provinciales"
condemned by the parliament
of Provence, 207. His
communications on his death-bed,
208. His death at thirty-nine
years of age, 210. Consideration
of his virtues and piety,
210. His "Pensées," 211. His argument
against atheism, 211. His
genius, 339. Fénélon's opinion of,
362. His "Pensées" arranged
and attacked by Condorcet, II. 177.
Pascal, Etienne, indebted to his
children's talent for his recal from
exile, I. 190. Made intendant at
Rouen, 190. His decease, 196.
Pascal, Jacqueline, I. 189. 195. 196.
Particulars relative to her death
when sub-prioress of the convent
of Port Royal, 207.
Paul III., pope, I. 28. Rabelais
requests his holiness to excommunicate
him, 29.
Pelisson, the abbé, epigram on,
I. 175.
Pelletier, poetry of, I. 265.
Père la Chaise, cemetery of, Molière's
cenotaph, I. 148.
Perefixe, bishop of Rhodes, I. 120.
147.
Perier, madame (Gilberte Pascal),
I. 190. 197. Alleged miraculous
cure of her daughter, a nun, at
Port Royal, 202. Her life of her
brother, Blaise Pascal, 202, n. She
blames him for the moroseness
of his seclusion and rules of life,
203.
Perrault, Charles, his "Siècle de
Louis XIV.," I. 287. Boileau
directs his satire against him,
287. his "Mother Goose's Tales,"
287, n.
Perrin, translator of the "Æneid,"
I. 265.
Pintrel, translator of Seneca's Epistles,
I. 152.
Piron, ridiculed by Voltaire, II. 45.
50.
Plato, studied by La Fontaine, I. 155.
"Plutarch's Lives," I. 155.
Poggius, the "Facetiæ" of, I. 35.
Poison, when innocent, 29. 30.
"Polyeucte," tragedy, I. 50.
Pompadour, madame de, II. 55. 57.
Pomponius Lætus, I. 37.
Pont, madame du, poems addressed
by Corneille to, I. 43.
Pontanus, ridiculed by F. Rabelais
in his romance, I. 37.
Pontverre, M. de, II. 116.
Pope, Alexander, quotation from
his works, I. 179.
Port Royal, abbey of, I. 199. Angelica
Arnaud, abbess, 198.
Learned men who lived in retirement
near this cloister, 199. Controversy
of the abbé Arnaud with
the Sorbonne, 200. Alleged miracle
at, regarding the cure of a
niece of Pascal, 201. Dispersion
of the nuns, 207.
Pradon, satirized by Boileau, I. 266.
His "Phèdre," brought out in
opposition to Racine's tragedy, 312.
Puy Morin, M. de, a brother of
Boileau Despréaux, II. 21.
"Précieuses Ridicules, les," satirical
comedy of Molière, I. 85. A
satire of French manners, affected
language, and of the clique of
l'Hôtel Rambouillet, 107. 110.
"Pucelle d'Orléans" of Chapelain,
I. 262, 263, n.
"Pucelle d'Orléans," of Voltaire,
II. 25. 28. 33.
Puy de Dôme, Pascal's experiment
on atmospheric pressure, on the,
I. 193, 194.
O.
Quakers, Voltaire describes the, II.
24.
Quesnel, le Père, I. 362.
Quietism, account of, I. 350. II. 87.
"Quinquina, le," poem by la Fontaine
on bark or, I. 163. 178.
R.
Rabelais, Francis, designated a
great jester by lord Bacon, I. 23.
Born about 1483 at Chinon, in
Touraine, 23. Parentage of, and
reputed propensity to wine, 23.
Educated in a monastery, 24.
Takes the habit of the order of
St. Francis, 24. Envy at his
preaching, 24. Malice of the
Franciscans at, 24. Budæus laments
it, 24. Alleged reasons for
confining him on short commons,
25. Personates St. Francis and
laughs at devotees, 25. For which
he is whipt, 25. Relieved by
gaiety and learning, 25. Joins the
order of St. Benedict, 25. He
next studies medicine at Montpellier,
26. Lectures on Hippocrates
and Galen, 26. Defends
the privileges of the faculty of
Montpellier, 27. His scarlet gown,
27. How diminished, 27. 28. He
practises at Lyons, 27. 28. Accompanies
cardinal du Bellay to
Rome, 27. 28. In what character,
27. 28. His epistolary correspondence,
27. 28. Interview with
Paul III., 29. His notion as to
excommunication, 29. _Bruits_ as
to the method of his return to
Lyons and journey to Paris, 29.
Takes his own supposititious poison,
30. Is librarian, &c. to Du
Bellay, 30. His "Lives of the
Giants Gargantua and of Pantagruel,"
31. Privilege of publication
by king Francis, 31. Aristotelian
controversy ensuing
thereon, 31. His work condemned
by the Sorbonne, 31. He
attacked the popes and clergy of
Rome, and the monastic orders,
31. Account of his book, 32.
And of his religious principles, 33.
De Thou's account of, 33. La
Bruyère, La Fontaine, favourable
opinions of, 34. Bayle and Voltaire
contemn him, 34. Exposition
of his views, 34. Imitators
of, 36. Various writings of specified,
37. "Letters from Italy,"
37. Poetry of, 37. Parallel of
Swift and Rabelais, 36. 37. Editions
of his "Giants Gargantua
and Pantagruel," 38. The
"Rabelæsiana," 38. His acquisitions
as an universal linguist,
38. Also in science, 38. His noble
carriage and expressive physiognomy,
38. His fulfilment of duties
as curé de Meudon, 39. Death
aged seventy, 39. His death-bed,
39. Epitaphs for, 39. Further
allusions to, 154. 170.
Rabutin, family of, I. 214.
Rabutin, Bussy, count de, cousin of
madame de Sévigné, I. 217. _See_
Bussy-Rabutin.
Racine, Jean, a rival of the great
Corneille, I. 57. His comedy of
"Les Plaideurs," 58. Pathos of
his tragedy of "Bérénice," 58.
His "Britannicus," 118. His
daughter describes the demeanour
of La Fontaine, 181. Is received
at the court of Louis XIV.,
279. Historiographer together
with Boileau, 279. 316. They accompany
the king to the siege of
Gaud, 280. Racine makes several
campaigns, 281. 289. 317. They
read their history to the king,
282. Affair of his and Boileau's
pensions, 289. His parents respectable;
left Racine and his
sister, orphans, 297. His education
at Beauvais, 297. His predilection
for the Greek tragedy,
299. His studies at Port Royal,
299. Removes to the university
of Paris, 300. His ode entitled
"Nymphes de la Seine," 301.
Colbert rewards his early genius.
301. His ambition excited, 301.
Visits his uncle, le Père Sconin,
at Uzès in Provence, 302. His
letters at that time, 302. His dislike
of the patois of Provence,
303. His study of Virgil and St.
Thomas Aquinas, 303. His "Bath
of Venus," a poem, 304. Begins
a play of "Theagines and Charicles,"
304. He returns to Paris,
occupied with poetry and the
drama, 304. He writes for Molière,
304. His "Alexandre," 305.
It occasions a quarrel betwixt
Molière and the aspirant for fame,
306. Racine teaches la Champmélé
to recite, 307. Critics attack
him keenly, 307. His reply to M.
Nicole of Port Royal, 307. 308.
Writes his great tragedies, "Britannicus,"
"Bajazet," "Iphigénie,"
"Mithridates," "Phèdre,"
&c., 308-312. Writes "Bérénice"
in rivalry with Corneille's
tragedy of, 308. His comedy of
"Les Plaideurs" the result of a
lawsuit in which he had been
tired out and foiled, 310. Humour
of this comedy, 311.
Takes his seat in the French Academy,
312. His "Phèdre" brings
him into disputes, which produce
desire to lay down his pen, 312.
313. His religious principles,
313. His marriage, 314. Madame
Racine's ignorance of poetry, 314.
His daughters take the veil, 314.
His new mode of life induces him
to seek reconciliation with the
abbé Arnaud, 315. Succeeds
therein, 315. Writes "Athalie,"
320. His "Esther," 251. 320. His
conversations with Louis XIV.
and madame de Maintenon, 320.
323. 325. Dies of an abscess, 326.
Displayed the force of friendship
in his last parting with Boileau,
326. Critique, 327. "Phèdre"
and "Athalie," his best tragedies;
"Bérénice" and "Britannicus"
the most pleasing,
328.
Racine, Louis, son of the tragic
poet, I. 291. 307.
Rambonet, Prussian councillor of
state, II. 39.
Rambouillet, Hôtel de, literary society
of the, I. 84. Celebrated
authors who frequented it, 85.
220. Molière's "Précieuses Ridicules"
designed as a satire on,
85. 107.
Rameau, musical composer, II. 128.
136.
Ramus, Peter, engaged in the controversy
on Aristotle, I. 31.
Rennes, in Britany, political affairs
at, I. 243. Severe example made,
243.
Retz, cardinal de, ambition of, I. 68.
His projects and partisans, 69.
Temporary success of the Fronde,
73. His affray with Rochefoucauld
in the palace of justice, 75.
In danger of violence from the
mob of Paris, 76. His intrigues
and artifices, 80. 82. A relation
of the marquis de Sévigné, 217.
His disgrace and imprisonment,
221. He escapes from the citadel
of Nantes, 221. He repairs to
Spain, 222. Esteem of madame
de Sévigné for, 241. His death,
247. His "Memoirs" quoted, I. 77.
Richelieu, cardinal de, Montaigne's
Essays dedicated to, I. 21. Policy
of, 41. His dramas, 41. 43. 101.
The "Comédie des Tuileries,"
43. His theatre, 43. He invites
the French Academy to criticise
the "Cid" of Corneille, 47. He
represses the powerful nobles of
France, 64. His great authority,
64. His death, 65. His expedition
into Rousillon when his
death was approaching, with
Louis XIII. in the same condition,
100. Execution of Cinq-Mars,
and of de Thou, 100. He
revived the arts in France, 101.
Richelieu, duke of, II. 53. 107.
Rochefoucauld, de la, François,
duke, his experience at court, I.
63. His Maxims declare self-love
the chief motive principle, 63.
Dignity and ancient power of his
family, 63. Obliged to quit the
court, 64. Was at first called
Prince de Marsillac, 65. His return
on the death of Richelieu,
65. Meets the duchess de Chevreuse
on her way to Paris, 66. Is
wounded at the siege of Mardike,
67. Is governor of Poitou, 67.
His attachment for the duchess
de Longueville, 69. His gallantry
and wounds, 71. Is desirous of
the restoration of peace, 71. Succeeds
his father as duke de la
Rochefoucauld, 73. Raises troops
in Guienne, and endeavours to
defend Bordeaux, 73. Seizes de
Retz in the palace of justice, but
refrains from slaying him, 75.
Is wounded by an arquebuse in
the action of St. Antoine at Paris,
81. He retires to Danvilliers to
recover from his wounds, 83. He
quits the party of Condé, 84. His
active life concludes with the
pacification, 84. He gives Gourville
an honourable employment
in his family, 84. Is an ornament
of the literary coterie
of the Hôtel Rambouillet, 84. 85.
His friendship for the countess de
la Fayette, a celebrated novelist,
85. De Retz's character of the
duke, 86, n. Rochefoucauld's
couplet for the picture of the
duchess of Longueville, 83. His
portrait of cardinal de Retz, 86, n.
Personal and moral qualities of
Rochefoucauld, 87. Character of,
by his contemporaries, 87. 88.
His sons, 88. Madame de Sévigné's
account of his last illness,
89. His death, 90. His "Maxims"
reviewed, 91-95. His
"Memoirs of the Regency of
Anne of Austria," 96. Some quotations
from his Memoirs, 65. 68.
70, &c.
Roche-Guyon, Mlle. de la, her marriage
with the prince de Marsillac,
I. 83.
Rochelle, siege of La, I. 214. English
descent on the Isle of Rhé
for relief of the town, 215.
"Rodogune," tragedy of Corneille,
I. 52. Gilbert's tragedy of, 53.
Rohan, chevalier de, his ill usage of
Voltaire, II. 17. Does not choose
to fight the poet, 18.
Roland, madame (Manon Phlipon),
her opinion of the marquis of
Condorcet, II. 187. 193. Her
literary reputation, 260. Her
Memoirs, 260. Condition of
her parents, 261. Receives a
careful education, 261. Her
early habits, 262. Her admiration
of Pascal and the Port-Royal,
263. Vain of her intellectual
powers and acquired
talents, 264. Her suitors, 265. Impressions
on reading the "Nouvelle
Héloise," 266. Her habit of
writing her remarks, 267. She
lives in a convent on a scanty
income, 267. M. Roland de la
Platière, 268. His high character,
268. Sues for her hand,
and is referred to her father,
who rejects him, 269. Conduct
on this event, 270. Their
union takes place, 270. They
travel through Switzerland and
England, 271. Wish to go to
America, 271. Her letters, 271.
She gladly hails the revolution,
272. Her fears as to its nature,
272. Monsieur Roland deputed
on financial affairs from Lyons to
the National Assembly, 273. She
returns to Paris, and is greatly
admired, 273. Her husband consorts
with the Girondists and
Brissot, 273. Her political sentiments
on the crisis, 275. Her
republican love of liberty, 275.
Roland appointed minister of the
interior, 277. His costume at
court, 277. Is dismissed, 278.
Recalled by Louis XVI., 279. Her
dread of Robespierre, Marat, and
Danton, 280. Description of madame
Roland by Le Montey, 281.
Dumont's testimony of her modesty
of demeanour, 282. Energy
of M. Roland against the Septembriseurs,
282. He is the chief
hope of the Girondist party, 283.
He endeavours to repress the
Mountain party, 285. Execution
of Louis XVI., whereupon M.
Roland resigns his office, 285.
Madame Roland in danger of arrest,
285. Prepares to leave Paris,
285. Prevented by sickness, 286.
On the order to arrest her husband
she determines to appear before
the Convention to expostulate,
286. Escape of her husband
and fortitude with regard her own
peril, 286. She was said to ad.
mire the handsome Barbaroux,
deputy for Marseilles, 286. Her
calmness on being arrested, 287.
Arranges a systematic mode of
life in the Abbaie, 287. Commits
her observations on the leaders
of the revolution to writing,
288. Deceptive assurance of her
being at liberty, 288. But carried
to Ste. Pélagie, 288. She
names Marceau to be her advocate,
291. Her defence written
by her over-night, 291. Her sentence,
291. Is guillotined, 292.
Her dying address to the statue
of Liberty, 293. M. Roland, in
safety at Rouen, stabs himself,
not to outlive his wife, 293. Her
courage and sweetness of character
recorded, 293.
Romance, Spanish, I. 45.
Rome, visit of Rabelais to, I. 28.
Facetiousness of Rabelais elicited,
29. He attacks the vices of the
high clergy and ignorance of the
monks, 31.
Rotrou, poetry of, I. 43.
Rousseau, Jean Baptiste, banished
on his dispute with M. Saurin,
II. 6. His quarrel with Voltaire,
17. 31.
Rousseau, Jean Jacques, ridiculed
by Voltaire, II. 88. Born at Geneva
in 1712, 111. His studies in
that town, 112. Early life of, 113.
His "Confessions," 113. _et passim._
His rambles, 115. Visits the curé
Pontverre, 116. Visits madame de
Warens at Annecy, 117. Is sent as
a proselyte to an hospital at Turin,
117. Errors and consequent remorse,
119. Leads a vagabond
life, 120. Returns to madame de
Warens, 121. His want of moral
courage, 121. She departs for
Paris, 122. Becomes a music-master
at Neufchâtel, 122. And
at Chambery, 124. His projects,
125. Resides with madame de
Warens at Les Charmettes, near
Chambery, 125. His new method
of noting music, 127. Arrives
in Paris, 128. Accompanies
M. Montaigu as secretary to Venice,
128. Returns to Paris, and
is kindly received by his former
friends, 129. His mistress, Thérèse
le Vasseur, 130. 144. 162. He
sends their children to the Foundling
Hospital, 131. His account of
this act in his "Confessions,"
130. Remissness of his moral sentiments,
132. His friendship for
Diderot, 133. 144. Laments his
friend's imprisonment, 144. The
academy of Dijon having proposed
a question as to the influence of
the progress of arts and sciences on
the happiness and virtue of man,
Jean Jacques, in an essay, asserts,
it to be of evil tendency, and so
eloquently as to bear off the palm
134. This success acquires him
consideration, 135. He refuses
the offer of a place with a farmer-general,
although a road to fortune,
129. 135. Earns a livelihood
by copying music, 135. His "Devin
du Village," 136. It becomes
the fashion with the great to encourage
and soothe him, 136. Revisits
Geneva, 137. Abjures the
Romish faith, 137. He inhabits
the Hermitage, near the wood of
Montmorenci, 138. His writings,
139. His meditations and day
dreams, 139. His "System of
Education," 139. Writes the
"Nouvelle Héloise," 140. 150. His
declarations to madame d'Houdetot,
142. His mental sufferings
nurtured by this hopeless passion,
145. Accusation against Grimm's
loyalty in his conduct to Rousseau,
145. Diderot's letter to
Rousseau respecting madame
d'Epinay, 146. Indecision of Jean
Jacques, 146. Removes to Montmorenci,
147. Diderot having offended
him, seeks a reconciliation,
and is repulsed, 148. The
nobility court him with compassionate
regard, 150. His religious
principles unsettled, 152. "The
Confession of the Vicar of Savoy,"
152. Consequences of the publication
of "Emile," 153. The
"Emile" of Rousseau condemned
to the flames at Geneva, 153.
Rousseau proceeds to Iverdun,
in the territory of Bern, 154.
Exiled by the states of Bern
and Geneva, he settles at Motiers,
near Neufchâtel, 154. Engages
in a controversy of the Genevans,
157. His "Lettres écrites de la
Montagne," 157. Resides in the
island of St. Pierre, lake of Bienne,
158. Accompanies David
Hume to England, 159. Writes
the first portion of his "Confessions"
at Wotton, 160. George
III. grants him a pension of 100_l._
per annum, 161. Being half deranged,
he flies to France, 161.
Is protected by the prince of Conti,
162. He quits the Armenian
dress he had worn for ten years,
163. Is welcomed in Paris, 163.
Reads his "Confessions" to a
circle of acquaintance, 164. His
mode of life, and diligence in
earning a subsistence, 165. The
prince de Ligne takes an interest
in his welfare, 165. His objection
to receive presents, 167.
Respect shown for him by a
Parisian audience at a theatre,
168. His death, 169. Inquiry
into his state of mind, 169. _et
passim._ Inscription on his tomb,
170. His character, 171. His reveries,
172. Critique on the
"Emile," 173. On the "Nouvelle
Héloise," 174.
S.
Sablière, madame de la, I. 165. Her
society of poets, philosophers, &c.,
166. 171. Her husband, the marquis
de la Sablière, 166. 171. His
fate, 163. 171.
Sacy, M. de, friend of Pascal, I.
198. And of Racine, 298.
Saint Cyr, scene of madame Guyon's
impassioned mysteries, I. 342.
Sainte Helène, M. de, I. 223.
Saint Lambert, M. de, II. 141. 143.
Scaramouche, Italian actor, instructs
Molière, I. 102.
Scarron, abbé, imitator of Rabelais
in facetiousness, I. 36. Allusions
to, 283.
Schomberg, count de, I. 215. Created
marshal, 215. II. 145.
"Sciomachie, La," by Rabelais, I.
37.
Scott, sir Walter, his Essay on
Molière, I. 108. 128. 130, n. Allusion
to his works, 147.
Schlegel, his criticisms on Molière,
I. 146.
Schlegel, William, not permitted by
Buonaparte to reside at madame
de Staël's at Coppet, II. 336.
Scudéri, M. de, I. 45. His attack
upon Corneille, 47.
Scudéri, mademoiselle, her novels,
I. 107. Their extravagant style
in language and argument, 107.
Allusions to, I. 223, n. 293.
Séguier, chancellor of France, I.
222. 223.
Segur, count de, descended in the
female line from Montaigne, I.
21, n.
Seneca, tragedies of, I. 44.
Sévigné, madame de, compares the
genius of Corneille with Racine,
and prefers the former, I. 57. Her
delightful style, 85..87. Her character
of the duke of Rochefoucauld,
88. Her life narrated,
214-258. Her maiden name
Marie de Rabutin-Chantal, 214.
Her father, the baron de Chantal,
slain at La Rochelle in an engagement
with the English, 215. His
laconic epistle to marshal Schomberg,
215. His family the elder
branch of the Rabutins, 214. 215.
His wife was Marie de Coulanges,
214. 215. Their daughter, Marie
de Rabutin-Chantal, born in
1626, 214. Is left an orphan, 215.
Taught Italian and Latin by
Ménage and Chapelle, 216. Is
married to Henri, marquis de
Sévigné, 216. Her children, 216.
The marquise a zealous Frondeuse,
217. Her friendship with
mademoiselle de Montpensier
and the duchess de Châtillon, 217.
Loss of her husband, 218. Educates
her children, 218. Her
widowhood exemplary, 218. Her
grief on the loss of the abbé de
Coulanges, her uncle, 223. She frequents
the Hôtel Rambouillet, 220.
Quarrel of Bussy-Rabutin with his
fair cousin, 221. Reconciliation,
225. He reproaches her with
avarice, 225. Her sorrow for the
imprisonment and exile of de
Retz, 221. Her sympathy with the
misfortunes of Fouquet, 222. 223,
n. She retires from Paris, 225.
Returns and presents her daughter
at court, 225. Her journeys
to her estate of Les Rochers in
Brittany, 237. 239. 249.; and to see
her daughter in Provence, 228.
241. Her separation from her
daughter, 228. Her son accompanies
an expedition to Candia,
226. His attachment for Ninon
de l'Enclos, 230. He marries and
retires to his estates in Brittany,
231. 240. 247. 249. Madame de
la Fayette and other friends of
madame de Sévigné, 231. Her
life in Brittany described, 240. 241.
Seized with rheumatism, 244.
She is out of favour at court,
as being a Jansenist, 248. 249. 257.
She spends her latter years with
her daughter in Provence, 253.
Final visit to Paris, 254. She
dies at Grignan, aged 70. 254.
Opinions on her character and
literary merit, 255-258. Her
family now extinct, 258. Remark
of madame de Sévigné, II. 207.
