ov. 
 
 Bh 
 
 1 ■ 
 
 ■ 
 
 ■ 
 
 m m 
 
Pass JC ^3.£> 
 Book i_S. 
 
 ,Hi5 
 
 G P O, 
 
Ys^r 
 
 THE 
 
 WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER FRENCH PORTRAITS 
 
7 l£/j.t/*cr £■ bixJrtrttt , oA . . 
 
 Q^yLf''//t >>> /' /:-■//'(' te - S-J /\ 
 
THE 
 
 WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER FRENCH PORTRAITS 
 
 BY 
 
 S. G. TALLENTYREi, j^ 
 
 WITH PORTRAITS 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON 
 
 NEW YORK AND BOMBAY 
 
 1901 
 
 All rights reserved 
 

 9f0 '4. 
 
 />"L 
 
 • • • • ••• • •••••• 
 
 , • • •.. ••• • • •• ••• 
 
 • •*••*• ••••••• •••• • 
 
 S# - : V:/. :•/:• ": : ••: 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MADAME DU DEFFAND 1 
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE LESPINASSE .... 22 
 
 MADAME GEOFFRIN 40 
 
 MADAME D'lPINAY . 62 
 
 MADAME NECKER 88 
 
 MADAME DE STAEL 113 
 
 MADAME R^CAMIER 134 
 
 TRONCHIN : A GREAT DOCTOR 153 
 
 THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 170 
 
 MADAME DE S^VIGNE 204 
 
 MADAME VIGfiE LE BRUN 223 
 
LIST OF PORTRAITS 
 
 Madame Vig£e Le Brun Frontispiece 
 
 From, the Portrait by herself in the Ujfizi Gallery at Florence. 
 From a Photograph by G. Brogi, of Florence. 
 
 Madame la Marquise du Deffand . . To face page 1 
 
 From a Print in the Bibliotheque Rationale, 
 Paris. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Lespinasse ... „ „ 22 
 
 From a Print in the Bibliotheque Nationale, 
 Paris. 
 
 Madame Geoffrin „ ,,40 
 
 From a Print in the Bibliotheque Nationale, 
 Paris. 
 
 Madame d'Epinay „ „ 62 
 
 From a Lithograph after Liotard in the British 
 Museum. 
 
 Madame Necker „ „ 88 
 
 From an Engraving in the Bibliotheque Nationale, 
 Paris. 
 
 Madame de Stael „ „ 113 
 
 From a Picture by F. Gerard in the Louvre. 
 
 Madame R^camier „ „ 134 
 
 From the Picture by J. L. David in the Louvre, 
 Paris. 
 
 Dr. Theodore Tronchin .... „ „ 153 
 
 From a Print in the Bibliotheque Nationale, 
 Paris. 
 
 The Mother of Napoleon .... „ „ 170 
 
 From a Picture by F. Gerard at Versailles. 
 
 Madame de Se>igne" » » 204 
 
 From the Portrait by Mignard in the Uffizt 
 Gallery at Florence. From a Photo by 
 G. Brogi, of Florence. 
 
,^/sV <sz£ ca*-mcn&&£, a^/ oa t 
 
 
THE 
 
 WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 MADAME DU DEFFAND 
 
 "There used to be in Paris," says Sydney Smith, 
 "under the old regime, a few women of brilliant 
 talents who violated all the common duties of life, 
 and gave very pleasant little suppers." There is no 
 wittier description of the Salonieres. 
 
 The Salon, as an institution, is wholly and exclusively 
 French. The practical mind of England always wants 
 to be doing. The mind of France is more easily con- 
 tent to talk. In its Salons it talked to some purpose. 
 They were the forcing-houses of the Revolution, the 
 nursery of the Encyclopaedia, the antechamber of the 
 Academie. Here were discussed Free thought and the 
 Rights of Men, intrigues, politics, science, literature. 
 Here one made love, reputations, bons-mots, epigrams. 
 Here met the brilliancy, corruption, artificiality of old 
 France, and the boundless enthusiasms which were to 
 form a new. 
 
 The Salonieres have passed, like their Salons, for 
 
 A 
 
2 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 ever. In the rush and hurry of modern life there 
 is no time even for women to make conversation a 
 cultivated accomplishment. 
 
 But one may well recall the lost mistresses of a lost 
 art. For if they were too often, alas! corrupt, they 
 were no more than any other human being, wholly 
 corrupt. When one thinks of them, one must needs 
 think too of a tact and kindliness most womanly and 
 most rare, of hearts not a little generous, of ideals 
 not always base, and of a wit, tenderness, and under- 
 standing that must have made social life a witch's 
 charm for care. 
 
 Great among them was Madame du Deffand. 
 