Her correspondence:--Letters
to her daughter, madame de
Grignan, I, 220. 224. 237. 238. 239.
241. 244. 246. 247. 248. 251.
Her letters to her cousin the
count de Bussy-Rabutin, 217.
226. 227. 247. 249. 251. Her letters
to various friends, 223.
Letters from count de Bussy to
madame de Sévigné, 219.
Sévigné, Henri Marquis de, I. 216.
His marriage with Marie de Rabutin-Chantal
at first happy, 216.
Their son and daughter, 216.
His relationship to the cardinal
de Retz, 217. The marquis and
his celebrated lady join the
Fronde, 217. His affection for
Ninon de l'Enclos, 217. Killed
by the chevalier d'Albret in a
duel, 218.
Shakspeare, William, I. 40. Voltaire's
remarks on, II. 101.
Sirven family, case of the, II. 83.
"Songes Drolatiques," to whom
ascribed, I. 38.
Sophocles, I. 40. II. 15. His "Œdipus
Tyrannus," 16.
Sorbonne, the, condemns Rabelais'
"Pantagruel," I. 31. The "Philosophical
Cream," a burlesque
on the schoolmen of, 38. Condemns
the book on St. Augustin,
by Antony Arnaud, 200.
Soyecourt, M. de, Grand-Veneur,
I. 113.
Spain, the modern drama takes its
rise in, I. 41. Guillen de Castro,
45. Lope de Vega, 51. War of
with France during the minority
of Louis XIV., 67.
Staël Holstein, baronne de, her
father, M. Necker, placed in the
banking-house of Thelusson, II.
295. His essay on corn-laws,
295. Marries mademoiselle
Churchod, 296. Their only
daughter, 296. Early instructions
and habits of madame de Staël,
297. Attention paid her in society
by men of letters, 297. Her
attention to their discourse, 298.
Her taste for society thus acquired,
298. Fears with regard to
her health, 299. She attributes her
frankness, to her father's quick
perception of her faults, 300. His
high repute in France, 301. His
"Compte Rendu," 301. 304. Retires
to Coppet on the Lake of Geneva,
302. His work on finance, its
enormous sale, 303. Mlle. Necker
begins to write at an early age,
303. Her Plays and Tales printed,
303. Her suitors, 304. Mr. Gibbon
a visitor at Necker's, 305.
She espouses the baron de Staël
Holstein, 305. Her letters on the
writings of Rousseau, 305. Portrait
or character of her at this
period, 306. Her father restored
to the ministry by Louis XVI.,
307. His moderation, 307. Is
again exiled, and ordered to depart
silently, 308. Necker and
his wife repair to Brussels. 309.
Madame de Staël's remarks on
joining him there, 309. His
generosity in financial matters
toward the nation, 309. The Bastille
being destroyed, Louis again
sends for him, and he returns to
Paris, 310. The baroness describes
their journey, 311. She
witnesses many events of the revolution,
312. Interview with
Marie Antoinette, 313. Necker
resigns on account of the issue
of assignats, which he disapproved,
313. Madame de Staël
shares in Lafayette's plan for
effecting the escape of the king,
314. Her carriage stopped by
the republicans, 314. Her courage,
314. Sets out from Paris,
315. Carried before the section
of St. Germain, 316. She pleads
before Robespierre's tribunal her
being the ambassadress from
Sweden, 316. Is saved by the
interposition of Manuel, 316. Is
allowed to leave Paris with her
maid only, 317. Her joy on traversing
Mount Jura and arriving
at her father's at Coppet,
317. Visits England, 317. Her
father's pamphlet in favour of
Louis XVI., and her appeal for
the queen, 318. Death of madame
Necker, 318. M. de Staël
repairs to Paris as Swedish ambassador,
accompanied by the
baroness, 319. Although denounced
in the reign of terror,
her influence was still great, 320.
Her feelings and character depicted,
320. Her first meeting
with Buonaparte unpropitious,
321. Invasion of Switzerland,
322. She repairs to Coppet to M.
Necker, 322. Witnesses the revolution
which established Buonaparte,
323. Her conversation
with Joseph Buonaparte, 324.
Benjamin Constant her friend,
324. Enmity of Napoleon on account
of Constant's opposition,
325. Her loss of her husband in
1799, 327. Her novel of "Delphine,"
327. Its charm, 327. Her
love of her father, 328. On the expiration
of the peace of Amiens she
is exiled from Paris, 329. She is
accompanied by Benjamin Constant
to Weimar and Berlin, 330.
Her "Années d'Exil" one of her
best writings, 330. 339. Death of
her father, 331. Her affection
for her children, 331. Her society,
331. Publishes the writings
of M. Necker, 331. Visits
Rome and writes "Corinne,"
331. Opinion of that work in
Italy, 332. Publishes "Corinne"
at Rouen, 332. Her perception of
ennui, 333. Her sentiments, 333.
Intends publishing her "Germany"
at Blois, 331. The impression
is seized, and she is ordered to
quit France, 331. Persecution of
her unabated, 335. She accompanies
M. de Montmorency in a
tour through Switzerland, 336.
Madame Recamier banished for
having spent a few hours with
her, 336. M. Rocca, a young
Spanish officer in the French
army, wounded, visits Geneva,
337. Falls in love, 337. Madame
de Staël marries him, 338.
She escapes from Coppet, 338.
Journey through Austria, Poland,
Russia, and Sweden, to England,
338. 339. Admired by the English,
339. Louis XVIII. repays to her
two millions which her father had
generously advanced to Louis
XVI., 339. Lord Byron thought
likely to marry Albertine de
Staël, her daughter, 339. Byron
living at Diodati visits at Coppet,
310. Her daughter marries the
duke de Broglie, 310. Madame de
Staël's piety, 341. Her remark
upon life, 341. Her resignation in
sickness, 341. Her death in Paris,
aged nearly fifty-two, 341. M.
Rocca survived his wife but a few
months, 341. She had many enemies,
the result sometimes of envy
of merit, 342. Her love of France,
342. Chateaubriand's opinion of
her, 343. Interest of her works,
343.
Stanislas, king of Poland, II. 49. 51.
Sterne, Laurence, his "Tristram
Shandy" resembles "Rabelais," I.
37.
St. Evremond, M. de, I. 57.
St. Pierre, M. Bernardin de, II. 128.
His account of J. J. Rousseau,
167.
St.Pierre, abbé de St., II. 139.
Sully, duke of, I. 41. His administration,
64.
Sully, duke of, a warm friend of
Voltaire, II. 17.
Swift, dean, his "Gulliver," and
"Tale of a Tub," I. 36.
T.
"Tartuffe, Le," of Molière, I. 119.
Application of the character to
the bishop of Autun, 147.
Tellier, Le, secretary of state, I. 222.
224.
Tellier, archbishop of Rheims,
I. 339, n.
Tencin, cardinal, II. 71. 74.
Terence, comedies of, I. 153. 155.
Theatre, French, mysteries and
moralities preceded the regular
drama, I. 41. Indebted to Spanish
dramatists, 41. "Mélite," by
Corneille, 42. Dramas of Hardy,
41. 42. Of cardinal de Richelieu,
41. 43. Theatre in the cardinal's
palace, 43. "Sophonisba" of
Mairet, 44. Plays of Corneille
critically examined, 45-59. His
"Essais sur le Théâtre," 54. Voltaire's
rules for French diction in
tragedy, 61. Corneille's style,
62. Molière's first comedy of
"L'Etourdi," 103. His "Le Dépit
Amoureux," 103. Farcical interludes
of merit by Molière, 105.
These form the groundwork of his
best comedies, 105. Theatres of
Paris in the time of Molière,
106. 304. Racine's comedy of
"Les Plaideurs," 310. Voltaire's
"Œdipe" and numerous dramas,
II. 15. _et seq._
Thianges, madame de, I. 278.
Thiers, M., his "History of the
French Revolution," II. 273.
Thiriot, M., early companion of
Voltaire, II. 9. 16. 32. 107.
Thomas, M., French writer and
poet, II. 171.
Thou, De; president, his opinion of
Rabelais, I. 33.
Tiraqueau, André, French magistrate,
letter of Rabelais to, I. 25.
26.
Torricelli, mathematician, I. 192.
Tory, Geoffry, the "Champ Fleury"
of, I. 31.
Toulouse, judgments by the parliament
of, II. 79. 83.
Tragedy, French, Pierre Corneille,
the father of. I. 40-62. Thomas
Corneille's plays, 56. Racine's
tragedies, 58. Voltaire's Commentary
on Corneille, 45, n. 61.
Voltaire's tragedies, II. 15. 19. 22.
25. 45, &c.
Tronchin, Dr., of Geneva, II. 72.
81. 106. 299.
Turenne, marshal de, serves in conjunction
with Condé at Rocroi, I.
67. Gives battle to the prince of
Condé, 83.; and defeats him, 81.
His death, 241.
Turgot, M., finance minister, II.
100. 101. 178.
Turlupin, French comedian in
Molière's time, I. 101.
U.
Unity of time in dramatic works,
critique on the, I. 45. 49. 52.
V.
Vallière, mademoiselle de la, favourite
of Louis XIV., I. 112.
119. 162. 225. 236.
Vega, Lope de, his "Verdad Sospechosa,"
I. 51. 102.
Vendôme, duke of, II. 6.
Versoi, village of, II. 100.
Verville, Béroalde de, his "Moyen
de Parvenir," I. 36.
Victoire, the abbé de la, I. 263.
Villars, maréchale, de, II. 17.
Villars, duchess de, II. 9. 45.
Villette, M. and madame de, II.
102.
Virgil, extraordinary commentary
on a line of, II. 144.
Vitart, M., uncle of Jean Racine, I.
301.
Voiture, his poetry addressed to
Julie d'Angennes, I. 108. Fabulous
adventure in punishment of
his insolence towards her, 108.
Is styled _Alcovist_, 109. His conceits,
153. Anecdote relative to,
159.
Voltaire, François-Marie Arouet
de, observations of, I. 30. His
pillage of Rabelais, 34. His Commentary
on the "Cid," 45, n. 61.
Patronises a lady descended from
the daughter of Corneille, 61.
His observation on the duke of
Rochefoucauld's "Maxims," 63.
His opinion of Molière, 146. On
Pascal, 203, n. Of madame de Sévigné,
255. His censure of Boileau,
264, n. His "Siècle de
Louis XIV.," 345, n. His letters,
II. 1. His infidel principles,
2. Distinction between Christianity
and that religion known as
the church of Rome, 2. His
birth in 1694, 4. Educated in the
college of Louis-le-Grand, 5. Introduced
to Parisian society, 6.
His love for mademoiselle du
Noyer, 8. His reconciliation
with his father, M. Arouet, 9. Is
placed as pupil with M. Alain, attorney,
9. Is enamoured with
madame de Villars, 9. He visits
M. de Caumartin, 10. His return
to Paris, the duke of Orléans
being regent, 11. Is sent to the
Bastille for verses imputed to him,
11. Liberated on the mistake
being proved, 11. Writes the
"Henriade," 12. Its interest, 14.
His tragedy of "Œdipus." 15. 19.
His mode of life, 16. Visits the
châteaux of the nobility, 16. Has
the small-pox, 16. His tragedy of
"Mariamne," 16. Visits Holland,
17. His quarrel with J. J. Rousseau,
17. Is insulted by Chev. de
Rohan, challenges him; but is sent
to the Bastille, banished, and
visits England, 18. Studies Locke
and Newton, 18. An edition of
the "Henriade," in London, enriches
him, 19. 20. Returns to
Paris, 19. Success of his tragedies,
19. The priests detest him, 19.
Acquires some wealth by his pen
and by inheritance, 20. Purchases
the estate of Voltaire, and
assumes that name, 21. His attachment
for madame du Châtelet,
21. His "Brutus" and "Eryphile"
unsuccessful tragedies, 22.
Pathos of his "Zaire," 22. Rapidly
composed, 22. Its success, 22.
Increase of his fame, 22. His
"Charles XII.," 23. "Siècle de
Louis XIV.," 23. 25. 30. 60. 64. Is
constrained to withdraw into
Normandy, having offended the
clergy, 64. His "Lettres sur les
Anglais," 64. Lettre de cachet
issued against him for that publication,
24. 32. Conceals himself
at the marquis du Châtelet's in
Champagne, 32. His "Mérope,"
"Mahomet," &c., 25. He acts
in a private theatre, 25. Writes
the "Pucelle d'Orléans," 25. 28.
33. Revisits Cirey and the marquis
du Châtelet, 26. 28. His
conduct towards madame de
Graffigny, 33. His "Correspondence"
with Frederic the Great,
35. 37. The poet and king flatter
and quarrel, 36. Visits Frederic
in Germany, 39. "Mahomet"
performed at Lille, 43. Desires a
seat in the French Academy, 44.
56. Cabal to oppose him, 45.
Success of his "Mérope," 45.
Is sent to the Hague and to
Berlin as an envoy from Louis
XV., 46. He returns to France,
47. Visits the duchess du Maine,
and writes "Zadig," 48. Acts
at Sceaux the part of Cicero in
his "Rome Sauvée," 48. He
visits king Stanislas at Luneville,
49. 51. His "Semiramis," 49.
Ill of fever at Chalons, 50. "Catiline,"
51. He settles in Paris,
and receives his niece madame
Denis to preside in his house, 55.
55. Private theatre in his house,
55. Account of Voltaire by Le
Kain, 54. Visits Frederic at
Potsdam, 57. Is appointed chamberlain
by that monarch, 58. A
pension granted him, 59. Discontents,
61. Frederic requiring
a strict attention to his injunctions,
69. Voltaire rendered suspicious,
63. Becomes indignant,
66. Satirizes Maupertuis, 66. 67.
His amicable interview with the
monarch, 68. He repairs to Saxe
Gotha, 69. Meets madame Denis
at Frankfort, 69. Is arrested, 69.
Letter of the king, 70. 71, n. His
journey to Lyons, 71. Consults Dr.
Tronchin at Geneva on his health,
72. Purchases a house near Geneva
named "Les Delices," 71. 74.
Composes tragedies, and writes
"Candide," 74. His "Manners
and Spirit of Nations," 74. Some
dangers impend over him, 75.
Force of his satire, 75. His château
of Ferney on the borders of
France and Geneva, 76. The
"Encyclopédie," begun by Diderot
and d'Alembert, 77. Voltaire
writes some literary articles
for it, 77. Case of Jean Calas,
broken on the wheel on a false
accusation, 79. Voltaire succeeds
in proving his innocence, 81.
Exculpation and relief of the
surviving family, 82. Case of
the Sirven family, 83. Case of
the chevalier de la Barre, 84.
Heaps ridicule on Jean-Jacques
Rousseau, 88. His conversation
delightful, 90. Visited by Marmontel,
91. By the countess de
Genlis, 94. Attempted persecution
of, by the bishop of the
diocese, 99. Residence of Voltaire,
through his active spirit of
charity and improvement, a blessing
to the district, 100. He repairs
to Paris in 1788, 102. His
tragedy of "Irene," 103. Honourable
reception of the poet,
103. His profession of faith, 104.
His death, 106. His friendly and
forgiving nature, 107. Criticism
on his works, 109. His plays,
109. Was visited at Ferney by
Condorcet and d'Alembert, 176.
W.
Wagner, M., secretary of Voltaire,
II. 105.
Walpole, Horace, his fictitious letter
on the subject of Rousseau, II.
159. 161. His contempt of Rousseau,
164.
Warens, countess de, II. 117. Her
history told by Jean Jacques
Rousseau, 117-128. 137.
Winterfeld, baron de, II. 9.
Winterfeld, baroness de, formerly
Mlle. du Noyer, II. 8. 9.
Wycherly, his comedy, "The Country
Girl," imitated from Molière,
I. 117.
THE END.
TABLE,
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL,
TO THE FIRST VOLUME OF
LIVES OF
EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF ITALY, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL.
DANTE ALEGHIERI.
A. D.
His Descent 1
1265. His Birth 2
His Mother's Dream 3
Brunetto Latini 4
Story of his early Love for Beatrice 6
1290. Her Death 7
"Vita Nuova" 7
Uncertain Traditions concerning the early Part of Dante's Life 9
His Marriage with Madonna Gemma 10
The Guelfs and Ghibelines 13
1289. The Battle of Campaldino 14
Dante serves in the Cavalry 14
Extract from his Inferno, Canto XXII., giving an Account, of
this Conflict 15
He again takes the Field at the Siege of Caprona 15
Extract from the Inferno, Canto XXI. 15
He is chosen chief Prior of his native City 16
Origin of the Schism between the Bianchi and the Neri 17
The Cerchi and the Donati 18
Banishment of the principal Instigators of the Neri and the
Bianchi 19
Dante suspected of favouring the Bianchi Party 20
He vindicates himself 20
Entrance of Charles into Florence 20
The Recal of the Neri 20
Six Hundred of the Bianchi driven into Exile 21
Embassy of Dante to Rome 21
Boccaccio accuses him of Self-confidence and Disparagement of
others 21
Confiscation of Dante's Property 22
His Banishment 22
He joins the Confederates of the Bianchi at Arezzo 23
Their unfortunate Expedition against Florence 23
Pietro Petracco 23
Dante quits the Confederacy 23
His personal Humiliation 24
Extract from his "Purgatorio" 24
1308. Henry of Luxembourg raised to the Throne of Germany 26
Dante professes himself a Ghibeline 26
1313. Henry of Luxembourg poisoned 26
Dante dedicates his "De Monarchia" 26
He wanders from one petty Court to another 27
Busone da Gubbio affords him shelter at Arezzo 27
Anecdote of him while at Verona 28
Guido Novello da Polenta, Lord of Ravenna 29
Mental Sufferings of Dante 30
His Letter to a Friend who had obtained Leave for him to
return to his Country 31
Extracts from his "Paradiso" 32
His Residence at Ravenna 32
1321. His Death 33
A Copy of his "Divina Commedia" embellished by Michael
Angelo 34
Dante--his Tomb at Ravenna 35
Restoration of his Property to his Family 35
The "De Monarchia" publicly burnt at Rome, by Order of the
Pope 35
Description of Dante by Boccaccio 36
Musical Talents of Dante 37
Extract from his "Purgatorio" 37
His two Sons the first Commentators 39
Lyrics of Dante 41
Origin of the "Divina Commedia" 43
Observations on the Title of the "Divina Commedia" 44
Extracts from the "Inferno" 46
Strictures on it 51
And on the "Inferno" 53
PETRARCH.
1302. His Progenitors 61
Their Banishment from Florence 61
1305. Petrarch and his Mother return from Banishment 62
1312. They remove to Pisa 62
They proceed to Avignon 62
1315. They quit this for Carpentras, where Petrarch becomes
acquainted with Settimo 63
1319. He enters the University of Montpellier 63
His Father destines him for the Law 63
His Aversion to it 64
1323. He goes to Bologna 64
His Recal to France, on the Death of his Father; he
abandons the Law 64
He resides with his Brother at Avignon; he becomes a
Favourite with the Nobles 65
His Person 65
His Friendship for John of Florence 65
Giacomo Colonna; his illustrious Descent 66
His Friendship for Petrarch 67
Character of Petrarch 68
1327. (April 6th.) His Acquaintance with Laura 68
His Devotion to her 70
His poetic Life commences 71
His Patriotism 72
1330. Giacomo Colonna made Bishop of Lombes; Petrarch
accompanies him to his Bishoprick 72
His Friendship for Lello and Louis 72
1331. He makes the Tour of France, Flanders, and Brabant 73
He meets with a Disappointment at Lyons 75
His Arrival at Rome 76
(August 6th.) He returns to Avignon 76
His Excursion to Mont Ventoux 76
His Letter to Father Dionisio Robertis 77
His Retirement to the Valley of Vaucluse 78
A Description of it 78
Version of one of Petrarch's Canzoni, by Lady Dacre 80
Criticisms on Petrarch's Italian Poetry 81
Philip de Cabassoles, Bishop of Cavaillon, becomes the Intimate
of Petrarch 83
Letter of Petrarch to Giacomo Colonna 84
1340. Petrarch receives Letters from Rome and Paris, inviting him
to accept the Crown of Poetry; he accepts the former 85
1341. His Reception at the Court of King Robert of Naples 86
(April 17th.) His Coronation 86
He leaves Rome and arrives at Parma 87
He meets Azzo Correggio 87
Death of Giacomo Colonna 87
Early Death of Thomas of Messina 87
Petrarch's Grief for the Loss of these Friends 88
He and Rienzi sent on an Embassy to Rome, on the Accession
of Pope Clement VI. 89
He meets Laura at Avignon 89
His Confidants 90
1343. Death of Robert, King of Naples 91
He is succeeded by his Daughter Giovanna 91
Mission of Petrarch to Queen Giovanna 92
1345. Nicola di Rienzi seizes upon the Government of Rome, and
assumes the Name of Tribune 92
Change produced by him in the State of the Country 92
Petrarch offered a Bishoprick, which he refuses 93
1347. He leaves Avignon, and repairs to Parma 94
Downfal of Rienzi 94
1348. The Plague in Italy 94
(January 25th.) An Earthquake 94
(April 6th.) Death of Laura 94
Petrarch's Account of it 94
1350. He visits Rome on Occasion of the Jubilee 98
Assassination of Giacomo da Carrara, Lord of Padua 98
1351. Restitution of Petrarch's paternal Property 99
Arrival of Petrarch at Avignon 100
His Letter to Pope Clement VI. on the Choice of a Physician 100
He revisits Vaucluse 100
1352. Death of Pope Clement VI. 100
Petrarch visits the Carthusian Convent 101
His Treatise "On Solitary Life" 101
1353. He crosses the Alps, and visits Milan 101
1354. Is invited by Charles, Emperor of Germany, to visit Mantua 102
He exhorts Charles to deliver Italy 102
1355. Petrarch at Milan 103
He is sent on two Missions--one to Venice, the other to Prague 103
1360. Invasion of France by the English 103
Petrarch sent to congratulate King John on his Return from
Imprisonment 103
He returns to Italy 104
His Letter to Settimo 104
1361. Italy again visited by the Plague 105
Death of Petrarch's Son 105
Marriage of Francesco, Daughter of Petrarch 106
The Poetry of Dante and Petrarch compared 106
"The Triumph of Death" 107
Petrarch's Description of Laura's Death 107
1363. Boccaccio, his Attachment for Petrarch 110
Leonzio Pilato's Death 110
1367. Petrarch's Letter to Pope Urban V. 110
His Reply 110
1369. Petrarch suffers from Fever 110
1372. (January.) His Letter to a Friend who had asked him, "how
he was" 112
1374. His Opinion of the Decameron of Boccaccio 113
His Death 114
His Will 114
BOCCACCIO.
Origin of his Family 115
1313. His Birth 116
1329. He enters on the Study of the Canonical Law 117
1333. His Dislike for this Study 117
He goes to Naples 117
1338. He visits the Tomb of Virgil 118
A Description of it 118
Boccaccio--his Admiration of it 119
1341. Another Circumstance occurs which confirms his Predilection
for Literature 120
Commencement of his Attachment for Lady Mary 121
Some Account of her 121
Her Person 122
His first Book, "Filocopo" 123
The Story of it 123
His Style 124
1342. His Recal to Florence on the Death of his Father 125
His "Ameto" 126
1344. He returns to Naples 126
Death of King Robert 126
Queen Jane and her Court 126
"Filostrato," of Boccaccio 126
His "Amorosa Fiammetta" and "Amorosa Visione" 127
1348. He writes "The Decameron" 127
The Preface 127
Description of the Plague in Florence 128
Critique on the "Decameron" 130
1497. Burning of the "Decameron" 130
1527. The "Ventisettana" and "Delphin" edition of the
"Decameron" published 130
1350. Return of Boccaccio to Florence 131
His various Embassies 131
1351. He visits Petrarch at Padua 132
He is sent to Bohemia to Louis of Bavaria 133
1354. Again sent on a Mission to Avignon 133
His violent Party Feelings 133
His Letter to Petrarch 133
Petrarch's Answer 134
Boccaccio--his enthusiastic Love for the Study of the Ancients 135
His celebrated Copy of Dante 136
He visits Petrarch at Milan 137
Moral Change in him 137
1361. A singular Circumstance occurs which achieves this moral Work 139
He communicates this Circumstance to Petrarch 140
Petrarch's Letter in Answer 140
1363. Power and Influence of Acciajuolo, Seneschal of Naples 142
He invites Boccaccio to his Palace 142
His unworthy Treatment of Boccaccio 143
He removes from his Palace in consequence 143
He returns to Florence 143
His Residence at Certaldo 144
His Work, "De Casibus Virorum et Færainarum Illustrium" 145
1355. His Embassy to Pope Urban V. 145
He projects a Visit to Venice 145
His Letter to Petrarch, whom he missed seeing 145
1370. His Visit to Niccolo di Montefalcone, Abbot of the Carthusian
Monastery of San Stefano, in Calabria 147
1372. He visits Naples 147
1373. He returns to his Retreat at Certaldo 147
His Work on "The Genealogy of the Gods" 147
The Professorship for the Public Explanation of the "Divina
Commedie" conferred on him 148
1374. Petrarch's Death 149
Grief of Boccaccio 149
1375. (December 21st.) Death of Boccaccio 149
LORENZO DE' MEDICI.
Ficino, Pico Della Mirandola, Politian, the Pulci, &c. 151
1438. Platonic Doctrines in Italy 151
Gemisthus Pletho 151
The Medicean Library founded by Cosmo 152
1464. His Death 152
Lorenzo de' Medici succeeds to his Father's Wealth and Influence 152
1478. The Pazzi Conspiracy 152
1479. Pope Sixtus VI. leagues all Italy against Florence 152
1480. Lorenzo de' Medici--his Firmness and Talents 152
He induces the King of Naples to conclude a Treaty with
Florence 153
A Yearly Anniversary of Plato's Death instituted 153
Lorenzo de' Medici--his Commentary on his first Sonnet 155
Extract of a Translation of one of his Sonnets 156
His "Nencia da Barbarino" 157
And another, "Canzoni Carnaleschi" 157
His descriptive Poems 158
1492. His Death 159
MARSIGLIO FICINO.
1433. His Birth 159
He is adopted by Lorenzo de' Medici 160
His "Platonic Institutions" 160
His "Treatise on the Origin of the World" 160
1468. He assumes the Clerical Profession 160
1475. He obtains the Cure of two Churches and Cathedral of Florence 160
1499. (October 1st.) His Death 161
GIOVANNI PICO DELLA MIRANDOLA.
1463. His Birth 161
His Parentage 161
He visits Rome 161
His 900 Propositions published 162
1494. His Persecution and Death 162
ANGELO POLIZIANO.
1454. (July 24th.) His Birth 162
In Florence, he attracts the Attention of Lorenzo de' Medici 163
He engages him as Tutor to his Children 164
He obtains the Professorship of Greek and Latin in the
University of Florence 165
1492. His Letter to Jacopo Antiquário 165
Disasters which befell the Medici 166
Politian's Monody on Lorenzo 166
1494. (September 24th.) Politian.--His Death 167
BERNARDO PULCI.
His Origin 167
His Works 167
LUCA FULCI.
His Works 167
LUIGI PULCI.
Author of the "Morgante Maggiore" 168
Critique on "Morgante Maggiore" 168
The Family of the Heroes of Romance 169
Extract from the "Morgante Maggiore" 171
The Subject of the Poem 172
CIECO DA FERRARA.
1509. Author of "Mambriano" 179
BURCHIELLO.
1448. His Death 180
BOJARDO.
Matteo Maria Bojardo; his Ancestors 181
1434. His Birth 181
His Parents 181
His Education 181
1469. He is sent out as one of the Noblemen to welcome Frederic III.
to Ferrara 181
1471. Borso, Marquess of Ferrara, created Duke 181
Bojardo accompanies him to Rome on his Investiture 181
1472. Marriage of Bojardo to Taddea 182
1473. Bojardo selected by the Duke of Ercole to escort his Wife to
Ferrara 182
1478. He is made Governor of Reggio 182
1494. His Death 182
His Lyrical Poetry 182
His Classical Works 182
An Extract from his "Orlando Innamorato" 183
BERNI.
Francesco Berni 188
His Birth 188
His early Life 188
The Vignaiuoli established at Rome by Oberto Strozzi 188
1526. Rome plundered by the Colonna 188
1536. (July 26th.) Death of Berni 189
Publication of his "Rifacimento" 189
Alterations made by Berni in "Orlando Innamorato" 192
His introductory Stanzas which he appended to each Canto 193
His Person and Disposition 193
An Extract as a Specimen of his Humour 194
Bernese Poetry 195
ARIOSTO.
1474. (September 8th.) Ludovico Ariosto, his Birth 196
His Lineage 196
His early Studies 197
Latin the universal Language of Writers 198
The Transmutation and Transfusion of the dead Languages
into modern Tongues 199
Death of Ariosto's Father 199
His pecuniary Difficulties in consequence 199
His filial and paternal Affection 200
His Brothers Gabriele and Galasso 200
His Sisters 200
A Quotation from his second Satire, alluding to his Mother 201
His Bagatelles 202
He composes his "Orlando Furioso" 203
His Answer to Cardinal Bembo, who advises him to write it in
Latin 204
The Duke of Ferrara threatened with the Thunders of the
Vatican 204
Ariosto sent as Ambassador to Rome on this Occasion 205
Julius II. enters into a League with the Venetians 205
The Papal Forces defeated at Ravenna 205
The Capture and Dispersion of the Republican Squadron on the
River Po 205
Ariosto, his gallant Conduct on this Occasion 205
His second Embassy to Rome 206
His uncourteous Reception by the Pontiff 206
Emperor Alfonso, his fruitless Negotiations with the implacable
Julius 207
And the perfidious Treatment he receives 207
The singular Manner in which he retaliates 207
1515. The first Edition of the "Orlando Furioso" 208
Succeeding Reprints and Variations of it 208
1532. The last Edition 208
Ariosto refuses to accompany Cardinal Hippolito to his Bishoprick 208
Their consequent Estrangement 209
A Story of Hippolito, his natural Brother, and a Lady to whom
they both paid their Addresses; the infamous and unnatural
Conduct of the Cardinal 209
Independence of Ariosto 210
Ease, Freedom, and Independence necessary to the Life of a
Poet 210
Letter of Ariosto to his Brother Alessandro 212
Ariosto enters the Service of Duke Alfonso 217
Discomforts and Mortifications of his precarious Circumstances 218
His Reasons for not taking Orders 219
Pope Leo X. issues a Bull in favour of the "Orlando Furioso" 219
What Claims had Ariosto on the Bounty of Leo X.? 220
Extracts from his Satires 221
The Dignity and Ease he enjoys at the Court of Alfonso 226
His Government of Graffagnana 226
His Rencontre with some of his uncouth Neighbours 227
Baretti, his Version of this Anecdote 228
Extract from his Satires 229
He is invited to accept a third Embassy to Rome 230
His Answer to Bonaventura Pistolfo 230
His Release from his Government 232
He perfects his "Orlando;" his Dramatic Works 232
A curious Anecdote of him when a Child 232
Remarks on his Writings 234
1532. Ariosto, his last Illness 234
Apocryphal Traditions of him 235
His Person 235
His Character 236
His Sons 237
His Elegies, Sonnets, and Madrigals 237
A Translation of one of his Sonnets 238
Difficulty of translating his Works 239
English Versions of his "Orlando Furioso" 239
His Recitation 240
Anecdote of him 240
His whimsical Peculiarities; his Habits 241
His Reveries 242
His last Hours 243
His Monument 244
Sketch of the Outline of the "Orlando Furioso" 245
Critical Remarks on it 247
A Sequel and Imitation of it 250
MACHIAVELLI.
850. Origin of his Family 256
1469. (February 3d.) His Birth 257
His Parentage 257
Nothing known of his Childhood and Education 257
Paul Jovius 257
1494. Machiavelli Secretary under Marcellus Virgil 257
1497. Florence agitated by the Prophet Salvanorola 258
Marcellus Virgil elected High Chancellor 258
1498. Machiavelli made Chancellor of the Second Court 258
Is Secretary of the Council of Ten 259
His Missions to various Sovereigns and States 259
1492. Italy convulsed by foreign Armies and domestic Quarrels 259
Ludovico Sforza invites Charles VIII. of France into Italy,
instigating him to assert his Right to the Neapolitan Crown 260
1493. Entrance of the French into Italy; causes great Commotion in
Florence; the Overthrow and Exile of the Medicean Family 260
Italy overrun by Charles 260
The Italian System of Warfare 260
1498. Death of Charles VIII. 261
Louis XII. succeeds him; his speedy Conquest of Milan 261
1501. Pisa, under the Rule of Florence, repines at its Servitude; they
implore Charles to restore their Independence 261
1500. Pisa besieged by the Florentines 262
Machiavelli and Francesco della Caza employed by the Republic
as Envoys to the French Court; curious Style of their Instructions 262
They fail in their Object, and return to Italy 263
Machiavelli, his Mission to Cæsar Borgia 263
Roderigo Borgia chosen Pope; he assumes the Name of
Alexander VI. 264
His Character 264
Cæsar Borgia raised to the Rank of Cardinal; his Dislike to the
Church 264
His Jealousy of his Brother, the Duke of Candia, whom he
causes to be waylaid and murdered 264
He abdicates the Cardinal's Hat, and obtains the Duchy of
Valence in France 265
He determines to form the Principality in Italy 265
His Encroachments supported by an Alliance with Louis XII. 265
His Attack on Bologna 266
Revolt of his chief Condottieri 266
Conspiracy of Magione 267
1502. Arrival of Machiavelli at Imola 268
His Interview with Caesar Borgia 268
His Opinion of him 268
Cæsar Borgia, his Method of defending himself 269
His Policy 269
Paolo Orsino, his Arrival at Imola 269
Machiavelli, his Letter to the Signoria of Florence 269
His Conversation with Cæsar Borgia 270
His Admiration of Borgia's Talents 271
Machiavelli solicits to be recalled 271
Treaty between Caesar Borgia and the Confederates 271
Letter of Machiavelli on this Subject 272
Borgia leaves Imola 273
Machiavelli follows the Court to Cesena 273
His Letter 273
He again writes from Cesena 274
The Confederates sent to Sinigaglia 275
Arrival of Borgia at Sinigaglia 275
He causes the Orsini and Vitellozzo to be taken Prisoners 275
Machiavelli, his Account of this Transaction 275
His Letter 275
Treacherous and cruel Revenge of Borgia on the Confederates 276
(January 8th.) Machiavelli, his Letter to the Republic 277
1503. His Recal to Florence 278
His Description of the Method used by the Valentian Duke in
putting to death Vitellozzo Vitelli 278
The "Decenal" 278
An Anecdote of Cæsar Borgia 279
Narrow Escape of Cæsar Borgia at Rome, it is supposed from
Poison 280
(August 28th.) Sudden Death of his Father, Pope Alexander 281
Accession of Pope Pius III. 281
Fall of the Fortunes of Cæsar Borgia 281
Machiavelli's Embassy to Rome to influence the Consultations
concerning the future Destination of Cæsar Borgia 281
Julius II. 281
Borgia sent to Romagna in the Name of the Holy See 282
Cardinal Volterra sent after him with a Requisition; Borgia
refuses to comply; he is arrested in consequence, and sent on
board a French Galley 283
He is brought back to the Vatican; he is liberated 283
He goes to Naples 283
He forms new Schemes, is again arrested, and confined in the
Fortress of Medina del Campo 284
1506. His Escape and Death 284
1504. Machiavelli leaves Rome, and goes to France 284
Peace between France and Spain 284
1506. Formation of a native Militia in Florence 285
Pope Julius II., his Projects 285
The Florentines delegate Machiavelli to the Court Militant at
Rome; his Letters 285
1507. Francesco Vettori treats with the Emperor Maximilian at
Trent 286
1508. Machiavelli sent with the Ultimatum of the Florentines to
Trent 286
On his Return, writes his "Account of Germany" 286
1509. Pisa besieged by the Florentines 286
Machiavelli sent to assist them 286
Enmity between Louis XII. and the Pope 287
1510. Machiavelli, his Mission to Louis; his Letters 287
His Audience with the King at Blois 288
1511. Pietro Soderini elected Doge of Florence 288
Louis determines to dethrone him; Florence offers him Pisa
for it 288
Terrified by the Menaces of the Pope, they send Machiavelli to
recal this Offer 288
Disastrous War, the Consequence 289
1512. Diet of Mantua 289
Overthrow of the existing Government of Florence 289
Restoration of the Medici 289
Machiavelli deprived of his Place 291
Conspiracy against the Medici 291
Machiavelli supposed to be implicated; is thrown into Prison
in consequence 291
He is included in an Amnesty of the new Pope, Leo X. 291
1513. His Letter to Francesco Vettori; his Liberation 291
Letter of Vettori to Machiavelli 292
His Letter in Reply 292
Vettori, his Endeavours in behalf of Machiavelli 293
Machiavelli, his Letter to Vittori 294
Analysis of his Work, called the "Prince" 297
Machiavelian Policy 300
His Essays on the first "Decade of Livy" 304
His "Art of War" 304
His "Belfegor" 304
His Comedies 304
1514. His Letter to Vettori 305
1519. Address of Pope Leo X. to Machiavelli; his Advice 306
Machiavelli, his Reply 306
His "Essay on the Reform of the Government of Florence" 306
1521. Machiavelli Ambassador to the Minor Friars at Carpi 306
Letter of Francesco Guicciardini on his Appointment;
Machiavelli, his Reply 307
1524. Cardinal Julius commissions him to write the History of
Florence 307
1526. Cardinal Julius becomes Pope Clement VII.; he makes
Machiavelli his Historiographer 308
Deplorable State of Italy 308
Constable Bourbon at Milan 308
Machiavelli sent by the Pope to inspect the Fortifications at
Florence 309
1527. Arrival of Bourbon at Bologna 309
A Truce concluded between Clement VII. and Charles V. 310
(6th of May.) Sack of Rome 310
Machiavelli assists the Italians in relieving the Pope, who is
besieged in the Castel Sant' Angelo 310
He returns to Florence 310
His Death 311
His Wife and Children 311
His Person and Character 311
1782. Complete Edition of his Works published 312
His Descendants 312
TABLE
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL,
TO THE SECOND VOLUME OF
LIVES OF
EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF ITALY, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL.
GALILEO.
A. D
1564. (15th of February.) His Birth 1
His Ancestors 2
His early Years 3
1581. A Scholar of Arts at the University of Pisa 3
Studies Medicine under Andrew Cæsalpinus 3
His Work on the Hydrostatical Balance 4
Guido Ubaldi engages him to investigate the Centre of Gravity
of solid Bodies 4
Appointed Lecturer of Mathematics at the University of Pisa 4
1600. Giordano Bruno burnt 4
Galileo attacks by Argument and Experiment the Aristotelian
Laws of Gravity 5
Opposition of the Aristotelians to his Discoveries 6
A Method of clearing out the Harbour of Leghorn proposed
by Don Giovanni de' Medici 6
Galileo opposes this Opinion; is persecuted in consequence 6
1592. He obtains the Professorship of Mathematics at the University
of Padua 6
1593. Account of his Conversion to the Copernican System 7
He meets with an Accident 9
He completes his first Engagement at Padua 9
1598. Is re-elected other six Years 9
Accusation brought against him with respect to Marina Gamba 10
1604. A new Star excites the Attention of Galileo 10
1606. Again re-elected to the Professorship of Padua 10
His increasing Popularity 10
His Examination of the Properties of the Loadstone 10
1500. Doctor Gilbert's Work, the "De Magnete," published 11
1603. His Death 11
Cosmo proposes to Galileo to return to Pisa 11
The Arrangements suggested by Galileo, and the Manner of
urging them 12
Dutch Telescopes 13
Galileo constructs his first Telescope 13
Interest which the Telescope excited in Venice 14
The Art of cleaning and polishing Lenses very imperfect 15
Results of the Observations of Galileo on the Moon 16
His Examination of the fixed Stars 16
1610. The Satellites of Jupiter discovered by Galileo 18
Galileo's Work, the "Sidereal Messenger," published 18
Reception which these Discoveries met with from Kepler 19
Horky; his Work against the Discoveries of Galileo 20
Simon Mayer 21
Discovery of new Satellites 21
First Enigma of Galileo published 23
His Observations on Saturn and Venus 23
1611. His Reception at Rome; he erects his Telescope in the Quirinal
Garden 24
(March.) He discovers the Solar Spots 24
1610. Thomas Harriot discovers the Solar Spots (in December) 25
Professor Scheiner; his Letters on the Subject of the Solar
Spots 26
These Letters answered by Galileo 26
Faculæ or Luculi discovered on the Sun's Disc, by Galileo 26
His Observations on Saturn 27
The Subject of floating Bridges discussed 28
Galileo "On Floating Bodies" 28
1613. His Letter to the Abbé Castelli 31
Caccini attacks Galileo from the Pulpit 31
Luigi Maraffi apologises to Galileo for this Conduct 31
Galileo, his Letter to the Grand Duchess Christian 31
1615. (26th of February.) Galileo appears before the Inquisition 31
He renounces his Opinions 33
The Copernican System condemned by the Inquisition 34
1616. Interview of Galileo with Pope Paul V. 34
Letter of Querenghi to the Cardinal D'Este 34
Negotiations of Galileo with Spain 35
1618. Three Comets appear 36
1619. Discourse on Comets by Marco Guiducci 36
"The Astronomical and Philosophical Balance" 37
1623. Galileo, his Work "Il Saggiatore" 37
Accession of Cardinal Barberini to the papal Throne 37
1624. Galileo, his Visit to Pope Urban VIII. 38
His Reception 38
1629. Death of Cosmo 39
Pecuniary Difficulties of Galileo 39
1630. Work of Galileo demonstrating the Copernican System 41
1632. "The System of the World of Galileo Galilei" 42
Influence of this Work on the public Mind 43
Galileo summoned to appear before the Inquisition 44
1633. (14th of February.) He arrives at Rome 45
Is visited by Cardinal Barberini; his Kindness to him 46
Trial of Galileo 47
(22d of June.) His Sentence 48
His Abjuration 49
What Excuse is there for his Humiliation and Abjuration? 50
Imprisonment of Galileo 52
He leaves Rome 52
He returns to Arcetri 52
Death of his Daughter 53
His Indisposition and Melancholy 53
1638. He obtains Permission of the Pope to return to Florence 53
Continued Kindness of the Grand Duke of Tuscany for him 54
His "Dialogues on Local Motion" 54
Discovery of the Moon's Libration 55
1637. Blindness of Galileo 56
He is visited by a Number of Strangers 58
1642. (8th of January.) His Death 58
His Epitaph and Monument 95
His House 60
His domestic Character 60
His Person 60
His scientific Character 61
GUICCIARDINI.
1482. (6th of March.) His Birth 63
His Parentage 63
His Education 64
He obtains the Degree of Doctor of Laws 64
His Marriage 64
Sent as Ambassador, by the Republic, to Ferdinand King
Aragon 65
He returns home 65
Leo X. visits Florence 65
Guicciardini sent to receive him at Cortona 65
He makes him Governor of Reggio and Modena 66
Death of Leo 66
Guicciardini, his memorable Defence of Parma 66
Made President of Romagna 67
His Administration 67
Made Lieutenant-general of the Pontifical Army 67
The Power of the Medici becomes odious in Florence 67
Dangers to which Clement VII. is exposed 67
The Palace of Government seized by the younger Nobility 67
Federigo da Bozzole sent to treat for it 68
Guicciardini, his Zeal in the Cause of the Medici 69
Reconciliation between Charles V. and Pope Clement VII. 69
Their united Arms turned against Florence 69
Second Restoration of the Medici 70
Overthrow of the Liberties of Florence 70
The Office of Gonfaloniere established 70
Alessandro de' Medici named Duke 70
His disgraceful Birth 70
His Vices 71
Guicciardini resigns the Government of Romagna 71
Murder of the Duke Alexander by Lorenzino de' Medici 72
Cosmo raised to the supreme Power 72
Guicciardini retires to his Country Seat at Montici 72
1540. (27th of May.) His Death 74
VITTORIA COLONNA.
Women who aspired to literary Fame in Italy 75
1465. Cassandra Fedele born; Politian's Letter to her 76
1490. Vittoria Colonna, her Parentage 77
Her Marriage with the Marquess of Pescara 77
Pescara made General of the Army at Ravenna 77
His Testimony of Affection to his Wife 77
Her Answer 78
Death of Pescara 78
Vittoria Colonna, her Grief in consequence 79
Her Poetry 80
Her Friendship for Cardinal Pole and Michael Angelo 81
1547. Her Death 81
GUARINI.