 Born Marie du Vichy Chamrond, she came into 
 the world just three years earlier than that greater 
 than herself — Voltaire. She was of the nobility. Her 
 father, the Comte de Vichy, had a dull, noble estate 
 in Burgundy. The Comtesse was, it would appear, a 
 weak, colourless lady. Few details have been preserved 
 about either of them. There was an aunt humpback, 
 clever, and — contrary to the custom of her day — both 
 unmarried and unconvented. Perhaps she was the 
 vieille tante, whose philosophy of life Marie quoted 
 when she was herself an old woman : " Pour supporter 
 la vie, il fallait prendre le temps comme il vient, et 
 les gens comme ils sont." 
 
 The child was left early an orphan, and was sent, 
 at six years old, a pretty, shrewd creature, to the 
 Convent of La Madeleine de Trenel, at Paris, where 
 
MADAME DU DEFFAND 3 
 
 she was badly taught, or at any rate learned very 
 little. That she was capable of learning anything is 
 certainly not to be doubted, since the girl is always 
 even more the mother of the woman than the boy is 
 father of the man. But learning bored her perhaps. 
 Weren't there much more amusing ways of knowing 
 all one need know than stupefying oneself over primers 
 and text-books, and paying attention to the weak- 
 minded instructions of those simple nuns ? The girl 
 who was to become Madame du Deffand must have 
 had even now that horror of dulness, regularity, and 
 perseverance which was to be such a curse to her 
 hereafter. " I was like Fontenelle," she said later, of 
 these school days ; " I was hardly ten years old when 
 I began to understand nothing." It was the confession 
 of a cleverness which, since it could not find out all, 
 would sit down with folded hands and not bother 
 itself to find out anything. 
 
 Marie was still a very young girl and a very pretty 
 one at her convent when she alarmed the nuns and 
 her relatives (and had a wicked pleasure in alarming 
 them, no doubt) with a profession of infidel tendencies. 
 The priest who was the girl's confessor argued with 
 her, and Marie argued with him. She was the cleverer 
 of the two, with that logic not to be taught by books, 
 and the pious confessor was only zealous and shocked. 
 Marie's good aunt, Madame de Luynes, became so dis- 
 turbed presently by her niece's unbelief that she sent 
 the great Massillon to catechise and convert this charm- 
 
4 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 ing heretic. And the heretic, who was a little bit 
 awed by the fame and position of the preacher, was 
 moved not at all by the strength of his reasoning, 
 while the preacher — who was quite human, it appears, 
 for all those magnificent denunciations of his which 
 are as a god's, and will live for ever — was, on his 
 side, more impressed by the gay charm of this wilful 
 dawning womanhood than by the naughtiness of the 
 scepticism. 
 
 Marie found life very dull when she was grown up, 
 and presently left the convent. What can one do in 
 the country, after all ? The voices of Nature did not 
 appeal to this brilliant girl. She already liked the 
 voices of the world, of homage to her talent and to 
 her beauty, so much better. Was it to get away from 
 the horrible ennui of staring at fields and woods and 
 the canaille of the starving country villages of 1718 
 that she was so perfectly ready to fall in with the 
 wishes of her relatives that she should be married ? 
 She was so poor, too. She must marry somebody. 
 She did not know any one to marry but the Colonel 
 Marquis du Deffand de la Lande, who was the first 
 person, most likely, who had made an offer for her 
 hand. One could not expect that the woman of whom 
 her truest friend said that her judgment on matters 
 of conduct was almost always wrong, should, under 
 the circumstances, refuse an eligible husband simply 
 because she did not happen to care for him. It was 
 in her character to be always dying for a new experi- 
 
MADAME DU DEFFAND 5 
 
 ence, something to amuse her, to vary routine. She 
 varied it at one -and -twenty by the Marquis du 
 Deffand. 
 
 He does not seem to have been a bad sort of man, 
 this Marquis. Perhaps he was from the first something 
 of the nonentity he was to be for future generations — 
 overshadowed always by his brilliant wife, rather stupid, 
 rather indifferent, and dully philosophic. Or it may 
 be, instead, that just at first, while his novelty had 
 not worn off, Marie found him positively interesting, 
 was pleasantly amused with her experiment, and 
 troubled herself to be as entertaining and as delight- 
 ful as she and a few of those gifted social contem- 
 poraries of hers alone knew how. 
 
 There are but the barest records remaining of her 
 childhood and youth ; and of those early days of her 
 marriage, none. One must fill in the blanks from 
 what is known of a later Madame du Deffand, and 
 then one guesses what a frank, witty, outspoken, im- 
 perious, impossible wife the Marquis had made the 
 mistake of choosing. How long was it before she 
 began to find him a little bit monotonous ? He did 
 not do anything objectionable, it would seem. He 
 was certainly not unkind. His only fault, perhaps, 
 was that he had not taken into consideration the 
 impetuous self-indulgence of his wife's character, her 
 entire want of self-control, or the most elementary 
 sense of duty. She found him a " tiresome com- 
 panion," and left him. In all the history of ill-assorted 
 
6 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 marriages one will hardly find so candid and simple 
 a reason for a separation. 
 
 She went to Paris, threw herself into the quick life 
 there, and satisfied her soul — or at least deadened the 
 melancholy that even now must sometimes have pos- 
 sessed it — with pleasures. She visited everywhere; 
 such a beautiful, witty Marquise carried her passport 
 in her face and her intellect to almost any society. 
 That queer separation about which everybody was 
 talking only lent her an additional charm. It was 
 so bizarre ! The Marquise herself had the very good 
 taste not to allude to it ; and no doubt took care that 
 it was only behind her back other people should dis- 
 cuss it either. She was still not more than two or 
 three and twenty, very beautiful, daring, and im- 
 prudent, alone in a society where a woman needed 
 a protector if ever a woman did; very much sought 
 after, very much flattered, very gay, very delightful. 
 She went to little suppers at court — that vile and 
 gorgeous court of the Eegent, where one would have 
 given anything and done anything for the companion- 
 ship of a witty woman, who would relieve the awful 
 satiety which follows unbroken pleasure, and bring to 
 those heated rooms and those jaded minds a fresh 
 humour, a new spirit, a piquant story. There were 
 other little Royal suppers, too, more private, to which 
 Madame also went presently. 
 
 It is on the testimony of one man alone that she 
 was for a brief fortnight the object, and the willing 
 
MADAME DU DEFFAND 7 
 
 object, of the Regent's degrading passion. But when 
 one reflects that the man who tells the story was 
 her sincere friend and confidant, and remembers the 
 shamelessness of that society in which she shone, the 
 statement seems but too likely to be true. It did not 
 degrade the Marquise in the eyes of her friends. 
 Most of the friends were not themselves in a position 
 to be greatly shocked at such irregularities. All Paris 
 was still at her feet when she retired for a while to the 
 Chateau de la Riviere at Bourdet, and began to give 
 those clever little suppers which were presently to 
 make her name, and the whole interest of her life. 
 
 As the Marquise was not well off, it seemed thought- 
 ful of her grandmother to die presently and leave her 
 a little fortune. The first delicious novelty of those 
 supper parties and of Bourdet had worn off. Madame 
 was looking about for a new sensation. Suppose she 
 tried a reconciliation with the Marquis ! There could 
 hardly have been a better moment, now that she had 
 become comparatively rich. This woman's heart was 
 always frank and generous, and alien to many of the 
 pettier vices. Had she a feeling somewhere far down 
 in it, too, that she had treated her husband — well, 
 suppose one says rather cavalierly, and now she had 
 an excuse for making amends, would make them ? 
 She rushed into her scheme in the most character- 
 istically impulsive, hot-headed fashion. The pair had 
 agreed on a six months' novitiate which the Marquis 
 was spending at his father's house. And Madame 
 
8 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 broke through it impatiently, received the gay compli- 
 ments of all Paris on the reunion, and dragged the 
 Marquis, as it were, home at once. What was the good 
 of delaying one's happiness ? Prudence ? Forethought ? 
 The words were not in her vocabulary. The two lived 
 in a " beautiful friendship " for quite six weeks. At the 
 close of that time, Madame, at her end of the table, 
 became ever so little triste and distraite; looked out 
 of the window and sighed ; responded to the Marquis's 
 well-meant efforts at conversation with a fine melan- 
 choly; was more absent-minded still the next day; 
 frankly ennuied a third ; a little tearful a fourth ; and 
 so gently and despairingly wretched at last, that, as a 
 gentleman, the only thing the Marquis could do was 
 to return to his father. Isn't it like the scene in a 
 little French comedy ? They did not quarrel. Quarrel- 
 ling is so bourgeois. They had even in this very difficult 
 relationship the most exquisite tact, finish, politesse — 
 and as for duty and self-control, no one could expect to 
 find these in a mocking little lever de rideau. After 
 the parting Madame dissolved into floods of the most 
 bewitching tears. There is mention of an old lover 
 whom she had had to displace to make way for the 
 Marquis. It was all quite complete. The inimitable 
 Parisienne who played the heroine — the dull husband 
 — that suggestion of some one else in the background. 
 All Paris laughed out loud. Nothing could have 
 appealed more completely to the light-hearted cynicism 
 of that inconsistent age. They did not disagree, you 
 
MADAME DU DEFFAND 9 
 
 understand. But they were so consummately bored! 
 And Paris laughed afresh till it could laugh no more. 
 