1537. His Birth 82
Little known of his early Life 82
His Marriage 82
1565. His Embassy to Venice to congratulate the new Doge, Pietro
Loredano 83
1571. His Embassy to Rome to pay Homage to Gregory XIII. 83
1573. His Mission to Poland to congratulate Henry of Valois on his
Accession 83
On his Return made Chancellor and Secretary of State 83
His second Visit to Poland 83
1575. (25th of November). His Letter to his Wife during his Journey 83
His "Pastor Fido" 87
His Quarrel with Tasso 87
1582. He requests his Dismissal from the Duke; he retires to his
Villa 88
1585. His "Pastor Fido" acted at Turin 91
1586. Guarini returns to his Post at Court; is made Secretary of State 92
His Missions to Umbria and Milan 92
His Quarrel with his Son 92
1590. He leaves the Court of Alfonso and goes to that of Savoy 93
He leaves Savoy, and goes to Padua 93
1591. He loses his Wife 93
His Letter to Cardinal Gonzaga 93
His Visit to Urbino 94
He retires to Ferrara, deputed by the Citizens to congratulate
Paul Usur 95
1608. Nuptials of Gonzaga and Marguerite of Savoy 95
1612. (7th of October.) His Death 95
TORQUATO TASSO, SON OF BERNARDO TASSO.
Their Ancestors 98
1493. Bernardo Tasso appointed Secretary of State to Ferrante
Sanseverino, Prince of Salerno 99
His Marriage with Portia Rossi 100
1544. (11th of March.) Torquato Tasso, his Birth 101
Bernardo Tasso joins his Patron in the War 102
Infancy of Torquato 103
Return of Bernardo from the War 103
1552. The Prince of Salerno and his Adherents declared Rebels 104
Bernardo, his Exile 104
Torquato Tasso, his Separation from his Mother; Lines written
by him on this Occasion 105
He and Cowper compared 107
1556. Death of his Mother 108
Torquato Tasso at Rome with his Father 108
Is implicated in his reputed Treason 109
His Letter to Vittoria Colonna on the Marriage of his Sister
Cornelia 110
Letter of Bernardo to his Daughter 110
Bernardo flies to Ravenna 111
He is invited to Pesaro 111
Vicissitudes of Bernardo Tasso 112
Torquato Tasso, his Studies 114
Boileau 115
"Joan of Arc" 117
"Curiosities of Literature" 118
Torquato translates his Father's Poems and Letters 118
"Amadigi" 119
Torquato Tasso studies Jurisprudence at Padua 122
His "Rinaldo" 122
Epic Poetry 125
"Gerusalemme Liberata" 126
Torquato leaves the Study of the Law, and repairs to Bologna 127
He returns to Padua and establishes the Degli Eterei 128
His "Discourses on Heroic Poetry" 130
1564. He visits his Father at Mantua 130
His Illness 131
1569. Bernardo Tasso, his Death 131
Torquato Tasso appointed one of the personal Attendants
Cardinal D'Este 131
Zoilus 131
1565. Torquato Tasso at Ferrara, in the Service of Cardinal Luigi 132
Marriage of Alfonso Duke of Ferrara 132
Death of Pope Pius IV. 133
Torquato becomes acquainted with Lucretia and Leonora
Este 133
A quotation from his "Aminta" 134
1568. Marriage of the Princess Anna of Este with the Duke
Guise 136
Marriage of Lucretia D'Este with the Prince of Urbino 136
Torquato Tasso accompanies the Cardinal Luigi, as Legate,
the Court of France 138
Two or three Anecdotes related of him 139
1572. Arrival of Tasso at Rome 140
His Reception by Pope Pius V. 140
Admitted into the Service of the Duke Alfonso 140
His "Aminta" 141
His "Torindo" and "Torrismondo" 143
His Illness 144
His Escape to Rome, with the Duke Alfonso's Consent 146
He returns to Ferrara 146
An Incident occurs to him which establishes him a Hero 147
His Malady 148
Is confined as a Lunatic by the Duke Alfonso 148
Efforts of the Duke to calm his Mind 149
His Love for the Princess Leonora 149
He visits his Sister 150
1579. Committed as a Lunatic to St Anne's Hospital 152
His Letter to Scipio Gonzaga 152
1581. Death of the Princess Leonora 156
Its Effect on Tasso 156
1586. Liberation of Tasso 157
His Controversy with the Della Cruscan Academy 158
His last Work, "Sette Giornate" 158
He recovers his Mother's Dowry 158
The Pope grants him a Pension 158
Manso, his Account of his Interview with Tasso during
Time he supposed he was visited by a Spirit 159
1594. (25th of April.) Death of Tasso 161
His Works 161
CHIABRERA.
1552. His Birth 163
His Parentage 163
His Childhood 163
Enters the Service of Cardinal Comaro Camerlingo 164
His disastrous Residence at Rome 163
His Studies 164
His Style 165
His Elegiac Poems 166
A Quotation from Wordsworth's Translation 166
Generous Overtures of Charles Emanuel 167
He refuses 168
1637. His Death 168
TASSONI.
1565. His Birth 169
His early Life 169
1585. Obtains the Degree of Doctor of Laws at the University of
Bologna 169
1597. Visits Rome; enters the Service of Cardinal Colonna; sent by
him to obtain Permission of Pope Clement VIII. to accept
the Viceroyalty of Aragon; his Success 170
1622. His Works 171
1635. His Death 173
MARINI.
1569. (18th of October.) His Birth 174
He opposes his Father's Wishes to become a Lawyer;
turns him out in consequence 174
1589. Publishes his "Canzoni de' Baci" 174
Concerned in some youthful Scrapes 175
Accompanies Cardinal Aldobrandini to Turin 175
His literary Quarrels 175
Marini publishes his Poem on the Murder of the Innocents 176
He accepts the Invitation of Marguerite of France 176
Her Death before his Arrival 176
Is received by Mary de' Medici 176
1623. He publishes his "Adone" 177
He returns to Rome 178
1625. (25th of March.) His Death 179
FILICAJA.
1642. (30th of December.) His Birth 180
His Parentage 180
His Education 180
His Marriage 181
His Odes 181
Kindness and Liberality of Christina of Sweden to Filicaja 182
He is appointed Governor of Volterra 182
His Return to Florence; his Character: his "Ode to the
Virgin" 183
1717. His Death 184
METASTASIO.
His obscure Origin 185
1698. (13th of January.) His Birth; his Name 185
His Adoption by Vincenzo Gravina 185
His first Tragedy, "Giustino" 186
His Letter to Algarotti 187
His Letter to Don Saverio Mattei 188
Death of his adopted Father Gravina 189
His Studies 189
His Imprudence 189
Commences the Study of the Law at Naples 190
He composes his "Orti Esperidi" 190
He quits his Legal Studies 191
And resides at the House of the Prima Donna Marianna
Bulgarelli 191
He studies Music 192
1594. Operatic Dramas first introduced at Florence 192
1724. Metastasio composes his "Didone Abbandonato;" also his
"Siroe" 192
He accompanies the Prima Donna to Rome 193
1727. He writes his Drama of "Cato" 193
1729. He is invited to become the Court Poet of Vienna 193
Apostolo Zeno 194
1730. Metastasio fulfils his Engagement to the Roman Theatre 194
He enters on his Employments at Vienna; Success of his Dramas 194
Becomes Treasurer of the Province of Cosenza, in Naples 195
His Letters to Marianna Bulgarelli 196
1733. Her Death 198
Metastasio's Letters to his Brother on her Death 198
His Style 200
His "Attilio Regulo" 201
"Themistocles" and "Olimpiade:" his Dramas 202
His Canzonetti 203
1740. Death of the Emperor Charles VI. 203
1745. Francis I. elected Emperor 204
Several European Sovereigns invite Metastasio to their Court 204
His Malady 204
His Letters 205
His Letter to his Brother on the Death of his Father 205
1770. Death of his Brother Leopold 208
1737. Farinelli 208
1746. Death of Philip V. of Spain 209
1763. Accession of Charles III. 209
Physical Sufferings of Metastasio 209
Death of the Empress Maria Theresa 209
1772. Doctor Burney's Account of Metastasio 210
1782. (12th of April.) Death of Metastasio 211
GOLDONI.
1707. His Birth 213
His Origin 213
1712. Death of his Grandfather; Pecuniary Difficulties of his Family 214
Education of Goldoni 215
His Departure with his Family from Perugia 216
Carlo Goldoni studies at Rimini 216
His Parents embark for Chiozza 216
Description of Chiozza 216
Goldoni escapes from Rimini 217
He arrives at Chiozza 218
He studies the Law under his Uncle, at Venice 219
1723. His Success at the University of Pavia 220
His Expulsion, and the Cause of it 221
Returns to his Parents 221
He pursues his Legal Studies at Modena 222
He determines to become a Monk 223
Prudent Conduct of his Parents on this Occasion 223
Goldoni becomes Coadjutor to the Chancellor of Feltri 224
He falls in Love 224
1731. He joins his Father at Ravenna 225
Death of the elder Goldoni 225
Goldoni enters the Profession of Barrister, at Venice 225
An Incident occurs which destroys his Prospects 226
His Tragedy of "Amalasunta" 228
Its Fate 229
Buonafede Vitali 229
1733. Siege of Milan 230
Journey of Goldoni to Modena 230
Disasters which he met with 231
1734. His "Belisarius" acted at Vienna 232
Good Fortune which he meets with at Genoa 233
His Marriage 233
He attempts to reform the Italian Theatre 233
The old Comedy of Italy 234
Goldoni obtains the Genoese Consulship at Venice 235
He meets with a Ragusan Adventurer 235
1741. His Play on the Subject 235
His Life at Rimini 236
His Journey to Cattolica, and the Misfortune that befell him 237
He becomes a Pleader at the Pisan Bar 238
His Comedies 238
His Style 239
The Plot of his "Donne Puntigliose" 240
Story of the "Donna Prudente" 241
His "Pettegollezzi" 241
The Subject of "Villeggiatura" and the "Smanie della
Villeggiatura" 242
His other Comedies 243
1760. He receives an Offer from the French Court 245
1761. His Debût as an Author in the French Capital 246
1792. His Death 246
ALFIERI.
The Italian Poets of the early Ages 247
1749. (17th of January.) Birth of Vittorio Alfieri 250
His noble Origin 250
His Childhood 251
His Education 252
Account of the Academy of Turin 252
System of Education 253
Effect of Music on the Mind of Alfieri 255
Circumstances of his Life altered by the Death of his Uncle 256
1763. Change of his Situation in College 256
Effect of this on his Conduct 256
His Extravagance 257
His Confinement 257
1764. His Liberation on the Marriage of his Sister Julia 258
His Return to College 259
1765. His Journey to Genoa 259
1766. He enters the Provincial Army of Asti 260
His dislike of Military Discipline; he obtains Leave of
Absence 260
His Tour 261
His second Leave of Absence; his second Tour 265
His first Entrance into Paris 265
His enthusiastic Feelings on visiting England 266
He returns to Turin, and resides with his Sister 267
1769. He takes another Tour 268
His second Visit to England; his Love Adventure 269
He returns to Paris 271
His Quarrel with his Servant 271
1772. Returns to Turin, and becomes a Cavaliere Servente 272
1774. He determines to break off this disgraceful Intercourse 274
His first Attempt at Composition 274
1777. He enters into an Engagement with the Public to write
Tragedies 276
He visits Siena; his Friendship with Francesco Gori 278
He visits Florence 279
His Attachment for Louisa de Stolberg, Countess of Albany 280
He makes a Donation of his Property to his Sister Julia 280
The distinguishing Marks of his Dramas 282
Distinction between Shakspeare and other Dramatic Writers 283
Alfieri, his Tragedy of "Philip," its Subject 284
He continues the _Amico di Casa_ of the Countess of Albany 286
Cruel Conduct of her Husband 286
She is separated from him 286
Alfieri at Rome with the Countess 287
1782. He completes his fourteen Tragedies 288
His Intercourse with the Countess of Albany begins to excite
Censure 289
He goes into voluntary Exile in consequence of his Sufferings 290
1783. He visits England to purchase Horses 290
He returns to Italy 291
His Visit to the Countess of Albany at Alsatia 291
He composes his "Agis," "Sofonisba," and "Mirra" 291
Death of his Friend Gori 292
Returns to Siena 292
Countess of Albany visits Paris 293
She goes to Baden, where she is joined by Alfieri 293
Residence of Alfieri at Colmar 293
1787. His Illness; visited by his Friend the Abbate Caluso 293
The Countess at Paris; Alfieri joins her 293
Death of her Husband 294
Corrected Editions of Alfieri's Tragedies 294
1790. His Translation of the Comedies of Terence 294
His Treatise on "Princes and Literature;" Critique on his
Style 295
1791. He accompanies the Countess of Albany to England 296
They return to Paris 296
1792. (10th of August.) The French Revolution 296
Imprisonment of Louis XVI. 296
Departure of the Countess and Alfieri from Paris; their
Furniture, Horses, and Books confiscated 297
They return to Florence 297
The Tragedy of "Saul" acted, Alfieri performing the Part of
the King 298
He studies the Greek Language 299
Invasion of Italy by the French 299
Alfieri and the Countess leave Florence 299
French driven from Tuscany 299
Second Invasion of the French; Effect of these political Events
on the Mind of Alfieri 300
(8th of October.) His Death 301
His Tomb 301
MONTI.
Arcadian Poetry 303
1754. (19th of February.) His Birth 305
His Parentage 305
Italian Farmers 305
Early Boyhood of Monti 306
Anecdote of him 306
His Studies at Faenza 307
Destined by his Father to Agricultural Labour; his Dislike of
this Occupation 307
Ineffectual Attempts of his Father to overcome this 308
His first Italian Poem; he adopts Alighieri as his Model 308
His "Vision of Ezekiel" 308
Cardinal Borghese takes Monti under his Protection; he
accompanies the Cardinal to Rome 309
1780. The Arcadians of the Bosco Parrasio celebrate the Quinquenalli
of Pius VI. 309
Monti made Secretary to the Duke of Braschi 309
His want of political Integrity 310
His Ode on the Marriage of the Duke of Braschi 311
1779. His Ambition excited by the Emulation inspired by Alfieri 311
1787. His "Aristodemo" acted at Rome with great Success 312
Plot of this Tragedy 312
Marriage of Monti 313
Hugh Basseville 314
Sent by the French to spread their Revolutionary Tenets
beyond the Alps 314
His History of the French Revolution 315
1793. His Assassination 315
(January 19th.) Louis XVI. beheaded 315
Monti, his Poem, the "Basvilliana" 315
His Poem on the French Revolution 316
His Plagiarism 316
Spread of French Republicanism 317
Defeat of the Austrians 317
1797. (January 3d.) Cisalpine Republic erected 318
Monti meets General Marmont at Rome 318
He proceeds with him to Florence 318
Monti, his Admiration of Napoleon 318
Made Secretary of Foreign Affairs at Milan 319
He suffers Persecution 319
A Law passed by the Cisalpine Republic 319
Monti loses his Situation in consequence 319
His "Musogonia" 319
Subject of his Poem entitled "Prometeo" 320
He obtains the Professor's Chair of Belles Lettres in Brera 321
1799. Suvaroff and the Austrians drive the French from Italy 321
End of the Italian Republics 321
Deplorable Destitution of Monti during his Exile 321
Goes to Pans on the Invitation of Mareschalchi 322
He composes a Hymn and an Ode on the Victory of Marengo 322
He returns to Italy 323
His Poem, the "Mascheroniana" 323
His Tragedy, "Caius Gracchus" 325
1802. The Cisalpine Congress meet at Lyons 326
Bonaparte made President 326
Monti, his Ode to Napoleon in the Name of the Congress 326
He obtains a Professorship at Pavia 327
Goes to Milan, where a Number of Offices are conferred on him 327
1805. Napoleon crowned King of Italy 327
Monti commanded to celebrate the Event 327
He composes his "Il Benificio" 328
His "Spada di Federico" 329
His "Palingenesi" 329
His "Jerogamia" 331
Remarks on "the Winged Horse of Arsinoe" 332
Translation of the Iliad 332
Visconti, his Praise of Monti's Iliad 333
1814. Overthrow of Napoleon 333
Monti loses all his public Employments 333
Pensions bestowed on him by the Emperor of Austria 333
He composes the "Mistico Omaggio" 334
His other Works 335
1812. Marriage of his Daughter 335
Her Poem "On a Rose" 335
The Della Crusca Controversy 336
Different Dialects of Italy 336
Bocca Romana 337
Florentine Dialect 337
Dispute of Monti with the Tuscans 338
Extracts from his Letters to his Friend Mustoxidi 338
Monti resides at Milan 340
Beauty of his Recitation 341
Extract of his Letters to a Friend on the Classic and Romantic
Schools 341
1821-1822. Monti resides with his Daughter and Son-in-law, at
Pesaro 343
1821. Monti, his Letter to his Wife 343
Another Letter to his Wife 344
1822. His Letter, giving a Picture of Italian Manners 345
His Visit to Pesaro on the Death of his Son-in-law 347
His Letter to his Friend Mustoxidi 347
1823. His Illness 348
1828. (13th of October.) His Death 350
His Character 350
His Person 351
UGO FOSCOLO.
1778. His Birth 354
His Origin 354
The Ionian Islands 355
Foscolo studies at Padua under Cesarotti 355
1797. His Tragedy of "Thyestes" represented at Venice 357
Foscolo becomes a voluntary Exile 357
His "Letters of Jacopo Ortis" 357
His Opinion of Bonaparte 359
He visits Tuscany 360
And Florence 360
He goes to Milan; Description of the Cisalpine Republic 361
Foscolo becomes acquainted with Monti 361
Likeness between him and his imaginary Hero, Ortis 362
His unfortunate Attachment for a Pisan Lady 362
He joins the Lombard Legion 363
1800. Invasion of the Austrio-Russians 363
Foscolo joins the French Army at Genoa 363
Siege of Genoa 364
Foscolo, his Letter to Bonaparte 364
(June 4th.) Surrender of Genoa 365
Conveyance of the Garrison to France by the English Fleet;
Foscolo accompanies them 365
"Ortis" 366
Comparison between Goethe's "Werter" and "Ortis" 366
Person and Manners of Foscolo 369
1802. Meeting of a Congress at Lyons to reform the Cisalpine
Republic 370
Foscolo, his "Oration to Bonaparte" 370
Foscolo holds a Commission in the Italian Legion 372
His Translation of Sterne's "Sentimental Journey" 373
1805. He becomes intimate with General Caffarelli 375
The Brescians 375
Foscolo, his "Ode on Sepulchres" 375
1808. He is made Professor of Eloquence in the University of Pavia;
his Introductory Oration 377
He incurs the Displeasure of Bonaparte 378
Loses his Professorship, and retires to the Lake of Como 378
Description of the Lake 378
His Tragedy of "Ajax" 379
Its Politics found fault with; he is persecuted in consequence 380
He is exiled from Milan, and visits Tuscany 380
1813. Manifesto of Lord William Bentinek 382
Treaty of Fontainebleau 382
Foscolo, his Adherence to the Cause of Liberty 384
His Conversation with Pecchio 385
He resides in Italy 385
Lord Castlereagh 386
Arrival of Foscolo in England 386
His Retreat at St. John's Wood 387
1822. Pecchio visits him 387
Foscolo, his "Ricciarda" 388
The Story on which it is founded 388
Dedicated to Lord William Russell 388
1823. Lady Dacre interests herself in behalf of Foscolo 389
Description of Foscolo's House at South Bank 389
Imprudence of Foscolo; his pecuniary Difficulties 392
1827. (October 10th.) His Death 392
His Character 393
TABLE,
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL,
TO THE THIRD VOLUME OF
LIVES OF
EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF ITALY, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL.
INTRODUCTION.
A.D.
Preliminary Remarks 1
Aborigines of Spain 2
Silius Italicus 2
Lucan 2
The Senecas 2
The Roman Power in Spain annihilated by the Visigoths 3
Anecdotes of the Goths 3
Conquest of Spain by the Moors 3
The University of Cordova founded by Abdorhaman III. 4
Settlement of the Jews in Spain 4
Arabic Authors 5
The Romances Moriscos 5
Troubadours 5
Mosen Jordi de Sant Jordi 6
The Redondillas 7
The Cancionero general and the Romancero general 9
Quotation from Doctor Bowring's Translation of the
Redondillas 9
Romances of Chivalry 10
1325. Vasco Lobeira 10
Alphonso X., surnamed the Wise 11
The Cultivation which he bestowed on the Castilian Language 11
His Works 11
The Alphonsine Tables 11
Alphonso XI. 11
Spain desolated by Civil Wars 12
Juan Ruiz 12
1407. John II., his disastrous Reign 12
The Marquis of Villena institutes Floral Games 13
1434. His Death 13
Marquis of Santillana 13
Marcias, his melancholy Fate 13
1412. Juan de Mena, the Ennius of Spain 14
His Birth 14
His Origin 14
He studies at the University of Salamanca 14
His Works 15
1456. His Death 15
Quintano, his Opinion of the "Labyrinto" 15
Juan de Enzina, Author of the first Spanish Plays 17
His Birth 17
His Songs and Lyrics 18
His Name becomes proverbial in Spain by his Song of
Contraries or Absurdities 18
A Quotation from Doctor Bowring's Translation 18
Union of the Crowns of Castile and Arragon 19
Castilian adopted as the classic Language of the Country 20
BOSCAN.
The first Spanish Poet who introduced the Italian Style 21
1500. His Birth 21
His noble Descent 21
His Marriage 21
Chosen Governor to the Duke of Alva 22
1525. Andrea Navagero, the Venetian Ambassador 22
His Arrival at the Court of Charles V. at Toledo; he meets
with Boscan and Garcilaso 22
He induces them to quit their national Redondillas 22
This Circumstance referred to by Boscan in the Dedication of
his Poems to the Duchess of Soma 23
A Translation of one of Garcilaso's Poems 24
Translation of the Epistle of Boscan to Don Diego Hurtado de
Mendoza 26
1543. Petrarch and Boscan compared 34
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA.