 To console her new loneliness, Madame visited a 
 great deal presently at Sceaux, where the Duchesse 
 du Maine (who said she liked society because everybody 
 listened to her, and she did not listen to anybody) 
 had her "galeres du bel esprit." Here was Voltaire, 
 lean and brilliant, and Mademoiselle de Launay, not yet 
 married to Monsieur de Staal. Here came, possibly, 
 Madame d'Epinay, and certainly Madame de Lambert. 
 La Mothe and the Abbe de Polignac talked together in one 
 corner. Here the " divine Ludovise," the granddaughter 
 of the great Conde, held her little court. And there, 
 brilliantly ignorant and enchantingly naive and frank, 
 Madame du Deffand was making the acquaintance of 
 that supreme egoist, the President Henault. There was 
 hardly a woman in the company who had a shred of repu- 
 tation left her, nor one who was not perfectly witty and 
 delightful. It cannot surprise anybody who knows the 
 punctiliously careful immorality of this age, when vile- 
 ness was hedged about with so much form and etiquette 
 and decorum, as to be horribly confused in men's minds 
 with virtue, that Madame du Deffand should have 
 thought that the best way of clearing her honour — 
 which really had suffered a little from her futile 
 attempt to be reconciled to her husband — was to set 
 up "ce qu'on appelait son menage avec le President." 
 When she went later to stay at the Eaux des Forges 
 she and the President exchanged long letters filled with 
 
10 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 minute details about their health, and with sentences 
 which show that Madame was not a bit blind to her new 
 friend's defects. Perhaps he really was now, as he cer- 
 tainly was later, a friend only. Perhaps even in this 
 topsy-turvy world of unpurified France — what wonder 
 that its evil could only be washed out with blood ? — 
 the most charitable conclusion was still the least likely 
 to be wrong. The Marquise, at any rate, was never a 
 wholly vicious woman. She was at this time three- 
 and-thirty. What she said of herself many years later 
 was now, as then, the real key to her character, " Je 
 m'ennuyais ; de la toutes mes sottises." 
 
 She got tired of Sceaux, as it was her doom to get 
 tired of everything. Why should she bother herself to 
 illuminate somebody else's Salon ? She was brilliant 
 enough, alone, to light one of her own. She had already 
 given a few very gay little supper-parties, after her return 
 from Forges, at her lodging in the Rue de Beaune, and 
 welcomed there Voltaire and his Madame du Chatelet, 
 Henault, and Newton. Their success had stimulated 
 her ambition. Sceaux was more irksome than ever when 
 she went back to it — as she still did perfunctorily some- 
 times — although d'Alembert, that fickle, womanish 
 genius whom Madame protected and loved not a little 
 disinterestedly presently, was now of its company. 
 
 The time, of course, was not long in coming before 
 she broke with Sceaux entirely. She took apartments 
 in the Rue St. Dominique, in the Convent St. Joseph — 
 apartments which had nothing conventual about them, 
 
MADAME DU DEFFAND 11 
 
 one may be quite sure — and, in the room once occupied 
 by Madame de Montespan, started those "Soupers de 
 Lundi " which became the rage. 
 
 This was, or should have been, the happiest time in 
 Madame's life. Her social success was brilliant. She 
 was in the splendid prime of her womanhood. She was 
 always either entertaining or being entertained. "I was 
 at supper ce soir . . . chez;Madame de la Nalliere, demain 
 . . . aux Beauveau, hier chez le President." Everybody 
 wanted her, must have wanted her. She was so amus- 
 ing, so outspoken, so mechante. And still so bizarre ! 
 When her husband came to die, she went to take fare- 
 well of him as of a dear friend. No one but a French- 
 woman, and a Frenchwoman of this extraordinary 
 period, could have survived such a situation. She held 
 his hand, very likely, and apologised from quite a frank 
 heart for having been — so whimsical. How much or 
 how little remorse there may have been in her secret 
 soul, God knows. She flung herself into the full tide 
 of life again and forgot. 
 
 Was it only that she was affected by a more than 
 usually passionate fit of ennui, that a day came when 
 she suddenly abandoned her social gatherings, the sup- 
 pers, the wits, with a shriek, as it were : hid her eyes 
 from the lights and the glitter of the brilliant Paris she 
 had loved, and took refuge in her brother's house in 
 the country? Voltaire pursued her with madrigals, 
 and her lesser friends with a thousand persuasions to 
 return. But she was deaf to all alike. A horrible fear 
 
12 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 had overwhelmed her. With what a torture of doubt 
 and terror the suspicion grew daily nearer certainty! 
 Her mind was a great deal too clear and straightforward 
 to permit much self-deceit. It must have needed all 
 the courage of the woman, to whom boredom was the 
 supreme evil, to face the fact that she was going blind. 
 
 There was no wonder, with this doom before her, 
 that her solitary heart had a sudden dreadful eagerness 
 for affection, for some one to cling to, to depend upon. 
 In her brother's house, as governess to his little boys, 
 there was a certain Mademoiselle de Lespinasse, poor 
 and clever, born in ignominy, young, proud, passionate, 
 and charming. It was only natural that the two bril- 
 liant women should take a fancy to each other. Apart 
 from the cruel fate, daily coming nearer, which the 
 Marquise had to expect, she was now fifty-five years old, 
 and must in any case have been in need of companion- 
 ship. Were my brother the Comte and my sister-in- 
 law the Comtesse a little bit too dull and correct for 
 this woman, whose life had been neither ? Mademoiselle 
 interested her, anyhow, more than any other person in 
 the house. A stain on her birth ? Why, that was quite 
 correctly romantic, and exactly like the beginning of a 
 novel. (Madame was devoted to novels — they were so 
 little trouble to the intellect to read.) In an ambiguous 
 position in a rich man's house ? Delightful ! Impulsive 
 and uncontrolled ? So much the better. Mademoiselle 
 had already arranged to leave the Marquis de Vichy's 
 service, and was living at Lyons upon twelve pounds a 
 
MADAME DU DEFFAND 13 
 
 year when she received Madame du Deffand's offer of 
 a home in the Convent St. Joseph, and an annuity of 
 four hundred livres. 
 