His illustrious Descent 36
1503. His Birth 37
Accession of Charles V. 38
Death of Cardinal Ximenes 38
Election of Charles to the Imperial Crown, and his intended
Departure for Germany 38
Revolution in Spain in consequence 38
Garcilaso distinguishes himself at the Battle of Pavia 39
1528. His Marriage 39
1532. Invasion of Hungary by Solyman 39
Garcilaso falls into Disgrace at Court 39
His Exile 39
His Ode in Commemoration of his Imprisonment 40
Muley Hassan driven out of Algiers by Barbarossa, who
possesses himself of it 40
He fortifies the Citadel 41
Algiers invested by the Emperor Charles 41
Garcilaso serves in the Imperial Army; his Gallantry nearly
proves fatal to him 41
Return of Charles to Italy 41
Garcilaso, his Residence at Naples 41
Quotation from his Elegy to Boscan 42
1535. (5th of August.) Cardinal Bembo, his Letter to a Friend in
Commendation of Garcilaso 42
His Letter to Garcilaso 44
Charles V. enters France; he recals Garcilaso, and confers on
him the Command over eleven Companies of Infantry 45
Epistle of Garcilaso to Boscan from Vaucluse 45
1536. Death of Garcilaso while attacking a Tower 46
His Character 47
His Children 47
His second Eclogue 47
Quotation from it 49
Translation of his Ode to the "Flower of Gnido" 53
MENDOZA.
His numerous Titles 58
1500. His Birth 58
His noble Extraction 58
Originality of his Genius 59
He studies Theology in the University of Salamanca 59
He leaves the Clerical Profession 59
Appointed Ambassador to Venice 59
1545. Deputed to attend the Council of Trent 60
1547. He is made Governor and Captain General of Siena 60
The Salvi 60
1545. A new Oligarchy erected in Siena 61
Revolt of Siena 61
Mendoza, his Government; he leaves Siena; on the Death of
Paul III. he repairs to Rome to watch the Progress of the
Conclave 62
The Sienese take Advantage of his Absence, and solicit the Aid
of the French King 63
Mendoza applies to the Pope for Assistance; he evades his
Request 63
1552. Loss of Siena to the Emperor 63
1554. Recal of Mendoza to Spain 64
1557. Battle of St. Quentin 65
Mendoza present at it; characteristic Adventure related of
him 65
He composes his Work on "The History of the War of the
Moriscos in Granada" 65
1776. A complete Edition of his Works published 67
1775. Death of Mendoza; his Character 67
Critique on his Poetry 68
LUIS DE LEON.
Preliminary Remarks 70
1527. His Birth 71
His Childhood 71
Becomes Doctor of Theology to the University of Salamanca 72
1561. His Election to the Chair of St. Thomas 72
His Enemies 72
1572. He translates the Song of Solomon into Spanish, for which he is
imprisoned by the Inquisition at Valladolid 72
His Odes to the Virgin written during his Imprisonment 73
1576. His Liberation 76
He visits Madrid 76
1591. He is elected Vicar-General of his Province 76
(23d of August.) His Death 76
His Person 76
His Character 77
His Theological Works 78
His Translations 78
A Quotation from one of his Odes, and a Translation of it 79
FERNANDO HERRERA.
An Account of him by Rodrigo Caro 83
Opinions of different Spanish Writers on his Poems 86
His "Ode to Sleep" 87
SAA DE MIRANDA.
1494. His Birth 88
Style of his Poetry 88
JORGE DE MONTEMAYOR.
1520. His Birth 89
Origin of his Name 89
He emigrates to Castile 89
His Work "Diana," critical Remarks on it 89
1661. Supposed Time of his Death 92
CASTILLEJO.
1580. Fernando de Acuna 92
1550. Gil Polo 92
Cetina 93
1596. Cristoval Castillejo 93
His Satires 93
THE DRAMATISTS.
"Celestina, Tragicomedia de Calisto y Melibea" 95
The Plot of this Play 95
1515. A Translation of the Amphitryon of Plautus, printed, and
of the Electra of Sophocles 96
Perez de Oliva 96
Obscurity of the earliest regular Dramas written in Spanish 97
Bartolomé Torres Naharro, his Dramatic Writings 97
Lope de Rueda, his Birth 98
Account of him by Cervantes 98
His Plays 99
State of Literature under Charles V. 100
Originality the Distinctive of the Spanish Character 101
ERCILLA.
Preliminary Remarks 103
1533. (7th of March.) Don Alonso de Ercilla; his Birth 104
His Ancestors 104
His Education 104
He is made Page of Honour to Prince Philip 104
Ambition of Charles V. 105
Insurrection of the Araucanos in South America 105
The Charge of subduing them committed to Geronimo de
Alderete 105
Ercilla leaves the personal Service of the Prince, and follows
the Adelantado to the East 106
Expedition of Don Garcia against the Araucanos 106
Ercilla distinguishes himself in the Indian War 107
Philip II. succeeds to the Throne of Spain 108
Ercilla escapes an early and disastrous End 109
Cruelties committed by Lope de Aguirre on the Indians at
Venezuela 110
1562. Ercilla returns to Spain; his Marriage 111
He is appointed Chamberlain to Maximilian II. 112
1580. His Destitution and Abandonment 112
1595. The supposed Time of his Death 113
His Character 113
His "Araucana;" Analysis and partial Translation of it 115
Critique on it 116
CERVANTES.
Preliminary Remarks 120
1547. (9th of October.) His Birth 123
His Origin 123
His early Studies 123
1569. Death of Isabella of Valois, Wife of Philip II. 124
Lopez de Hoyos 124
Cervantes quits Madrid 125
1568. He enters the Service of the Cardinal Acquaviva 125
1569. He visits Rome 126
He enlists under General Antonio Colonna in the Campaign
against the Turks 126
1571. The combined Fleets of Venice, Spain, and the Pope assemble
at Messina 126
(7th of October.) Battle of Lepanto 127
Gallant Conduct of Cervantes 127
He is wounded, and remains in the Hospital at Messina six
Months 128
1572. Don John of Austria 128
Second Campaign against the Turks 128
The Spaniards alone prosecute the War 128
Attempted and unsuccessful Assault on the Castle of Navarino 128
1573. The Venetians sign a Peace with Selim 129
Cervantes enters Tunis with the Marquis de Santa Cruz, and
returns to Palermo with the Fleet 129
Cervantes obtains leave to return to Spain 129
The Galley he embarked in attacked by an Algerine 129
Squadron 129
He is taken Prisoner by the Arnaout Captain 130
Piracies carried on by the Algerine Corsairs 131
Their System 131
Interesting Details of the Captivity of Cervantes 131
His Tale of the "Captive" 131
1576. His first Attempt at Escape with some of his Companions 133
Its Failure 133
Gabrièl de Castañeda ransomed; he brings Letters from
Cervantes to his Father 133
1577. His Father unable to procure Money to ransom both him and
his Brother; Cervantes gives up his Share to secure the
Freedom of his Brother 134
He arranges another Plan of Escape 134
1578. He is purchased by Hassan Aga 137
1579. He concerts a new Plan of Escape with the Renegade
Abd-al-Rhamen 138
Is again betrayed 138
His Liberation 140
He refutes certain Calumnies, of which he was the Object 141
1581. Landing of Cervantes in Spain 142
He again enters the Army; he embarks in the Squadron of
Don Pedro 143
1582. He serves in a naval Battle under Santa Cruz 143
1583. Also at the Taking of Terceira 143
1584. He publishes his "Galatea" 145
His Marriage 145
1588. He accepts the Situation of Commissary to the Invincible
Armada 147
1593. His Office abolished 148
He manages the Affairs, and becomes the Friend, of Don
Hernando de Toledo 148
His two Sonnets 149
The Subject of the first 149
1598. A magnificent Catafalque erected in the Cathedral of Seville
on the Death of Philip II. 149
Sonnet of Cervantes to the Monument of the King at Seville 151
1594. Anecdote of a mercantile Casualty which happened to
Cervantes; financial Annoyance 151
1597. Another Anecdote 152
1603. He removes to Valladolid 153
He becomes the Victim of litigious Proceedings 154
He composes his "Don Quixote" 155
1604. He returns to Spain 156
A Story respecting the Dedication of "Don Quixote" to the
Duke of Bejar 157
1605. Disputes respecting the Existence of the "Buscapié" 158
Satires against "Don Quixote" 160
James I. of England sends Lord Howard to present a Treaty of
Peace to Philip III., and to congratulate him on the Birth of
his Son 161
An Account of these Festivities, written by Cervantes 161
An Event occurs by which Cervantes is greatly distressed 161
1606. He follows the Court to Madrid 163
Despotism and Bigotry extend their Influence over Spain 163
Kindness of Don Bernardo de Sandoval, Archbishop of Toledo,
to Cervantes 163
1610. Count of Lemos made Viceroy of Naples 164
The Argensolas, surnamed the Horaces of Spain 164
Disappointment of Cervantes at their Neglect 164
Anecdote of Philip III. 165
1615. The Censorship of "Don Quixote" intrusted to Francisco
Marquez Torres 166
His Account of the Neglect with which the Spaniards treated
Cervantes 166
1608. Preface to the "Twelve Tales" of Cervantes 167
1614. He publishes his "Voyage to Parnassus" 168
Preface to his Work, "Comedias y Entremeses" 169
1615. Poetic Games 170
The "Don Quixote" of Avellanada 170
Indignation of Cervantes on its Publication 171
Illness of Cervantes 172
1616. His Excursion from Esquivias to Madrid 172
His Adieu to the World 173
His Dedication to his Protector, the Count of Lemos 174
(23d of April.) His Death 174
His Will 174
His Character 175
His "Galatea" 175
His "Numantia;" the Plot of this Play 176
His Comedy of "A Life in Algiers" 178
Godwin's Opinion of "Don Quixote" 182
Remarks on "Don Quixote" 182
Extracts from "Voyage to Parnassus" 184
LOPE DE VEGA.
His Career and that of Cervantes compared 189
Epithets of Praise heaped on him 190
1562. His Birth 190
His Parentage 191
His Boyhood 191
An Adventure related of him while at School 192
He becomes the Protégé of Geronimo Manrique, the Grand
Inquisitor 193
He enters the University of Alcala 193
He enters the Service of the Duke of Alva 194
His "Arcadia;" a Detail of the Story 195
1598. Publication of the "Arcadia" 198
Lope de Vega leaves the Duke's Service 198
His Marriage 199
He is engaged in a Duel, which causes him to go to Valencia 199
He returns to Madrid; Death of his Wife 200
1588. He becomes a Soldier, and joins the Invincible Armada 200
His Eclogue to Claudio 200
1604. His Sonnets 200
A Translation of two of his Sonnets 202
Some Account of his "Dorotea" 204
Sanguine Expectations of the Invincible Armada 209
Piratical Expeditions of Drake and Hawkins excite the
Animosity and Vengeance of the Spaniards 209
An animated Description of the setting forth of the Invincible
Armada, by Lope de Vega 210
He composes "The Beauty of Angelica" 210
1590. He returns from the Armada, and enters the Service of Count
Lemos 211
His second Marriage 211
1620. His Work, "The True Lover" 212
Extracts from his Epistles 213
Uncertain Dates of the various Events of his Life 216
1598. Canonisation of St. Isidro 217
The Reputation of Lope de Vega awakens the Enmity of
Rivals and Critics 217
His War with Gongora 218
1616. His unexampled Popularity 219
1621. His Novel 219
His "Soliloquies on God" 220
His Poem on the Death of Mary Queen of Scots 220
Exaggerated Account of the Quantity of his Writings 220
Anecdote of him and Montalvan 221
Extract from his Poems 222
1635. His Presentiments of his approaching Dissolution 225
(18th of August) His Death 226
His Funeral 226
His Person 227
His Character 227
The "Dragon tea" 228
The "Jerusalem" 229
Difficulties of establishing the Theatre in Spain 230
Spanish Theatres 231
Analysis of the "Star of Seville," by Lord Holland 233
Sacred Dramas and Autos Sacramentales of Lope de Vega 235
Incongruities of his Plots 236
VICENTE ESPINEL. ESTEVAN DE VILLEGAS.
The Poetry of Spain 238
1544. Birth of Vicente Espinel 239
His Parentage 239
1634. His Death 240
1595. Birth of Estévan Manuel de Villégas, named the Anacreon of
Spain 240
His Parentage 240
1618. His original Anacreontics published 240
1626. His Marriage 241
1669. His Death 241
Translation of one of his Sapphics 242
GONGORA.
1561. (11th of July.) His Birth 243
His Parentage 243
A cursory Review of his Life 243
1627. (24th of May.) His Death 244
His Person and Disposition 245
His early Poetry 245
His Style 245
His "Song of Catherine of Arragon" 246
Extract from his Songs 247
His System 248
Quotations from Lope de Vega, showing the Absurdity of
Gongora's Style 248
The "Polyphemus" of Gongora 252
Extract from his "Solitudes" 252
QUEVEDO.
The Talent and Genius of the Spaniards during the fourteenth
and fifteenth Centuries 255
Their Energies and Genius blighted by the Infamy of the
Political Institutions 256
1580. (September.) Birth of Quevedo 256
His Parentage 256
He enters the University of Alcalà 256
A Circumstance occurs which obliges him to quit the Court 257
He takes refuge in Italy 258
Don Pedro Giron Duke of Osuna 258
His Character 258
The Court of Philip III. 258
Quevedo sent as Ambassador to Madrid 259
His Success; a Pension bestowed on him 259
Duke of Osuna advanced to the Viceroyalty of Naples; his
Victories over the Turks 259
The Spanish Power threatens to become omnipotent in Italy 260
Charles Emanuel endeavours to make head against it 260
The Duke of Osuna opposes the Venetians 260
The lawless and dishonourable Means he takes 260
He protects the Uscocchi against the Venetians 260
The Merchants of Naples and the French make Representations
at the Court of Madrid in consequence 260
Osuna ordered to suspend Hostilities 260
1618. The Bedmar Conspiracy 261
Quevedo and Osuna supposed to be implicated in the Plot 262
Quevedo escapes from Venice 262
Osuna continues Viceroy of Naples; he is suspected of
intending to arrogate Power independent of the King 263
He is ordered to return to Madrid 263
Cautious proceedings of the Court with respect to him 264
Cardinal Don Gaspar de Borgia is named his Successor 264
Return of Osuna to Spain 264
1624. His Imprisonment and Death 264
1620. Quevedo, his attachment to Osuna 264
He is suspected of participating in his treasonable Designs 265
His Imprisonment in consequence 265
His Liberation 265
1632. He is made Secretary to the King 266
1634. He leaves the Church, and marries 266
His Wife dies 266
His own Words, alluding to his evil Fate 267
1641. He is suspected of being the Author of certain Libels; is
arrested and imprisoned in Consequence 268
Two Letters of his 269
His Memorial to Count Olivarez 270
His Liberation 271
1647. (September 8th.) His Death 272
His Person 272
His Character 272
His Style 273
A singular Circumstance appertaining to his literary Career 274
Critique on his Prose Writings 275
His "Vision of Calvary" 276
His "Alguazil possessed" 277
CALDERON.
Misrule and Oppression destroy the Spirit and Intellect of Spain 278
Luzan 278
Moratin 278
1601. Birth of Calderon 279
His illustrious Descent 279
He enters the University of Salamanca 279
1620. He leaves Salamanca 280
1626. He enters the Military Service 280
He serves in the Milanese and Flanders 280
1637. He is recalled to Court 280
Innumerable Dramas appear under the patronage of Philip IV. 280
He summons Calderon to his Court 281
1650. Marriage of Philip VI. with Maria Ana of Austria 281
Calderon quits the military Career, and becomes a Priest 281
1654. He becomes Chaplain to the Royal Chapel at Toledo 282
1687. (May 29th.) His Death 282
His Character 282
Characteristics of his Plays 283
Character of his Poetry 285
THE EARLY POETS OF PORTUGAL
RIBEYRO--GIL VICENTE--SAA DE MIRANDA--FERREIRA.
Original Portuguese Tongue 288
Alphonso Henriquez, Founder of the Portuguese Monarchy 288
Portuguese Poetry 289
1487. Bartolomeo Diaz doubles the Cape of Good Hope 289
Vasco de Gama visits the Shores of India 289
A Portuguese Kingdom founded in Hindostan 290
Bernardim Ribeyro, the Ennius of Portugal 290
Saa de Miranda, Founder of Portuguese Poetry 291
Gil Vicente, the Portuguese Plautus 292
Antonio Ferreira, the Portuguese Horace 292
1569. His Death 293
His Style 293
CAMOENS.
Camoens and Cervantes, their Destiny similar in many Respects 295
1817. The "Lusiad," Translation of it 295
Origin of the Family of Camoens 295
Derivation of his Name 296
1370. Vasco Perez de Camoens takes the Part of Castile against
Portugal 297
1524. Birth of Camoens 298
1308. Foundation of the University of Coimbra by King Diniz 299
1537. Camoens enters the University of Coimbra 300
Extract from his fourth Canzone 301
Another Extract from another 301
1545. He leaves Coimbra 302
His Arrival at Court 302
He falls in Love; his Sonnet in Commemoration of this
Occasion 303
The Poetry of Camoens and Petrarch compared 304
Translations of Camoens' Sonnets, by Doctor Southey 306
Exile of Camoens from the Palace 306
Writes several of his Lyrics during his Banishment 307
Lord Strangford's Translation of an Elegy written at this
Time 307
1550. Bravery of Camoens while with the Troops at Ceuta 310
Loses one of his Eyes in a naval Engagement in the Straits of
Gibraltar 310
1553. He embarks for India 310
Don Alfonso de Noronha, Viceroy of Goa 312
Camoens joins the Armament sent from Goa against the King
of Cochin 312
Returns to Goa 312
Death of Antonio de Noronha 312
Camoens' Letter to a Friend, inclosing a Sonnet and Elegy on
his Death 313
1554. Dom Pedro Mascarenhas succeeds Noronha in the Viceroyalty
of Goa 315
Cruising of the Mahometans detrimental to the Portuguese 315
Expedition of de Vasconcellos to protect the Merchantmen 315
Camoens joins this Expedition 315
1555. Returns to Goa, and writes his ninth Canzone 315
Extortion and Tyranny of the Portuguese Government 316
Causes Camoens to write his Satire, "Follies of India" 316
1556. Departs from Goa in the Fleet which Barreto despatched to the
South 317
Is appointed Commissary 317
Description of Camoens' Grotto at Macao 318
He composes the "Lusiad" 318
On his Return to Goa he is wrecked on the River Mecon 319
Arrives at Goa; the Kindness with which he is received by the
new Governor, Dom Constantine de Braganza 320
Accused of Malversation in the Exercise of his Office at Macao 320
Extract from the "Lusiad" 320
Camoens pursues his military Career in India 321
He commemorates the Death of Dona Catarina de Atayde 322
Pedro Barreto appointed Governor of Sofala in the
Mozambique 323
Camoens accompanies him 323
His dependent State 323
Quarrels with Barreto 323
Arrival of his Indian Friends, who supply his Wants, and
invite him to accompany them 324
Barreto refuses to let him go until he paid 200 Ducats 324
He accompanies his Friends home 325
1569. Arrives at Lisbon 325
The Plague at Lisbon 325
Political State of the Kingdom disadvantageous to Camoens 325
1571. The "Lusiad" published 326
Melancholy Circumstances attending the last Days of
Camoens 327
1578. Defeat of Sebastian in Africa 328
Its Effect on Camoens 328
1579. Last Scene of Camoens' Life 328
His Tomb 329
His Person 329
A Review of his Life 330
Extract from the "Lusiad," and a Critique on it 332
INDEX
A.
ABDORBHAMAN III., his efforts for
the advancement of literature,
III. 4.
Abreu, Duarte de, III. 324.
Acciajuolo, the seneschal, of Naples,
I. 142.
Acquaviva, cardinal, III. 125.
Aga, Hassan, dey of Algiers, III.
138.
Aguirre, Lope de, III. 110.
Agyropylo, Giovanni, I. 163.
Alfieri, Vittorio, his birth and parentage,
II. 250. His early education;
placed at a public school
at Turin, 252. System of education
pursued at the academy, 253.
Progress of his education, 255.
Circumstances of his life greatly
altered, 256. Anecdote characteristic
of the obstinacy of his
disposition, 258. Visits his mother
at Genoa, 259. Admitted
as ensign into the provincial
regiment of Asti, 260. Visits
Rome and Naples under the care
of an English catholic, 261. Regards
coldly those objects which
render Rome a city of absolute
enchantment, 262. Visits France
and England, 263. Singularities
of his character, 261. Circumstances
of his entrance into Paris,
265. His enthusiasm on visiting
London, 266. Becomes really in
love, 267. Disappointed in a
matrimonial project proposed to
him by his brother-in-law, 268.
Comes of age, according to the
laws of his country, and sets out
on his travels with an income of
1200_l_. a-year, and a large sum
in ready money, 268. Visits
England; his attachment to a
lady of rank, 269. Is challenged
by her husband, 270. Leaves his
unworthy mistress, and pursues
his travels, 271. Anecdote characteristic
of the violence of his
temper, 272. Becomes a cavalier
servente to a lady of rank, 273.
Determines to break off the disgraceful
intercourse, 274. Gives
the first token of the spirit of
composition, in a sonnet in commemoration
of the freedom he
had acquired, 274. At the age
of seven and twenty, enters into
the difficult engagement with the
public and himself, to become the
writer of tragedies, 275. Difficulties
which he had to overcome,
276. Resolves to pass six months
in Tuscany, to learn, hear, and
feel Tuscan only, 277. His labours
in literature confined
chiefly to formation of style, 278.
Commencement of his friendship
with Gori, 279. Commencement
of his attachment to Louisa
Stolberg, countess of Albany, 280.
Energy and conciseness the distinguishing
marks of his dramas,
282. Outline of his tragedy,
entitled "Philip," 284. Takes
up his residence at Rome, 286.
Remarks on his sacred dramas,
287. His continued intimacy
with the countess of Albany, 288.
Goes into voluntary exile, to prevent
any actual measures of prohibition
and banishment, 290.
Returns to Italy after two years,
absence, 291. Outline of his
tragedy, entitled "Myrrha," 292.
Accompanies the countess of
Albany to Paris, and establishes
himself there, 293. Betakes
himself to writing the memoirs
of his life, 294. Remarks on his
translation of the Æneid, 295.
Driven from France by the revolution
of 1791, 296. Returns
to Florence with the countess of
Albany, 297. His translation of
"Sallust," an excellent specimen
of style, 293. At the age of forty-six,
applies himself with ardour
to the study of the Greek language,
299. His melancholy increased
by the irritation caused
by political events, 300. His last
illness and death, in the fifty-sixth
year of his age, 301. Translation
from a sonnet, in which he describes
his own person, 302.
Alfonso, duke of Ferrara, I. 207.
Allegri, Francesco, I. 145.
Alphonso X., his zeal for literature;
his poetry, III. 11.
Alphonso XI., his poems, III. 12.
Amalasunta, the Gothic queen of
Spain, III. 3.
Andrea, prince of Hungary, I.
91.
Angelo, Michael, I. 34.
Angulo, doctor Gregorio de, III.
201.
Antiquário, Jacopo, I. 165.
Aquinas, Thomas, I. 9.
Archimedes, II. 3.
Aretino, I. 11.
Ariosto, Ludovico, his birth, parentage,
and early education, I.
196. Composes a drama on the
story of Pyramus and Thisbe,
197. Becomes eminent among his
contemporaries for the critical
skill with which he elucidated
obscure passages in Horace and
Ovid, 198. The golden age of his
life shortened by the death of his
father, 199. Obliged, at the age
of four and twenty, to turn from
quiet to active duties, and exchange
Homer for waste books
and ledgers, 200. Remarks on
his satires, 201. Courted, admired,
applauded, and of course envied,
in the first circle of Italian
society, both for his conversation,
his learning, and his poetry, 202.
Remarks on his work, entitled
"Astolpho's Journey to the
Moon," 203. Remarks on his
"Orlando Furioso," 204. Sent by
the duke of Ferrara, as ambassador
to Rome, to pacify the wrath of
Julius II., 205. His second embassy
to Rome, and uncourteous reception
from the pontiff, 206. Singular
manner in which the duke
retaliates for the indignity shown
to himself and his representative,
207. Causes for the principal
interruptions in his literary labours,
208. Refuses to accompany
the cardinal Hippolito to
visit his archbishopric in Segovia,
209. His whimsical letter to his
brother Alessandro on the subject,
212. Persuaded to enter
into the service of the duke of
Ferrara, 217. His literary pursuits
retarded by his struggles
against the solicitudes, discomforts,
and mortifications of narrow
and precarious circumstances,
218. His curious reasons
for not taking priest's orders, 219.
Is patronised by Leo X., 219. His
own account of Leo's ingratitude,
220. Extracts from his satires,
222. His description of his visit
to Rome, and his specious reception
by Leo, 223. Further extracts
from his satires, 224. Simple,
yet facetious, style of his
fables, 225. Appointed to the
government of Graffagnana, a
mountainous district, lying between
Modena and Lucca, 226.
Story of a rencontre with some
of his uncouth neighbours, 227.
Extract from his Fifth Satire, 229.
Invited to accept a third embassy
to Rome, 230. His reason for
refusing, as given in the Seventh
Satire, 231. After three years,
being released from the cares of
his government, he returns with
entire devotion of his time and
talents to the "Sacred College of
the Muses," 232. Anecdote,
characteristic at once of his
phlegm and his acuteness in his
art, 233. Critique on his Seven
Satires, 233. His last illness and
death, 234. His person and character,
236. No poet of any age
has more inseparably identified
his conception with his language,
238. Impossibility of translating
them, 239. Anecdote of, 241.
Whimsical peculiarities of his
personal habits, 242. His last
hours, 243. Monuments to his
memory, 244. Remarks on his
works in general, 245. Review
of his "Orlando Furioso," 250.
Immoral tendency of his writings, 254.
Aristotle, II. 5.
Attila the Hun, I. 2.
Audibert de Noves, I. 68.
Ayala, III. 12.
B.
Barbariccia, I. 15.
Barbato, the chancellor of the king
of Naples, I. 120.
Bardi, cavalier de, I. 6.
Barlaam, Bernardo, I. 91.
Barreto, Pedro, governor of Sofala,
III. 323.
Barrili, Giovanni, I. 120.
Basseville, Hugh, II. 314.
Bazan, Don Alvaro, III. 113.
Beatrice Portinari, I. 6.
Bella, the mother of Dante, I. 2.
Bellarmine, cardinal, II. 33.
Bembo, Bernardo, I. 35.
Bembo, cardinal, I. 204.
Benavides, don Diego de, III. 141.
Bene, Sennucio del, I. 90.
Benedict XII., pope, I. 89.
Bermudez, Geronimo, a monk of
the order of St. Dominic, author
of the first original tragedy published
in Spain, III. 97.
Berni, Francesco, his birth and
early life, I. 188. Notice of his
writings, 189.
Bianchi, I. 18.
Bibbiena, cardinal, I. 188.
Boccaccio, Giovanni di, his birth
and parentage, I. 116. His early
education, 117. His sensations
on visiting the tomb of Virgil,
119. His first meeting with Petrarch,
120. His own account of
his attachment to the lady Mary,
natural daughter of Robert, king
of Naples, 121. Description of
her person, 122. Outline of his
poem, entitled "Filocopo," 123.
The first to render the _ottava
rima_ familiar to the Italians, 124.
Obliged to return to Florence,
125. The "Decameron," a
model of the Tuscan dialect, 125.
Writes his "Ameto," a composition
of mingled prose and verse,
the first of the kind, 126. Returns
to Naples on his father's
second marriage, 126. His description
of the plague in Florence,
129. His works preached
against and prohibited by Salvanorola,
130. Returns to Florence
on the death of his father.
Commencement of his intimacy
with Petrarch, 131. Sent on
various embassies, 132. His political
negotiations, 133. His
letter to Petrarch, expressing his
regret and disappointment on his
having taken up his abode at
Milan, under the protection of
Giovanni Visconti, 133. Petrarch's
moderate answer, 134.
Popularity of the "Decameron,"
134. His disinterested love of
letters, and extraordinary efforts
to create and diffuse a knowledge
of the Greek language and
writers, 135. Spends large sums
of money in the acquisition of
ancient manuscripts, 136. Anecdote
illustrative of his anxiety
for the possession of them, 136.
His unwearied and successful
labour in the cause of Hellenic
literature, 137. Obtains a decree
from the Florentine government
for the erection of a Greek professorship
in their university, 138.
Beneficial change in moral habits
brought about by the admonitions
and example of Petrarch,
138. The work begun by Petrarch,
achieved by a singular
circumstance, 139. His letter to
Petrarch on the subject, 140.
Adopts the clerical dress, and
endeavours to suppress those
writings which scandalised the
pious, 142. Retreats from Florence,
and takes up his abode at
the castle of Certaldo, 143. Brief
review of his later works, 144.
Appointed, on two occasions, ambassador
to pope Urban V., 145.
His letter to Petrarch, describing
his visit to the daughter and son-in-law
of that poet, 146. Retires
to the quiet of Certaldo, where
he busies himself in the publication
of his work of the "Genealogy
of the Gods," 147. Appointed
by the Florentine government
to the professorship for
the public explanation of the
"Divina Commedia," 148. His
last illness and death, 149.
Bojardo, Matteo Maria, his birth,
parentage, and early life, I. 181.
His marriage and death, 182.
Abstract of the story of his
"Orlando Innamorato," 183.
Boniface, pepe, VIII., I. 66.
Borgia, Cæsar, his early life, I. 265.
His remorseless cruelty, 267.
His conversations with Machiavelli,
268. Anecdote characteristic
of his system of government,
279. His downfal, 281. His
imprisonment and death, 284.
Boscan Almogaver, Mosen Juan,
the first Spanish poet who introduced
the Italian style, III. 21.
Outline of his life, 22. Circumstances
which induced him to introduce
the Italian style, 23.
His translation of Castiglione's
"Libro del Cortigiano," 24. Commencement
of his friendship with
Diego de Mendoza, 25. Translation
of his epistles in imitation
of Horace, 26. His death, 32.
His person, 33. Review of his
writings, 34.
Boutervek, III. 8.
Bowring, Dr. his translation of the
Spanish Cancionero, III. 9.
Bozzole, Federigo da, II. 66.
Bracciolini, Poggio, I. 151.
Brossana, Francesco, I. 105.
Bruni, Leonardo, I. 18.
Bruno, Giordano, II. 4.
Bubwith, Nicholas, bishop of Bath,
I. 8.
Bulgarelli, Marianna, the prima
donna, II. 191. Her friendship
for Metastasio, 192. Her death,
198.
Buondelmonte, Zanobi, I. 304.
Burchiello, the word "burlesque"
derived from his name and the
style of his writings, I. 180.
Burney, Dr., his account of his
visit to Metastasio in 1772, II.
210.
C.
Cabassoles, Philip de, bishop of
Cavaillon, his intimacy with Petrarch,
I. 83.
Cabral, Antonio, III. 324.
Cabral, Fernando Alvares, III. 311.
Cacciaguida, I. 2.
Caccini, his personal attack upon
Galileo from the pulpit, II. 31.
Cassalpinus, Andrew, the celebrated
botanist, II. 3.
Cæsarini, Virginio, II. 37.
Caffarelli, general, II. 375.
Calderon, don Pedro, his birth,
parentage, and early education,
III. 279. His fame established as a
poet, 280. Enters the military service
at the age of five and twenty,
280. Summoned to court by a
royal order, for the sake of writing
a drama for a palace festival,
281. Quits the army, and becomes
a priest, 281. His death
and character, 282. Review of
his writings, 283.
Calistus II., pope, I. 169.
Caloria, Tommaso, I. 87.
Caluso, the abatte, II. 274.
Camara, Ruy Diaz de, III. 327.
Camerlingo, cardinal, II. 163.
Camoens, Vasco Perez de, his birth
and parentage, III. 296. Extract
from his "Lusiad," 299. Translation
of a sonnet in commemoration
of that attachment which
shed a disastrous influence over
the rest of his life, 303. Compared
with Petrarch, 304. Dr.
Southey's translation of one of
his sonnets, 306. His exile, 307.
Mutilated in the wars of his
country, but receives neither reward
nor preferment, 310. His
pathetic description of his friend
Noronha's exile, 312. Offers to
serve as a volunteer, and accompanies
Vasconcellos in his expedition
against the Mahometans,
315. Suspected of composing another
satire; arrested, and banished
to China, 316. Retires
from the details of business, to
pursue his poetical occupations,
317. Obtains leave to return to
Goa; is wrecked at the mouth
of the Mecon, 315. Pursues his
voyage to Goa, where he is received
by the viceroy with kindness
and distinction, 320. Extracts
from the seventh canto of
the "Lusiad," 321. His poem commemorating
the death of Caterina
d'Atayde, 322. Accompanies
Baretto, when he was appointed
governor of Sofala, 323. Returns
to Portugal, 324. Political
state of the country disadvantageous
to him, 325. Writes the
"Parnasso de Luis Camoens,"
325. A pension of 15,000 reis
granted to him, 326. His illness
and poverty, 327. His interview
with the cavalier Camara, 328.
His death, 329. His person, 329.
Review of his life, 330. Review
of his writings, 332.
Campaldino, the battle of, I. 14.
Camporese, the renowned philosopher,
II. 189.
Cancionero, the, III. 9.
Canigiani, Eletta, the mother of
Petrarch, I. 61.
Caprona, the siege of, I. 15.
Carafa, Federigo, III. 41.
Carnescecchi, Pietro, II. 81.
Caro, Rodrigo, III. 83.
Casavecchia, Filippo, I. 296.
Castañeda, Gabrièl de, III. 133.
Castelli, Benedetti, II. 28.
Castillano, Diego, III. 138.
Castillejo, Cristoval, III. 93. Specimen
of his style, 94.
Cavalcanti, Guido, I. 19.
Cavalcanti, Mainardo de', I. 134.
Caza, Francesco della, I. 263.
Celsi, Lorenzo, doge of Venice, I.
105.
Cervantes, III. 120. His birth and
parentage; little known of his
early life, 123. Enters a student
in the university of Salamanca,
124. His poems published at
Madrid, 125. Leaves Madrid in
the service of cardinal Acquaviva,
125. Visits Rome; changes
the whole course of his life; and
volunteers to be a soldier, 126.
His services during the Turkish
war, 127. Wounded in the battle
of Lepanto, 128. Receives an
increase of pay, and is passed
into a company of the tercio of
Figueroa, 128. Visits Rome, Florence,
Venice, Bologna, Naples,
and Palermo, 129. Taken prisoner
by an Algerine squadron
on his return to Spain, 130. Interesting
details of his captivity,
131. Makes several attempts to
regain his liberty, 133. Detected
in planning his escape; is sentenced
to the bastinado, 137.
His courage and heroism excite
the respect of the friars of the
Order of Mercy, who resided at
Algiers for the purpose of treating
for the ransom of the Christian
captives, 139. Ransomed for
500 golden ducats, and left free
to return to Spain, 140. Determines
to refute certain calumnies
of which he was the object, 141.
Returns to his native land depressed
by poverty, and obscured
by want, 142. Becomes again a
soldier by profession, 143. First
appears as an author in the year
1584, 144. His marriage with
donna Catilina de Palacios y
Salazar, 145. Commences writing
for the theatre; endeavours to
rectify the deficiencies of the
stage and scenery, 146. Accepts
the situation of commissary, and
sets out with his family for Seville,
147. His office abolished;
he becomes the agent to various
municipalities, corporations, and
wealthy individuals, 148. During
his distasteful employment at
Seville, acquires the bitter view
of human affairs displayed in
Don Quixote, 149. Translation
of his verses to the monument of
the kings at Seville, 150. Various
annoyances which he suffered
in his financial occupations
at Seville, 151. Anecdote, displaying
the style in which justice
was carried on in Spain, 152.
Removes with his family to Valladolid,
153. His poverty the great
and clinging evil of his life, 153.
His letter to his uncle during his
imprisonment at La Mancha, 154.
Writes "Don Quixote" during his
imprisonment, 155. Fails in his
attempt to introduce himself to
the duke of Lerma, 156. Difficulties
which he encounters in
publishing "Don Quixote," 157.
The "Buscapié" attributed to
him, 158. Success of "Don Quixote"
excites the enmity of the
men of letters of his day, 160.
Suspected of murder, and thrown
with his entire family into prison,
162. Is set at liberty, 162.
Publishes his "Voyage to Parnassus,"
164. Anecdote, showing
the high esteem in which "Don
Quixote" was held, 165. Brings
cut his "Twelve Tales," which
raises yet higher his character
as an author, 167. His portrait
of himself, in his preface to the
"Twelve Tales," 168. His account
of the origin of the Spanish
drama, and the amelioration
that he in his younger days introduced,
169. Publishes his
"Persiles and Sigismunda," and
the second part of "Don Quixote,"
170. His dedication of it
to the count of Lemos, 171. His
last illness, 172. His interview
with the student of Toledo, 173.
His farewell letter to the count
of Lemos, 174. His death, in the
sixty-ninth year of his age, 174.
His character, 174. Brief review
of his works, 175. Extract
from his "Numantia," 176. Extract
from the comedy of "Life
in Algiers," 178. Extract from
his "Voyage to Parnassus," 184.
Cetina, III. 93.
Charlemagne, I. 2.
Charles of Valois, I. 20.
Chiabrera, Gabbriello, his birth,
parentage, and early education,
II. 163. Enters into the service
of cardinal Camerlingo, 163.
Writes some odes in imitation of
Pindar; makes the Greek lyrical
poets his models, 164.
Wishes to transfuse the spirit of
the Greeks into the Italian language,
165. Style of his poetry,
166. Specimen of his serious
style, as translated by Wordsworth,
166. His death and character, 168.
Chiaramonte, Scipio, II. 44.
Chrysoloras, Emanuel, I. 151.
Ciani, a Carthusian monk; his visit
to Boccaccio, I. 139.
Clement VI., pope, I. 89.
Colombe, Lodovico delle, II. 28.
Colonna, Giacomo, commencement
of his friendship with Petrarch,
I. 66.
Colonna, cardinal, I. 73.
Colonna, Vittoria, her birth, parentage,
and marriage, II. 77.
Her letter to her husband during
his imprisonment, 78. Her grief
at his death, 79. Extracts from
her poems, 80. Her death, 81.
Conrad III., emperor, I. 2.
Consalvo, the Spanish general, I.
284.
Convennole, I. 63.
Copernicus, II. 7.
Correggio, Azzo, I. 87.
Coutinho, Miguel Rodriguez, III.
321.
Couto, Diogo de III. 324.
D.
Dante Alighieri, his parentage, I.
1. Born in the spring of 1265, 2.
Fable concerning his birth, 3.
Extracts from his "Paradiso,"
and his "Inferno," 4. His early
education, 5. Enters upon his
noviciate at a convent of the
Minor Friars, but withdraws before
the term of probation was
ended, 6. Story of his early love
for Beatrice, 7. Pursues his
studies in the universities of
Padua, Bologna, and Paris, 8.
Supposed to have visited Oxford,
8. High estimation in which
his works were held in England,
9. His progress in the schools
of divinity and philosophy, 9.
His marriage with Madonna
Gemma, 10. Style of his poetry,
11. His domestic discomforts,
12. His character as a citizen, a
soldier, and a magistrate, 13.
Serves among the cavalry in the
battle of Campaldino, 14. His
extraordinary valour during that
engagement; his allusion to it
in Canto XII. of the "Inferno,"
15. Is again in the field
at the siege of Caprona, 15. Extract
from Canto XXI. of the
"Inferno," alluding to this action,
16. Traditional account of
his embassies to the courts of
Hungary, Naples, and France,
16. Chosen in the year 1300, by
the suffrages of the people, chief
prior of his native city, 17. His
endeavours to put down the factions
of the Bianchi and Neri,
18. Appeals to the people at
large to support the executive
government, 19. Accused of partiality
to the Bianchi, 20. Undertakes
an embassy to Rome, to
solicit the good offices of the
pope towards pacifying his fellow
citizens without foreign interference,
21. Anecdote of, 21.
During his absence, his dwelling
demolished by the Neri, his property
confiscated, and a fine of
8000 lire decreed against him,
with banishment for two years,
22. Joins himself with the
Bianchi, who transfer their affections
to the Ghibelines, deeming
the adherents of the emperor
less the enemies of their country
than their adversaries, 23. Withdraws
from the confederacy in
disgust, 23. Extract from his
"Del Paradiso," in allusion to
this subject, 24. Extract from
his "Purgatorio," 25. Endeavours
to obtain a reversal of his
unrighteous sentence, 25. Appeals
to Henry of Luxemburgh;
dedicates his political treatise,
entitled "De Monarchia," to
that prince, 26. A third decree
passed against him; he retires to
France, 27. Anecdotes of his
caustic humour, 28. Compared
with Marius, 29. His mental
sufferings during his nineteen
years' banishment, 30. His letter,
refusing the conditions offered
by the Florentine government,
31. His death, on the 14th
of September, 1321, 33. His
splendid funeral, 34. Monuments
raised to his memory, 35.
His confiscated property restored
to his family, 35. His memory
execrated, and his writings proscribed
by pope John XXII., 35.
His person, as described by Boccaccio,
37. Anecdote of, 38. His
family, 39. Notice of his writings,
40. Origin of the "Divina
Commedia," 42. Dramatic character
of the work, 44. Extract
from Canto X. of the "Inferno,"
46. His character as a man and
a poet, 54. Character of his
poetry, 58.
Demisiano, II. 15.
Demourier, General, II. 315.
Digby, Sir Kenelm, II. 11.
Donati, Corso, I. 12.
Donati Lucretia, I. 156.
Dramatists, the, of Spain, III. 95.
E.
Elia, the faithful servant of Alfieri,
II. 266.
Enriquez, Feliciano, III. 141.
Enzina, Juan, style of his writing,
III. 17. Translation of one of his
songs, 18.
Ercilla, don Alonzo de, III. 103.
His birth, parentage, and early
education, 103. Appointed page
to prince Philip, 104. Leaves the
personal service of the prince to
join the expedition sent against
the Araucanos, an Indian tribe,
in South America, which had
risen against Spain, 106. His
account of the expedition, 107.
Narrowly escapes an early and
disastrous end, 108. Leaves Chili
in disgust, without having been
duly rewarded for his services,
110. Proceeds to the Terceiras,
and thence to Spain, 111. His
marriage, 111. Appointed chamberlain
to Maximilian, 112.
Anecdote of, 112. Only known in
the literary world by his poem,
"La Araucana," 113. Critique
on his poem, 114.
Espinel, Vicente, his birth and
parentage, III. 239. His death,
240.
Este, cardinal Hippolito d', I. 203.
Anecdote illustrative of his cruelty, 209.
Esto, Bianca d', II. 76.
Exarch, Onofrio, III. 138.
Ezpeleta, don Gaspar de, III. 161.
F.
Fabricius, John, II. 25.
Fabbroni, II. 10.
Faggiuolo, signori della, I. 28.
Faliero, Marino, doge of Venice, I.
105.
Falucci, the conti, I. 28.
Fantoni, Sebastian, II. 51.
Farinelli, the singer, his friendship
for Metastasio, II. 209.
Farnese, Orazio, III. 62.
Fedele, Cassandra, II. 76. Her
death, 76.
Feliciana de Vega, III. 227.
Fermo, Oliverotto da, I. 266.
Ferranti, Pietro, I. 21.
Ferrara, Cieco da, his writings, I.
179.
Ferreira, Antonio, mentioned as
the classic poet of Portugal, III.
292. His death and character,
293. Style of his writings, 294.
Ficino, Marsiglio, I. 152. His birth
and early education, 159. Brief
review of his works, 160. His
death, in the sixty-sixth year of
his age, 161.
Figueroa, don Lope, III. 127.
Filicaja, Vincenzo da; his birth,
parentage, and early education,
II. 180. His marriage, 181. His
enthusiastic piety, 181. His characteristics,
facil dignity, and
clearness, 182. Fills several law
offices of great power and emolument,
183. His death, in the
sixty-fifth year of his age, 184.
Foscarinus, Paul Anthony, II. 51.