 The Marquise went back, then, in 1753 to her Paris, 
 and to her little suppers in the Rue St. Dominique, in 
 spite of her affliction, which she had accepted with not a 
 little fortitude and philosophy. " I am blind, Madame," 
 she wrote to the Duchesse de Luynes. " I am praised 
 for my courage, but what should I gain by despair ? " 
 In the spring of 1754 Mademoiselle de Lespinasse came 
 to Paris, and for ten years helped her benefactress to 
 entertain the most brilliant society of the age. 
 
 One can but hope that the Marquise found her new 
 venture, for a while, satisfactory. The marvel is not 
 that these two undisciplined natures disagreed at last, 
 but that they did not disagree from the first. Madame's 
 character was, one knows, quite frank, selfish, and ill- 
 regulated; Mademoiselle's belongs to another history. 
 They fell into that old, old mistake very likely, which 
 makes it so commonly impossible for women to live 
 together — they wouldn't leave each other enough inde- 
 pendence of opinion and action. When the Marquise 
 found at last that her companion had started a rival 
 Salon — in Madame's own room, and at an earlier hour 
 than Madame held her own — the final quarrel burst 
 into fire. The bonds of affection must have been often 
 weakened by minor disagreements before this incident 
 snapped them for ever. There was a fine stormy 
 scene. Mademoiselle threatened to take poison — did 
 
14 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 take just enough to make herself and everybody else 
 uncomfortable. They parted. Mademoiselle took with 
 her half the allegiance of many of Madame's court, and 
 all the faithless fidelity of d'Alembert. 
 
 It is not a little painful to think of the old woman 
 — she was now nearly seventy — blind and baffled, left 
 sitting alone, with how many dreadful idle hours to 
 think over the desertion of this dear friend, and mis- 
 trust the faith of that! Henault proposed marriage 
 to the Lespinasse, it is said. All the philosophers were 
 against this old Marquise — either because she would 
 not accept their philosophy, or because the philosophers 
 too were but men and preferred the grace of youth 
 to the cleverest old age. But Madame was not to be 
 crushed. Society was still breath to her body, light 
 to her blind eyes, life to her soul. She plucked up a 
 spirit. She had still some faithful friends, her nightly 
 gathering of celebrities, and then the intimacy of one 
 of the wittiest Englishmen who ever lived. 
 
 Look into her Salon at this time, on a Sunday even- 
 ing perhaps, somewhere in the small hours. For all 
 the late desertions, here was a company so uniquely 
 brilliant, that as one watches it one understands what 
 Talleyrand meant when he said that no one could 
 conceive what a delightful thing life could be unless 
 he had belonged to the French aristocracy before the 
 Revolution. Here was Horace Walpole, smart and 
 gouty, with his fluent bad French and his infinite 
 sense of humour. Here was the President, very clever, 
 
MADAME DU DEFFAND 15 
 
 very deaf, and not yet openly false. Here were the 
 Neckers, my Lord Bath, Gibbon, George Selwyn, Lord 
 Carlisle, the delightful Duchesse de Choiseul, the 
 Duchesse de Luxembourg ("very handsome, very 
 abandoned, very mischievous"), possibly Charles Fox, 
 and a dozen minor celebrities. What a feast of 
 epigram was here ! On whatever subject these people 
 talked, they talked brilliantly. Lord Bath found that 
 they knew more about the history of England "than 
 we do ourselves." They evolved couplets, quatrains, 
 caracteres. Every other word was a bon-mot. These 
 lions did not all roar together and drown each other 
 as the British lions do. French wit was still the most 
 graceful, the most subtle, the most delicate, the most 
 tactful, the most considerate wit in the world. This 
 company had the perfection of good manners, if it had 
 no other kind of perfection. There is, perhaps, no 
 wonder that with the strong dawn of a utilitarian age 
 such an institution as the Salon should have faded 
 for ever. Those hard people whose only business it 
 is to act have long blotted out the class whose chief 
 business it was to talk. 
 
 From her armchair, quite blind and very far-seeing, 
 Madame led that matchless company and conversation 
 with the easiest grace. She scarcely ever left the house 
 in the daytime now. At night, unless she was enter- 
 taining at home, she was always at a party elsewhere, 
 or at the opera, the theatre, or Versailles. She had 
 the habit of never getting up until six o'clock in the 
 
16 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 evening, like the wicked nobleman in a story-book. 
 In the mornings an old soldier from the Invalides 
 came to read aloud to her. She kept Wiart, her 
 secretary, busily employed; wrote by him innumer- 
 able letters to Horace Walpole when he went back to 
 England. 
 
 Madame's relations to this man were, it would seem, 
 not a little pathetic. In the ordinary acceptation of 
 the word she was not, perhaps, in love with him. She 
 was many years his senior. But then, too, she was 
 dreadfully alone in the world — with the saddest need of 
 human affection and the saddest lack of it in her life. 
 Her letters are filled with that impulsive warmhearted- 
 ness in which there is no kind of dignity. "I want 
 you," she says in effect. " I may make myself ridicu- 
 lous by such an affection; but what do I care, what 
 have I ever cared, for that ? " And when he responded 
 with that quiet prudence and carefulness for which one 
 can but respect him, " You ! " she says, " you ! Why, 
 you are a man of stone, of ice — in a word, an English- 
 man ! " And, at last, " Pouvez vous ignorer ? mais . . . 
 je me tais." 
 
 She did not indeed — it was not in her character — 
 subdue herself at all satisfactorily for more than a few 
 days. The feelings of her undisciplined old heart came 
 bubbling up through her accounts of the Du Barri or 
 the Dauphiness Marie Antoinette, through her shrewd 
 opinions of the books that had been read to her, and 
 her notes on Salons and suppers. Horace was the one 
 
MADAME DU DEFFAND 17 
 
 passion of her life of which she did not live long enough 
 to be cured. 
 
 As her years advanced, that fatal ennui which was 
 her curse, gathered its forces to overwhelm her. Books 
 bored her now. They were so long and so trite and so 
 like each other ! Throw them away. For this, too, is 
 vanity. Her old friends were dead. She had outlived 
 many even of her old acquaintances. The zest of an 
 enemy or two was wanting soon. When they told her 
 the Lespinasse was dead she only said, " If she had died 
 sixteen years earlier I should not have lost d'Alembert." 
 The President, too, had gone the way of all flesh. Oh, 
 what a doom to sit alone amid the ruins of yester- 
 day's feast with the other guests departed, and jaded 
 memories of the banquet for all one's comfort ! " I 
 have no passion of any kind," wrote the Marquise to 
 Walpole, "hardly any taste for anything; no talents; 
 no curiosity . . . que faut-il done que je fasse?" And 
 when he replied in attempts at consolation, "I thank 
 you for your good advice," said she. " I am old, deaf, 
 blind. I wish I could take it ; but that cannot be." It 
 was the acme of hopelessness. 
 
 Even the society to which she clung palled upon her 
 at length. As she sat in that old tonneau of hers, the 
 wit fell on her ears, flat, stale, and unprofitable. How 
 well she knew the tricks of expression and manner 
 which gild dulness even, or make so little cleverness 
 seem so much. To despise the world to the full, one 
 must be a worldling. God ! what a death before 
 
18 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 death, to see the vanity and emptiness of the life one 
 has chosen, and yet to have no hope beyond it ! This 
 woman was quite without religion. She had tried to 
 be devote, and failed. She was sceptical even of scepti- 
 cism. Call in the guests, then ; multiply the suppers ; 
 laugh, talk, jest, that one may escape a little that 
 " blank stare of the grave." Anything was better than 
 those blind, sleepless nights of dreadful retrospect and 
 shuddering anticipation. In the dead of them, the 
 blind woman sat up and tried to occupy her brain 
 mechanically by making verses. In the morning there 
 would be at least life, stir, movement, the preparation 
 for the company of the evening. But the nights — not 
 all the precepts of the preachers are so awful a sermon 
 as the latter end of this Marquise. 
 
 In the July and August of 1780 she complained of 
 being more than usually feeble and languid. Her 
 friends Madame de Choiseul and the Duchesse de 
 Luxembourg came often to see her, and did perhaps 
 the very little any human creature could do for her 
 now. Her companion, Mademoiselle Samadon, was 
 quite dutiful and uninteresting. Her servants had a 
 passionate attachment for her, not founded on the 
 virtues and stability of her character, nor yet hard to 
 understand. On August 22, 1780, she wrote her last 
 letter to Horace Walpole. " I have not enough 
 strength now even to be afraid of death," she said; 
 " and, except that I shall never see you again, I have 
 nothing to regret." 
 
MADAME DU DEFFAND 19 
 
 From that day she never rose from her bed. She 
 had no illness, hardly any bodily suffering. But she 
 was tired to her soul. The ante-room was full of in- 
 quirers who had been the habitue's of those brilliant 
 suppers. But what could these people do for her now ? 
 A little while before her death she heard Wiart weeping 
 by her bed. " You love me, then ? " she said, with a 
 pitiful astonishment that any human creature could care 
 for what must have been troublesome and a burden too 
 often. When he asked her if she suffered, she replied, 
 " No, no." She sank at last into lethargy, and from 
 lethargy very gently into death. That supreme weari- 
 ness, called life, was finished. 
 