Foscolo, Ugo, his birth and parentage,
II. 354. His early education,
355. Resolves to follow the steps
of Alfieri, and to acquire fame as
a tragedian; produces his drama
of "Thyestes" at the early age
of nineteen, 356. Political allusions
that gave it its chief interest,
357. Extracts from his
work, entitled "Letters of Jacopo
Ortis," 358. Leaves Venice,
and takes the road to Tuscany,
360. Pursues his way to Milan,
the then capital of the Cisalpine
republic, 361. His indignation at
the sentence passed by the great
council against the Latin language,
362. Falls in love with a
young lady of Pisa, 362. His attachment
not fortunate; he suffers
all the throes of disappointment
and grief, 363. Becomes an
officer in the Lombard legion,
363. His bravery during the
siege of Geneva, 364. His letter
to Napoleon, 364. Returns to Milan
after the battle of Marengo,
365. Increases his fame by the
publication of his "Last Letters
of Jacopo Ortis," 365. Outline
of the piece, 366. Its success
immediate and striking, 369.
His person, as described by Pecchio,
369. Anecdotes of, 370.
Publishes an oration to Bonaparte,
371. Its style forcible and
rhetorical, 372. Enters on the
study of the Greek language;
undertakes the translation of
Sterne's "Sentimental Journey,"
373. His egotistical account of
his own singularities, 374. Undertakes
to make a new edition
of the military works of Montecucoli,
with notes, 375. Writes
his "Ode on Sepulchres;" outline
of the poem, 376. Publishes
his translation of the first book of
the Iliad, 377. Installed professor
in the university of Pavia, 377.
His introductory oration on the
origin and use of letters, 378.
Retreats from the university, to
the seclusion of the Lake of
Como, 378. Commences his
"Ode to the Graces," 379. Political
tendency of his writings,
380. Submits to an exile from
Milan, and again visits Tuscany,
381. Style of his writings in
general, 382. Resumes his military
duties; promoted to the
rank of colonel, 384. His conversation
with Pecchio; leaves
Italy in disguise, and takes refuge
in Switzerland, 385. Repairs
to England, and is received
with open arms by the Whig
party, 386. Ceases to be a lion,
and retires to the neighbourhood
of St. John's Wood, near the Regent's
Park, 387. Supports himself
chiefly by writing for the Quarterly
Review, 387. Outline of
his tragedy of "Ricciarda," 388.
Delivers a course of lectures on
Italian literature, 389. Obliged
to provide for daily necessity, by
writing for various reviews and
magazines, 390. His illness, 391.
His death, 392. His character
and literary merits, 393.
Francesca, daughter of Petrarch,
I. 106.
Frangipani, I. 1.
Franzesi, don Juan, III, 62.
Fuccarius, II. 13.
G.
Gærtner, II. 15.
Gassendi, II. 15.
Galileo, the history of his life and
labours, pregnant with a peculiar
interest to the general reader, as
well as the philosopher, II. 1.
His birth and parentage, 2. His
early years spent in the construction
of instruments and pieces of
machinery, which were calculated
chiefly to amuse himself and his
schoolfellows, 2. Music, drawing,
and painting, the occupations
of his leisure hours, 3. Papers
from the elementary works of
geometry to the writings of Archimedes,
3. Writes an essay on
the hydrostatical balance, 3. Engaged
to investigate the centre
of gravity in solid bodies, 4.
Appointed lecturer on mathematics
at Pisa, 4. His reiterated
and successful attacks against the
followers and doctrines of Aristotle,
5. Resigns his professorship
at Pisa, and is appointed to
fill the chair of mathematics in
the university of Padua, 6.
Obliged to add to his income by
the labours of his pen, 6. His
own account of his conversion to
the Copernican system of philosophy,
7. Teaches the Ptolemaic
out of compliance with the popular
feeling, after he had convinced
himself of the truth of
the Copernican doctrines, 8. His
reputation widely extended over
Europe, 9. Completes the first
period of his engagement at
Padua, and is re-elected for other
six years with an increased
salary of 320 florins, 9. His observations
on the new star, which
attracted the notice of astronomers
in 1604, 10. Again appointed
to the professorship at
Padua, with an augmented stipend
of 520 florins, 10. His attention
occupied with the examination
of the properties of the
loadstone, 10. In 1607, he first
directs his telescope to the heavens,
11. Solicited by Cosmo de'
Medici to return to Padua, 12.
The professorship conferred on
him for life, and his salary raised
to 1000 florins, 13. Invents that
form of telescope which still
bears his name, 14. Interest
which the exhibition of the
telescope excited at Venice, 15.
The first celestial object to which
he applied it, was the moon, 15.
His observations on the moon,
16. His examination of the fixed
stars and the planets, 17. His
discovery of the Medicean stars,
18. Dedicated his work, entitled
the "Sidereal Messenger," to
Cosmo de' Medici, 19. Reception
which his discoveries met
with, 20. Resigns his professorship
at Padua, and takes up his
residence at Florence as philosopher
and principal mathematician
to the grand duke of Tuscany, 21.
The first and sole discoverer of
Jupiter and satellites, 22. Excites
the curiosity of astronomers by
the publication of his first
enigma, 23. Visits Rome, where
he is received with honour by
princes, cardinals, and prelates,
24. Erects his telescope in the
Quirinal Gardens, 24. His solar
observations, 26. Publishes his
discourse on floating bodies,
chiefly remarkable as a specimen
of the sagacity and intellectual
power of its author, 28. His
discoveries place him at the
head of the great men of his age,
29. His letter to his friend and
pupil, the abbé Castelli, to prove
that the Scriptures were not
intended to teach us science
and philosophy, 31. Publishes a
longer letter, of seventy pages, defending
and illustrating his former
views respecting the influence
of scriptural language on
the two contending systems, 32.
Summoned before the inquisition,
to answer for the heretical
doctrines which he published, 33.
Acquitted on condition that he
renounced the obnoxious doctrines,
and pledged himself that
he would neither teach, defend,
nor publish them in future, 33.
His controversial discussion at
Rome, 34. Discovers a method
of finding the longitude at sea,
35. Unable, from illness, to partake
in the general interest excited
by the three comets, which
visited our system in 1618, 36.
Replies to the attack of Oratio
Grassi, in a volume entitled "Il
Saggiatore," 37. Undertakes a
journey to Rome, to congratulate
his friend Barberini upon his
elevation to the papal chair, 38.
Endeavours to bespeak the good
will of the cardinal towards the
Copernican system, 39. His
theory of the tides, 40. Ties
which bound him to the Romish
hierarchy, 41. Publishes a work,
demonstrating the Copernican
system, 42. Influence of this
work on the public mind, 43.
Summoned a second time before
the inquisition, 45. His trial, 46.
His defence, 47. Sentence of the
court, 49. His abjuration of his
doctrines, 50. The sentence of
abjuration read at several universities,
and his friends and his
disciples summoned to witness
the public degradation of their
master, 52. Returns to Tuscany,
58. His melancholy and indisposition,
53. Obtains leave from
the pope to return to Florence,
54. Publishes his "Dialogues on
Local Motion," 55. Discovers
the moon's diurnal liberation, 55.
Becomes totally blind, 56. Renieri
undertakes to arrange and
complete his observations and
calculations, 57. His death, 58.
The inquisition disputes his
right of making a will, and of
being buried in consecrated
ground, 58. His character as a
man of science, and as a member
of the social circle, 60. His
person, 61.
Gamba, Marina, II. 10.
Gano, of Mayence, I. 170.
Garcia Sanchez, remarks on his
poetry, III. 13.
Garibay, Esteban de, III. 162.
Gavasa, Alberto, III. 231.
Geraldi, Cinthio, I. 28.
Giacomo, king of Majorca, I. 147.
Gil, Juan, III. 140.
Gilbert, Dr., II. 11.
Giovanni, queen of Naples, I. 91.
Goldoni, Carlo, his birth and parentage,
II. 213. His predilection
for the drama, 214. Placed at
school at Perugia, 215. Taken
by his father to Rimini, to pursue
his studies under a celebrated
professor, 216. Leaves Rimini
with a company of strolling
comedians, 217. Arrives at
Chiozza; his dislike to the medical
profession, 218. Repairs to
Venice to study law under his
uncle, 219. Enters the university
of Pavia, 220. Expelled the
college for writing a satire; accompanies
his father to Udine,
where he studies law under an
eminent advocate, 221. Proceeds
to Modena to pursue his
legal studies, 222. His letter to
his parents, declaring his resolve
of entering the order of Capuchin
monks, 223. Returns to Chiozza,
cured of every wish to shut himself
up in a cloister, 223. Appointed
to a situation under government,
224. His account of
his first love, 224. Enters the profession
of barrister at Venice,
225. Incident which occurred to
destroy his prospects, 226. Leaves
Venice; obtains letters of introduction
at Milan, 227. Failure
of his opera, entitled "Amalasunta,"
228. Appointed gentleman
in the palace of signor
Bartolini, 229. Dismissed from
his situation; sets out for Modena,
where his mother resided,
230. Attacked by robbers on his
journey, 231. Installed poet to
the theatrical company at Venice;
success of his "Belisarius," 232.
Accompanies the manager to
Genoa and Florence, 233. His
marriage, 233. Commences his
long meditated reform of the
Italian theatre, 234. Obtains the
Genoese consulship at Venice,
235. Embarks for Bologna; his
journey full of accidents by flood
and field, 236. Returns to Rimini,
237. Becomes a pleader
once again, and for three years
practices at the Pisan bar, 238.
Outline of his tragedy, entitled
"La Donna di Garbo," 239. His
drama on the subject of Richardson's
novel of "Pamela," 240.
Writes sixteen comedies in the
course of one season, 241. His
illness occasioned by his extraordinary
exertion, 242. Becomes
the censor of the manners and
satirist of the follies of his country,
242. Outline of his comedies,
243. Invited to Rome during
the carnival, 244. Receives an
offer from the French court of an
engagement for two years, on
very advantageous terms, 245.
His debût as an author in the
French capital, 246. His death,
in the eighty-fifth year of his
age, 246.
Gongora, don Luis de, III. 243. His
birth, parentage, and early education,
243. His death, in the
sixty-sixth year of his age, 244.
His person, 245. Specimen of
his style, 246. Lope de Vega,
essay upon him and his system,
248.
Gonzaga, cardinal, I. 35.
Gori, Francesco, II. 278.
Grassi, Oratio, II. 37.
Gravina, Vincenzo, the celebrated
jurisconsult, II. 185.
Grazia, M. Vincenzo di, II. 28.
Gualdo, Paolo, II. 14.
Guarini, Battista, his birth, parentage,
and early education, II.
82. Named counsellor and secretary
of state by Alfonso, duke of
Ferrara, 83. Sent by him to negotiate
his election to the Polish
throne; his letter to his wife on
the subject, 83. His letter to a
friend on the subject of his "Pastor
Fido," 87. Extract from Fanshawe's
translation of the poem,
the "Pastor Fido," the principal
monument of his poetic genius,
88. Review of the poem looked
on as second only to Tasso among
the poets of the age, 91. Returns
to his post at court; sent on a
mission to Umbria and Milan, 92.
His pecuniary difficulties and
domestic afflictions; leaves Ferrara
privately and in haste, 93.
Establishes himself at Florence,
where he is honourably received
by the grand duke Ferdinand, 94.
His irascible temper, 94. His
death, in the seventy-fifth year
of his age, 95.
Gubbio, Busone da, I. 27.
Guevara, Antonio de, III. 147.
Guicciardini, Francesco, his birth
and parentage, II. 63. At an
early age takes a doctor's degree
in law; and is appointed by the
government to read the Institute
in the university of Florence, 61.
His marriage, 64. Sent by the
republic as ambassador to Ferdinand,
king of Aragon, 65.
Sent to receive the pope at Cortona,
65. Named by the pope
consistorial advocate, also governor
of Reggio and Modena,
66. Prudence, firmness, and
severity, the characteristics of
his administration, 67. Named
lieutenant general of the pontifical
army in the ecclesiastical
states, 67. Enters, with all the
zeal of personal resentment, into
the cause of the Medici, 69.
Named by the pope governor of
Bologna, 70. Retires from the
government on the death of Clement
VII., 71. Withdraws himself
from public life, and retires
to his country seat at Montici,
72. Solicited by Paul III. to leave
his retreat, and to enter again on
public life, 73. His death, 73.
His person and character, 74.
Guiducci, Marco, an astronomer of
Florence, II. 36.
H.
Halam, Robert, bishop of Salisbury,
I. 8.
Harrington, Sir John, the first
English translator of Ariosto, I.
216.
Harriot, Thomas, II. 22.
Herrera, Fernando date of his birth
and family unknown, III. 83. Critique
on his poetry; list of his
prose works, 84. His "Ode to
Sleep," 87.
Hohenzoller, cardinal, II. 38.
Hoyos, Juan Lopez de, III. 124.
Hugh de Sâde, I. 68.
Huygens, Constantine, II. 57.
I.
Immola, Benvenuta da, I. 2.
Isotta of Padua, II. 76.
Istria, count Capo d', II. 392.
Isunza, Pedro, III. 148.
Ivaldi, don, II. 251.
J.
Jane, queen of Naples, I. 125.
Jansen, the inventor of the Dutch
telescope, II. 13.
John I. of Aragon, III. 6.
John of Florence, canon of Pisa, I.
65.
John II. of Aragon, his love of
poetry and learning secure him
the affections of his adherents;
and, in the midst of civil commotion,
despite his deficiency of
resolution, gathers round him a
court faithful to his cause, and
civilised by its love of letters, III.
12.
John XXII., pope, II. 101.
Jordí, Mosen Jordi de Sant, the
first and best known of the Spanish
troubadours, III. 6.
Jovius, Paul, I. 257.
Julius II., pope, I. 264.
K.
Kepler, II. 19.
L.
Labadini, Lazzaro, II. 169.
Landino, Christofero, I. 152.
Latini, Brunetto, tutor to Dante, I.
4.
Laura de Sâde, her first meeting
with Petrarch, I. 68. Her death,
95.
Leon, Luis Ponce de, his birth,
parentage, and education, III. 71.
Style of his writings, 72. Made
doctor of theology by the university
of Salamanca, 72. Elected
to chair of St. Thomas, 72. Confined
in a dungeon of the inquisition
for translating the
Scriptures into the vulgar tongue,
73. Translation of his "Ode to
the Virgin," composed during
his imprisonment, 74. Liberated
at the end of five years, and
restored to all his honours and
employments, 76. His death, in
the sixty-fourth year of his age,
76. His person, 76. His amiable
character, 77. Brief review of
his writings, 78. Mr. Wiffen's
translation of his "Ode on the
Moorish Invasion," 79.
Lippa Ariosta, I. 196.
Lobeira, Vasco, author of the first
romance of chivalry, III. 10.
Louis of Bavaria, I. 133.
Lima, Simon Freire de, III. 151.
Luna, don Juan de, III. 61.
M.
Machiavelli, Niccolo, his birth and
parentage, I. 257. Placed as
secretary under Marcellus Virgil,
258. Elected chancellor of the second
court, 259. Named secretary
of the Council of Ten, 259. His
missions to various sovereigns and
states, 259. Convulsed state of
Italy at this period, 260. His mission
to Caterina Sforza, 262. His
letters to the state during this
and all his other missions, 262.
The great doubt that clouds his
character, regards the spirit in
which he wrote the "Prince,"
263. Accused of being the confidant
of Cæsar Borgia in his
plots, 264. Sent by the Florentine
government to the duke of
Imola, 267. His letter to his
government on the subject of
his mission, 268. His letter to
the signoria of Florence, 269.
His minute details of his conversations
with Borgia, 270. His
unsuccessful solicitations to be
recalled, 271. His efforts to discover
Borgia's secret views, 272.
His letters to the government,
earnestly desiring to be recalled,
273. His letters, describing Borgia's
movements, 274. His account
of Borgia's treacherous
and cruel act of revenge, 276.
Expressions in his letter, characteristic
of Italian policy and
morals at that period, 277. Returns
to Florence, and is replaced
by an ambassador of more authority,
278. Outline of "The
Decenal," 278. Anecdote relating
to Borgia's system of government,
related in the "Prince," 279.
Sent on a legation to Rome, just
at the time of the downfal of
Cæsar Borgia, 280. His frequent
interviews with the fallen
prince, 282. His succeeding embassies,
284. Succeeds in persuading
the signoria of Florence
to form a native militia, 285. His
embassy to the emperor Maximilian,
286. His observations on
the state of Germany, 286. Employed
to convey to Mantua the
money composing a part of the
subsidy to the emperor, 287. His
letters during this mission disclose
a curious system of bribery
with regard to the minister of
Louis XII., 287. His interview
with the French king at Blois,
288. His letter, detailing the expedition
of the allies against the
republic, 289. Review of his
fourteen services, 290. His imprisonment,
and liberation, 291.
His letter to the Florentine ambassador,
292. Review of his
private correspondence, and his
other writings, 293. His letter
to Vettori, the Florentine ambassador,
294. Analysis of his
work, entitled the "Prince,"
298. Review of his "Essay on
the First Decade of Livy," and
his other works, 304. His despairing
letters to Vettori, 305.
His "Essay on the Reform of
the Government of Florence,"
written at the request of Leo X.,
306. His correspondence with
Francesco Guicciardini, the celebrated
historian, 307. Commences
his "History of Florence;"
receives a regular but
limited salary as historiographer,
from Clement VII., 308. Employed
to inspect the progress of
the fortification of Rome, 309.
Returns to Florence full of hope,
and is disappointed, 310. His
death, 311. His person, _ib._
Madonna Gemma, wife of Dante,
I. 10.
Malegucci, Sigismondo, I. 204.
Malespina, the marchese, I. 28.
Manrique, Jorge, remarks on his
poetry, III. 13.
Manrique, don Geronimo, grand
inquisitor, III. 193.
Manso, marquess of Villa, II. 159.
Manuel, don Juan, brief review of
his works, III. 12.
Maraffi, Luigi, II. 31.
Marcias, remarks on his poetry,
III. 13. His melancholy death.
Mariner, Vicente, III. 199.
Marini, Giambattista, his birth and
parentage, II. 174. Encouraged
by Tasso to pursue his poetic
career, 174. Publishes a volume
of lyrical poetry, which establishes
his fame, 175. His literary
quarrels, 176. Publishes his
"Adone" while at Paris; outline
of the story, 177. Returns
to Italy; is again involved in
literary squabbles, 178. His death,
in the fifty-sixth year of his age,
179.
Marmont, general, II. 318.
Marotto, Domenico, I. 227.
Mary, natural daughter of Robert,
king of Naples, I. 122.
Marzemedici, archbishop of Florence,
II. 28.
Mascheroni, Lorenzo, a celebrated
mathematician, II. 323.
Mathew Corvino, king of Hungary,
I. 160.
Matrapillo, Morato Raez, III. 138.
Mayer, Simon, II. 21.
Medici, Cosmo de', founder of the
Medicean library, I. 152.
Medici, Lorenzo de', his early life,
I. 152. Devotes most of his time
and fortune to the cultivation of
literature and the fine arts, 153.
Institutes a yearly celebration of
the anniversary of Plato's birth
and death, 153. His chief merit
derived from the revival of his
native language, 154. Commentary
on his first sonnets, 155.
Extract of a translation of one of
his sonnets, 156. Brief review of
his other poems, 157. His death,
at the early age of forty-four, 159.
Memmi, Simon, I. 84.
Mena, Juan de, the most renowned
of the early writers, III. 14. Review
of his works, 15. His death,
15. Extracts from his poems, 16.
Analysis of the "Labyrinto," 17.
Mendoza, don Diego Hurtado de,
his birth and parentage, III. 58.
His early education, 59. His
"Lazarillo de Tormes" declaratory
of the originality of his
genius, 59. Deputed by Charles
V. to attend the council of Trent,
60. Confirms the opinion already
entertained of his talents by a
learned and elegant oration, 60.
Sent as ambassador to Rome;
named governor and captain-general
of Siena, and ordered to
introduce a Spanish garrison, and
to build a citadel for its protection,
61. Becomes the object of universal
hatred by his haughty and
unfeeling conduct, 62. Repairs
to Rome, to influence the election
of a new pope, 62. Named
gonfaloniere of the church, 62.
Recalled from the government of
Siena to Spain, 63. His philosophical,
political, and poetical
works, 64. Shows himself an enthusiastic
lover of learning, and
a liberal patron of learned men,
64. Anecdote of, characteristic
of the vehemence of his temper,
65. His "History of the War of
the Moriscos in Granada," the
most esteemed of his prose works,
66. His death, 67. His character
and person, 68. Brief review of
his writings, 68.
Metastasio, Pietro, his birth and obscure
origin, II. 185. At an early
age attracts by his talents as improvisatore,
185. Writes a tragedy,
entitled "Giustino," at the
early age of fourteen, 186. Continues
to improvisare verse in
company, 187. Evils that result
to the intellect perpetually bent
on so exciting a proceeding, 188.
Sent to study at Magna Græcia,
189. Returns to Rome, and gives
himself up to the study of poetry,
189. Removes to Naples; determines
to give up poetry, and
to study the law, 190. Commanded
by the viceroy to write a
drama to celebrate the birthday
of the empress Elizabeth Christina;
success of the piece, 191.
Quits the law, and again devotes
himself to the Muses, 191. Receives
a commission to furnish
the Neapolitan theatre with an
opera for the carnival of 1724;
success of the piece, 192. Receives
a letter from prince Pio of
Savoy, inviting him to become
the court poet of Vienna, 193.
Fulfils his engagement of supplying
the Roman theatre with
two pieces for the carnival,
and makes his appearance at
Vienna, surrounded by the halo
of a recent triumph, 194. Appointed
treasurer to the province
of Cosenzo, worth annually
350 sequins, 195. His feelings
ingenuously expressed in his letters
to Marianna Bulgarelli, 196.
His letters to his brother on
hearing of her death, 198. Peculiar
merits of his poetry, and excellencies
of his dramas, 200. The
"Grazie agli inganni tuoi," and
the "Partenza," among the best
of his productions, 203. His ill
health attributed to change of
climate, 204. His life only to be
found in his letters, 205. His
letters to his brother, 207. His
enthusiastic friendship for Farinelli,
the singer, 208. His manner
of living at Vienna, 210. His
letter to Farinelli, 211. His
death, in the eighty-fourth year
of his age, 211.
Miranda, Saa de, a Portuguese
poet, born in 1494, and died in
1558; his connection with Spanish
poetry, III. 88.
Mirandola, Giovanni Pico della,
his birth and early education, I.
161. Character of his writings,
161. His death, in the thirty-second
year of his age, 162.
Moneada, don Miguel de, III. 127.
Mondejar, the marquis de, III. 41.