 How should one judge the character of such a 
 woman ? She was the princess of the fairy tale who 
 was given at her birth all the gifts of the gods save one 
 — the power of turning the others to account. All her 
 friends — and she had many — spoke of her warm and 
 generous heart, her instinct which was almost genius, 
 her ready wit and tact, her clear, honest insight, her 
 bold and independent judgment. In a very artificial 
 age she was quite unaffected and downright, and 
 retained to her last hours an extraordinary naivete 
 and freshness. If she could have disabused herself of 
 the idea — an idea common in all the French upper 
 classes before the Revolution — that life is intended to 
 be an amusement, this Marquise might have been great 
 too. But to escape ennui she married in haste, forfeited 
 her honour, debased her soul, committed a thousand 
 
20 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 daily meannesses, wasted her powers, and ended a 
 fine example of her own aphorism that " Happiness 
 is the philosopher's stone which ruins those who 
 seek it." 
 
 As for her mind, it was one with which all but 
 the very solemn will have at least some sympathy. 
 Madame hated metaphysics, morals, and philosophy. 
 She liked to jump at conclusions (and always jumped 
 at the right ones) instead of arriving at them solidly 
 by the stupid, beaten track of learning and experience. 
 She loved anecdotes or a gossipy book of memoirs — 
 only it must be gossipy. History? Well, one is 
 obliged to read a little history, because it helps one to 
 know men, which is " the only science that excites my 
 curiosity." She was dreadfully bored by "Clarissa 
 Harlowe," which is ever so much too long, said Madame, 
 though she was almost the only critic of her day who 
 found that out. Buffon she thought of an insupport- 
 able monotony, and " Telemaque " wearisome to death ; 
 hated " Don Quixote," and did not find anything in 
 the vivid imagination of "Gulliver" to appeal to her 
 particularly common-sense old mind. There was, at 
 least, no humbug about Madame's opinions. She 
 yawned dreadfully over Milton, as many other persons 
 have yawned over him without the courage to say so. 
 She had a very un-French insight into the weakness of 
 her own nation, and estimated it — gay, bright, shallow, 
 delightful — quite soundly. Nor had she the slightest 
 hesitation in observing that that famous Jean- Jacques 
 
MADAME DU DEFFAND 21 
 
 everybody was raving about was disagreeable to her; 
 that she had never seen anything more contrary to 
 good sense than his " Emile," or to good manners than 
 his " Heloise," and nothing in the world quite so dull 
 and obscure as his " Contrat Social." 
 
 She had the very good sense, considering the position 
 of all her class, not to be at all fanatical for liberty, 
 which, after all, said she, and as if she could see into 
 that wild future, is not to be found in democracy, where 
 one has a thousand tyrants in place of one. " I always 
 hated the people," she says again, " and now I detest 
 them." Well for her, perhaps, that she did not live to 
 see that day when the people sat in dreadful judgment 
 upon such utterances as these. Her letters are as 
 candid and impulsive as herself. When she had a 
 great deal to say, she said it ; and when she had nothing 
 to say, she stopped. When she felt hopeless, she wrote 
 hopelessly ; and when she felt scandalously, she wrote 
 scandal. But she also made that famous old regime live 
 once more. She was herself an embodiment of its spirit, 
 and a type impossible to any other age or nation. In 
 her one sees its mad thirst for pleasure; its feelings 
 after truth ; its fine principles and its faulty practice ; its 
 wit, spirit, humour ; its profligacy, selfishness, despair. 
 And with her, something of the charm which made 
 it delightful and of the candour which sweetened its 
 corruption, went into darkness for ever. 
 
MADEMOISELLE DE LESPINASSE 
 
 When some student of the heart gathers together the 
 love stories of the world, he must not forget the letters 
 of Mademoiselle de Lespinasse. 
 
 Mademoiselle lives, and will live, not as the most 
 brilliant and sympathetic leader of the brilliant society 
 of France before the Revolution, not as the mistress of 
 d'Alembert, the confidante of Turgot, or the hostess of 
 the philosophers, the Encyclopaedists, and the Academi- 
 cians, but as the woman who sounded all the depths 
 and shoals of emotion and left behind her a cor- 
 respondence which is still warm with life and wet with 
 tears — an immortal picture of passion. 
 