Montalvan, friend and disciple of
Lope de Vega, III. 189.
Monte, cardinal del, II. 4.
Montefalcone, Niccolo di, I. 147.
Montemayor, Jorge de; his birth
and parentage, III. 89. Establishes
his fame as an author, by
writing his "Diana," 89. Outline
and style of the poem, 90.
His death, 92.
Monti, Vincenzo, his birth and parentage,
II. 305. Anecdote of his
childhood, 306. His early education,
307. Gives up every
other pursuit, and dedicates himself
wholly to the cultivation of
literature and poetry, 308. Accompanies
cardinal Borghese to
Rome, 309. Want of political
integrity, and ready worship of
ruling powers, the great blot of
his character, 310. Continues
to cultivate his poetic tastes, 311.
Success of his tragedy entitled
"Aristodemo," 312. Outline of
the piece, 313. His marriage,
314. Celebrates the death of his
friend Basseville, in a poem entitled
"Basvilliana," 315. Outline
and style of the poem, 316.
Leaves Rome for Tuscany; his
familiar intercourse with general
Marmont, 318. Becomes a revolutionary
poet, 319. Appointed
to the survivorship of the professor's
chair at Brera, 321. Falls
into a deplorable state of destitution,
322. Celebrates his return
to his beloved Italy by a beautiful
hymn, 323. Outline of his
poem entitled "Mascheroniana,"
324. Appointed to a professorship
in the university of Pavia;
named court poet and historiographer,
326. Made cavalier of
the iron crown, member of the
Institute, and of the legion of
honour, 327. Celebrates the
event of Napoleon being crowned
king of Italy in a poem, entitled
"Il Benificio," 328. His poem
in celebration of the attempted
usurpation of the Spanish throne,
329. Remarks on his poem entitled
the "Sword of Frederic,"
331. His translation of Ceruti,
332. Writes, by command, a
cantata entitled "Mistico Omaggio,"
334. The marriage of his
daughter, one of the most fortunate
incidents of his life, 335.
His observations on the subject
of a reform of the national dictionary,
336. Extracts from his
letters to Mustoxidi on the subject,
336. To another friend, on
the same subject, 339. His
literary disputes with Mazza,
Cesarotti and Bettinelli terminate
in mutual friendship and
esteem, 341. His letter on the
subject of the classic and romantic
schools, 341. His letter
to his wife, 343. His letter to
his friend Mustoxidi, on the
death of his son-in-law, 347.
Publishes the last volume of his
"Proposta," 348. His last illness,
and death, in the seventy-fourth
year of his age, 349. His
public and private character, 350.
His person, 351.
Montoya, Luisa de, III. 162.
Mora, Rodrigo de, III. 127.
Mosti, Agostino, II. 153.
Muñoz, Fernando, III. 192.
Murtola, Gasparo, II. 175.
Mustoxidi, II. 333.
N.
Naharro, Bartolomé Torres, one of
the earliest Spanish dramatists,
III. 97. Mentioned by the editor
of Cervantes' comedies, as the
real inventor of the Spanish
drama, 98. His reforms in the
Spanish theatricals, 99.
Navagero, Andrea, III. 39.
Nasi, Alessandro, I. 287.
Negrete, doctor Juan de, III. 226.
Neri, I. 18.
Noronha, dom Alfonso de, III. 309.
Nozzolini, Ptolemy, II. 28.
O.
Obizzo III., marquis of Este, I.
196.
Oliva, Perez de, one of the earliest
Spanish dramatists, III. 96.
Orsino, Paolo, I. 246.
P.
Pacheco, Francisco, the celebrated
painter, III. 148.
Pachione, Philippo. I. 227.
Pajares, Alonso Diaz, III. 122.
Panizzi, Dr., I. 168.
Pastrengo, William da, I. 84.
Paul II., pope, I. 180.
Pedrosa, Luis, III. 138.
Pellicer, don Juan Antonio, III. 121.
Pellicer, don Joseph, III. 202.
Pepoli, Geronimo, II. 71.
Perticari, count, II. 336.
Perugini, Paolo, I. 120.
Petracco, Pietro, I. 23.
Petrarch, Francesco, his birth and
parentage, I. 61. His early life,
62. Sent to study at the university
of Montpellier, 63. Sent to
Bologna; makes considerable
progress in the study of the law,
64. Recalled to France by the
death of his father, 64. Abandons
the law, and devotes himself to
the clerical profession, 65. His
sedulous attention to dress, 65.
Becomes the favourite and companion
of the ecclesiastical and
lay nobles who form the papal
court, 65. Commencement of his
friendship with Giacomo Colonna,
66. His description of
Colonna, 67. His character, 67.
His first meeting with Laura de
Side, 68. Endeavours to merge
the living passion of his soul into
the airy and unsubstantial devotion
of Platonic attachment, 70.
His poetic life dated from the
time of his attachment to Laura,
71. His predilection for travelling,
72. Becomes an inmate in
the house of cardinal Colonna;
his unbounded ardour for acquiring
knowledge, 73. Visits
Paris; continues his travels
through Aix-la-Chapelle and Cologne,
74. Visits Rome; his sensations
on entering the eternal
city, 75. Leaves Italy, and travels
through Spain to Cadiz, and
northward as far as the sea-coast
of England, 76. Makes an excursion
to Mont Ventoux, one of
the highest mountains in Europe,
76. His letter to father Dionisio
Robertis, giving an account of
the expedition, 77. Retires to
Vaucluse, 78. His manner of life,
79. Extract from a translation of
one of the canzoni, as a specimen
of his style, 80. Character of his
mistress, 82. His intimacy with
Philip de Cabassoles, bishop of
Cavaillon, 83. His letter to Giacomo
Colonna, on his soliciting
him to go to Rome, 84. Receives
letters from the Roman senate
and the university of Paris, inviting
him to receive the laurel
crown of poetry; he decides in
favour of Rome, 85. Repairs to
Rome, and is crowned in the
capitol with great solemnity, in
presence of all the nobles and
high-born ladies of the city, 86.
Returns to Avignon; takes on
himself the office of barrister, and
pleads the cause of the Correggio,
against their enemies the Rossi,
before the pope, and succeeds in
obtaining a decision in their favour,
87. His grief on hearing
of the death of Thomas of Messina:
his extraordinary dream,
88. Named prior of Migliarino,
in the diocese of Pisa, 89. His
unabated love for Laura, 90. Applies
himself to Greek, under
Bernardo Barlaam, 91. Writes
his work entitled "The Secret of
Francesco Petrarca," 91. Sent as
ambassador to Naples, to establish
the papal claim, 92. Writes letters
full of encouragement to
Rienzi, the tribune, 93. Repairs
to his house at Parma; his extraordinary
dream, 94. His grief
on hearing of the death of Laura,
95. His record of her death, 95.
Gives large sums in charity for
the sake of her soul, and causes
many masses to be said for the
same purpose, 97. Receives a
decree of the Florentine republic,
reinstating him in his paternal
inheritance, together with letters
inviting him to accept of a professor's
chair in their university,
99. His letters to pope Clement
VI.; again solicited to accept the
lace of apostolic secretary, which
e again refuses, 100. His treatise
"On Solitary Life," 101.
Induced by the solicitations of
Giovanni Visconti to remain in
Milan, 102. His conversation
with the emperor Charles V., 102.
Sent to Vienna to negotiate a
peace, and afterwards sent to
Paris to congratulate John, 103.
His manner of life at Milan, 104.
His record of the death of his
son; takes up his abode at
Padua, 105. His writings compared
with those of Dante, 106.
His description of Laura's death,
107. Continues to interest himself
deeply in the political state of
his country, 109. His letter to
Boccaccio; his congratulatory
letter to Pope Urban V., 110. Is
seized with a violent illness on
his way to Rome, 111. His treatise,
entitled "On my own Ignorance
and that of others," 112.
His opinion of the "Decameron"
of Boccaccio, 113. His death,
114. His will, 114.
Peraga, Bonaventura da, I. 114.
Petroni, Pietro, I. 139.
Pickler, Giovanni, II. 314.
Pietro, Francesco Santo, III. 127.
Pignoria, Lorenzo, II. 13.
Pineda, don Juan de, III. 108.
Pio, prince of Savoy, II. 193.
Pistolfo, M. Bonaventura, I. 230.
Pistoia, Cina da, I. 64.
Pletho, Gemisthus, I. 151.
Polenta, Guido Novello da, lord of
Ravenna, I. 29.
Politian, II. 15.
Poliziano, Angelo, his birth and
parentage, I. 162. Review of his
writings, 163. Appointed tutor
to the children of Lorenzo de'
Medici, 164. At the age of
twenty-nine appointed to the professorship
of Greek and Latin
eloquence in the university of
Florence, 165. His death, 167.
Porras, doctor Mathias, corregidor
of the province of Canta, in Peru,
III. 213.
Porta, Baptista, II. 14.
Portugal, early poets of, III. 288.
Pulci, Bernardo, remarks on his
works, I. 167.
Pulci, Luca, his works, I. 167.
Pulci, Luigi, style of his writings,
I. 168. Extract from his "Morgante
Maggiore," 171. Outline of
the poem, 173.
Q.
Quarqualio, Luca, I. 159.
Querenghi, his letter to cardinal
D'Este, giving an account of
Galileo's controversial discussions
at Rome, III. 34.
Quevedo, don Francisco Gomez de,
his birth, parentage, and early
education, III. 246. His career
checked by a circumstance which
may be considered as fortunate,
257. Obliged to fly; takes refuge
in Italy, and thence, invited by
the viceroy, repairs to Naples, 258.
Sent by him as his ambassador to
Madrid, to recount his exploits,
and explain his designs, 259. Accused
of joining in the Bedmar
conspiracy against Venice, 261.
Continues to escape the vigilance
of the senate, and makes his escape
in the guise of a mendicant,
262. His political services, 264.
His literary productions; his imprisonment
and liberation, 265.
Several places offered to him, all
of which he declines, and gives
himself up to study and philosophy,
266. Gives up his church
preferments, for the sake of marrying,
266. His playful yet bitter
poem, alluding to his evil fate,
267. Suspected of writing libels
against the court, arrested, and
imprisoned in a dungeon of the
Royal Casa de San Marcos de
Leon, 268. His letter, describing
the squalid wretchedness of his
dungeon, 269. His memorial to
the count duke Olivarez, 270.
His death, 272. His person and
character, 272. Critique on his
writings, 273.
R.
Real, Lorenzo, II. 56.
Renieri, the friend and pupil of
Galileo, II. 57.
Ribeyro, Bernardim, one of the
earliest of the Portuguese poets,
III. 290.
Riccardi, Nicolo, II. 41.
Ricci, Giuliano, I. 312.
Ricci, Ostillo, II. 3.
Riego, the canon, II. 391.
Rienzi, Nicola di, I. 92.
Rioja, Francisco de, III. 223.
Rios, don Vicente de los, III. 121.
Robert, king of Naples, I. 86.
Robertis, Father Dionisio, I. 77.
Robertson, Dr., II. 22.
Rollo, Paolo, I. 238.
Romena, count Alessandro da, I.
23.
Roxas, Fernando de, III. 95. Author
of the first genuine Spanish play,
96.
Rucellai, Cosimo, I. 304.
Rueda, Lope de, celebrated as an
actor and pastoral poet, III. 98.
Ruiz, Juan, arch-priest of Hita;
brief review of his works, III.
12.
S.
Salvani, Provenzano, I. 24.
Salvanorola, I. 130.
Salvatico, conte Guido, I. 28.
Salvi, Giulio, III, 60.
Santillana, the marquess of, remarks
on his poems, III. 13.
Scala, Can' Grande de la, I. 27.
Scala, Alessandro, II. 75.
Scheiner, professor of mathematics
at Ingoldstadt, II. 25.
Schlegel, III. 234.
Scotus, Duns, I. 9.
Serram, Antonio, III. 324.
Serrano, señor Bachiller, III. 122.
Serraville, Giovanni da, bishop of
Fermo, I. 8.
Settimo, Guido, I. 63.
Sforza, Caterina, I. 262.
Sforza, Ippolita, II. 75.
Signa, Martino da, I. 149.
Sixtus IV., pope, I. 160.
Soderini Pietro, I. 288.
Sotomayor, don Alonzo Lopez de
Zuniga y, III. 157.
Spain, early and anonymous poetry
of, III. 1.
Spini Christofano, II. 180.
Stolberg, Louisa de, countess of
Albany, II. 280. Her attachment
to Alfieri, 285.
Strada, Giovanni da, I. 117.
Strozzi, Oberto, I. 188.
Sylveira, Hector da, III. 321.
T.
Talleyrand, cardinal, I. 100.
Tasso, Bernardo, his birth and
parentage, II. 98. His early life
and ill-directed love, 99. At the
age of forty-one, appointed secretary
to Ferrante Sanseverino,
prince of Salerno, 99. His marriage,
100. Commences his poem,
entitled "Amadigi," 100. His letter
to his sister Afra, 101. Summoned
away from the delightful
retirement of Sorrento to join his
patron in the war which had
broken out between the emperor
Charles V. and Francis I., 102.
Returns from the army, and enjoys
a brief prolongation of his
domestic quiet, 103. Declared a
rebel, and his estate confiscated,
along with the adherents of the
duke of Salerno, 104. His letter
to his daughter, 108. Flies from
Rome to Ravenna; invited by
the duke of Urbino to Pesara,
where he affords a welcome but
temporary asylum from the persecution
of his enemies, and the
pressure of indigence, 111. Repairs
to Venice to publish his
work entitled "Amadigi," 113.
Failure of the poem, 119. Places
his son at Padua to study jurisprudence,
122. His interview
with his son at Mantua, 130.
His death, in the seventy-sixth
year of his age, 131.
Tasso, Torquato, review of his life,
II. 96. His birth, 101. Nursery
traditions of, 103. His progress
in the rudiments of knowledge,
under the superintendence of his
mother, 104. His beautiful and
touching lines on his separation
from her, when called away from
Naples to join his mother at
Rome, 105. Compared with
Cowper, 106. His religious sentiments,
107. Prosecutes his
studies with indefatigable assiduity
at Rome, 108. His letter
to Vittoria Colonna, on the subject
of his sister's marriage, 109.
Removes to Bergamo, 111. Commencement
of his friendship with
the son of the duke d'Urbino,
112. Diversities of circumstances,
scene, and company,
calculated to cherish and confirm
all his natural aspirings, 114.
Remark upon a line of Boileau
which has done more injury to
his reputation than all the splenetic
criticisms of Sperone, 115.
Critique on his Writings, 116.
Studies the works of his great
Italian predecessors, 117. Employed
by his father in transcribing
his multitudinous poems and
letters, 118. Sudden and passionate
admiration with which his
"Rinaldo" was hailed throughout
Italy, 119. Placed at Padua
to study jurisprudence, 122. Gives
up the law, and devotes himself
to philosophy and the Muses, 123.
His reply to his father's remonstrance,
124. The appearance of
his "Rinaldo" the dawn of a
new day in the literature of
his country, 124. All the characteristics
of his peculiar genius
perceptible in the incidents, style,
embellishments, and conduct of
this juvenile essay, 126. Repairs
to Bologna to pursue his natural
studies, and indulge in his
poetical passion, 127. Expelled
from Bologna for a literary squib,
128. Removes to Padua, where
he is inrolled member of the
Academy degli Eterei, 129. Devotes
much of his attention to
the works of Aristotle and Plato,
129. Remarks on his "Discourse
on Heroic Poetry," 130. Nominated
one of the personal attendants
of the duke of Ferrara, 131.
Arrives at Ferrara, and is received
into the service of the duke's
brother, 132. Commencement of
his acquaintance with the princesses
Lucretia and Leonora of
Este, 133. His description of
his own emotions during his first
visit and sojourn at Ferrara, 134.
Writes an epithalamium on the
marriage of the princess Lucretia,
136. His attachment to the
princess Leonora, 137. Accompanies
the cardinal Luigi to the
court of France, 138. Personal
anecdotes of, 139. Accompanies
the embassy to Rome; his interview
with the pope, 140. Prosecutes
that splendid crusade of
his Muse the poetical siege of
Jerusalem, 140. His "Aminta"
received with universal admiration
throughout all Italy, 142.
Illness occasioned by his anxiety
about his "Gerusalemme Liberata,"
144. Charged with heresy
against Aristotle and good taste
on one hand, and on the other
with heresy against the church
and good morals, 145. Escapes
from his splendid captivity to
Rome; appointed historiographer
to the house of Este, 146. Incident
which exhibits him not
less in the character of a hero than
he had hitherto figured in that of
the laureate of poets, 147. Growing
symptoms of a mind diseased, 148.
His strange melancholy, 149.
Flies secretly to Ferrara to visit
his sister at Sorrento, 150.
Anecdote of, 151. Committed to
St. Anne's Hospital as a lunatic;
his letter to Scipio Gonzaga
during his confinement, 152. His
representation of the treatment
which he experienced during his
confinement, 153. His sonnets
to the cats of the hospital, imploring
them to lend him the
light of their eyes to write by,
154. Pursues his studies with
unabated ardour and intensity,
155. His wild imaginations, 156.
Liberated at the special intercession
of the prince of Mantua,
157. His controversy with the
Della Cruscan Academy during
his imprisonment, 158. Remarkable
circumstances of his last
days, 159. Visits Rome, 160.
His death, in the fifty-first year
of his age, 161. His personal and
poetical character, 161.
Tassoni, Alessandro, his birth, parentage,
and early education;
studies jurisprudence at Ferrara,
II. 169. Enters the service of
cardinal Colonna; publishes his
"Considerations on various Subjects,"
171. Outline of the principal
episode of. "Secchia Rapita,"
172. His death, in the
seventy-first year of his age, 173.
Timoneda, III. 99.
Tiraboschi, I. 179.
Torella, Damigella, II. 76.
Tormes, Lazarillo de, III. 101.
Tornabuoni, Lucrezia, I. 167.
Torres, Balthazar de, III. 133.
Torricelli, II. 58.
Turpin, archbishop, I. 169.
U.
Ubaldi, Guido, II. 4.
Ugo IV., king of Cyprus and Jerusalem,
I. 144.
Urban V., pope, I. 145.
Urbino, Gentile d', bishop of Arezzo,
I. 152.
Urbino, captain Diego de, III. 127.
Urbino, donna Isabel de, her marriage
with Lope de Vega, III. 199.
Her death, 200.
Usategui, Luis de, III. 227.
V.
Vega, Garcilaso de la, his birth and
parentage, III. 37. His early predilection
for poetry and music,
38. Commences his career of
arms in the war declared against
France by Charles V., 39. Incurs
the displeasure of the
emperor, and is exiled to an
island of the Danube, 39. His
ode in commemoration of his imprisonment
characteristic of his
disposition, 40. Is recalled, and
attends the emperor in his expedition
against Tunis; is severely
wounded, 41. Extract from one
of his elegies to Boscan, 42. Appointed
by the emperor to command
eleven companies of infantry,
in the expedition against
France, 45. Killed in an engagement
at Muy, near Fréjus, in
the thirty-third year of his age,
46. His person and character,
47. Review of his poetry, 48.
Mr. Wiffen's translation of his
ode "To the Flower of Gnido,"
53.
Vega, Lope de, compared with
Cervantes, III. 189. His birth
and parentage, 190. Early indications
of talent, 191. Anecdote
characteristic of his vivacious
disposition, 192. His intimacy
with the grand inquisitor; enters
the university of Alcala, 193.
Enters the service of the duke
of Alva, 194. Writes the "Arcadia"
at the request of the
duke of Alva, 195. Style and
story of the poem, 196. His
marriage, 198. Engaged in a
duel, which obliges him to leave
Madrid, 199. Returns to Madrid,
becomes a soldier, and joins the
In vincible Armada, 200. Southey's
translation of his sonnets, 202.
Outline of his work entitled
"Dorotea," 204. His animated
description of the setting forth of
the Armada, 208. Writes the
"Beauty of Angelica" on the
deck of the San Juan, 210. Story
of the poem, 211. His extravagance
and prodigality, 212. His
advice to his son, 212. His
domestic afflictions, 214. Leaves
the gaieties of secular life, and
prepares for the priesthood, 215.
Visits Toledo, and takes orders;
says his first mass in a Carmelite
church, 216. Becomes a familiar
of the Inquisition, 216. His rising
character as an author, 217.
His amiable character, 217. Rises
higher and higher in the estimation
of the public, 219. Writes a
poem on the death of Mary
queen of Scots, entitled "Corona
Tragica," which he dedicates to
the pope, 220. Exaggeration with
regard to the number of verses
written by him, 221. Anecdote
of, 221. His epistles and other
poems a picture of the tranquillity
of his life as he advanced in age,
222. His amiable disposition and
placid temper, 224. His last illness,
225. His death, 226. His
person and character, 227. Review
of his writings, 228. Analysis
of the "Star of Seville,"
233.
Vella, Antonio de la, III. 140.
Velser, Mark, II. 25.
Vettori, Francesco, I. 292.
Veyga, Luis de, III. 324.
Viardôt, his exertions to discover
the yet hidden circumstances of
Cervantes' life, III. 121.
Vicente, Gil, styled the Portuguese
Plautus, III. 292. Style of his
writings, 293.
Villalobos, physician of Charles V.,
one of the earliest of the Spanish
dramatists, III. 96.
Villégas, Estévan Manuel de,
named the Anacreon of Spain,
III. 240. His birth and parentage,
240. His death, 240. His translation
of Anacreon, 241. Translation
of his original Anacreontics,
242.
Villena, the Marquis of, so celebrated
for his acquirements in
natural and metaphysical knowledge,
that he was looked on as
a magician, also admired as a
poet, III. 13.
Virgil, Marcellus, I. 257.
Visconti, Giovanni, I. 101.
Visconti, Galeazzo, I. 103.
Vitelli, Vitellozzo, I. 266.
Viviani, II. 68.
Voss, Gerard, II. 7.
W.
Wachenfels, II. 19.
Wiffen, Mr., his translation of
Garcilaso de la Vega's poems,
III. 49. His translation of Luis
de Leon's ode on the Moorish
invasion, 79.
Z.
Zach, baron, II. 22.
Zeno, Apostolo, I. 168.; II. 192.
Zenobio, I. 117.
Zuniga, doña Elena de, her marriage
with Garcilaso de la Vega,
III. 39.
THE END.
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