 Mademoiselle's beginning was like her ending — like her 
 youth and her womanhood — a storm. The mother who 
 bore her in shame and secrecy wept over her and loved 
 her with that ungoverned affection which can bring 
 nothing but misery. She was baptized in a false name ; 
 entered, with an exact duplicity which deceived nobody, 
 in the baptismal register dated Lyons 1732, as the 
 legitimate daughter of the Sieur Claude Lespinasse, 
 bourgeois, and Julie Navare. Her real mother, the 
 Comtesse d'Albon, though she could not own her as her 
 child, took the little creature not the less to her home in 
 
' //</(/<■ //u>/Je//r (/< -~Ss'.i/i{ ?t.(f->->< 
 
MADEMOISELLE DE LESPINASSE 23 
 
 the old manor-house of Avanches, where she was living 
 apart from her husband. The little Julie had as com- 
 panion the eight-year-old Cainille, the Comtesse's son 
 and heir. Is it safe to suppose that the children — 
 equally innocent though not equally fortunate — played 
 together happily for a while ? or must one rather think 
 that that passionate and restless nature which was to 
 ruin an older Mademoiselle Lespinasse made even her 
 childhood wayward, fretful, and unsatisfied ? 
 
 She spoke many years after of her mother's affection 
 for her, of the impulsive and sorrowful tenderness which 
 tried to make up to the child for that fatal stain on her 
 birth — for the future which such a beginning must 
 bring. The little girl was surely still very young when 
 she found out that there was some difference — a fatal 
 difference, which a child feels all the more because it 
 cannot understand — between her brother and herself. 
 The Comtesse " heaped her with benefits." She educated 
 her herself with an "excellent education." She did 
 everything in her power to make wrong come right. 
 
 Mademoiselle was sixteen years old when her mother 
 died and left her, worse than an orphan, to the tender 
 mercies of the world. 
 
 It was from this time that the oirl dated all her 
 sorrows. But they began earlier. The}^ began with 
 herself. When she looked round her condition was 
 deplorable enough. The considerable sum the Comtesse 
 had left her she had given, with an impulsive generosity 
 quite unwise and characteristic, to Camille. Perhaps 
 
24 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 she reflected he had more right to it than she had — or 
 never reflected at all. She found herself almost a 
 beggar. She had indeed brilliant talents, but not the 
 talents which earn a livelihood in any time, and cer- 
 tainly not dn her time. She was very quick, bright, and 
 impetuQus. Not a person for a subordinate position 
 this. She had grown up into a tall slip of a girl, not at 
 all pretty, but with something even now in her face 
 beside which beauty left one cold. She was so impres- 
 sionable, so sensitive, a brilliant creature with her nerves 
 so highly strung and her heart so warm, rebellious, and 
 imprudent, that one does not need to be very clever to 
 guess that when the Marquise de Vichy Chamrond (the 
 Comtesse's legitimate daughter and Julie's senior by 
 many years) offered her a home in her house, where she 
 was to teach her little boys, and by no means forget that 
 she had no legal right to call her sister, the situation 
 would be wholly impossible. But Julie had no choice 
 but to take it. Perhaps she did not know as yet that 
 the Marquise, though more than kin, was less than 
 kind.- And she had herself such a charming sympa- 
 thetic affection for children ! " They have so many 
 graces, so much tenderness, so much nature," she wrote 
 long after. She took those small nephews to her heart 
 at once, and, when she had long parted from their 
 parents in anger and bitterness, remembered the little 
 boys with a fond affection. 
 
 The Vichy Chamronds had a great house on the 
 Loire. They naturally did not want this brilliant poor 
 
MADEMOISELLE DE LESPINASSE 25 
 
 relation. They showed her that they did not want her. 
 But they were afraid of letting her go elsewhere. If she 
 was generous they were not. They were suspicious of 
 her ridiculous liberality to Camille. Did she want to 
 thrust herself in among them and claim her mother's 
 name? They accused her, very likely, of subterfuge 
 and meanness, of which their hearts were capable, 
 but not hers. How she bore that galling servitude 
 for five years is a marvel. "I could tell you things 
 from my own experience," said she, looking back at 
 this period of her life, " that you will not find in the 
 wildest romances of Prevost or of Richardson . . . and 
 that would give you a horror of the human species." 
 In every utterance of Mademoiselle's one must allow 
 for exaggeration. Her emotions were always at fever 
 heat, and her language as undisciplined as her nature. 
 But it remains a fact that she had decided to leave her 
 only' home and enter a convent, when Madame du 
 DefTand, the sister of the Marquis, came to the house 
 for a long summer visit. 
 
 Mademoiselle fell in love immediately with this 
 brilliant old woman, and Madame fell in love with her. 
 They were both so clever, so impulsive, so romantic ! 
 The delightfulness of their sudden fine scheme of living 
 together was only heightened by the Vichy Chamronds' 
 opposition. Madame was threatened with blindness, and 
 really needed a companion. No one ever appealed to 
 Julie's sympathies in vain. She had never in her life 
 been anything so dull as judicious or far-seeing, and had 
 
26 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 the warmest heart in the world. She could not but feel, 
 too, that, for her, any change must be for the better. 
 
 A few days before her final rupture with the Vichy 
 Chamronds she received Madame du Deffand's written 
 proposal that she should live with her in Paris. She 
 went to Lyons, and existed somehow on the cent e'cus 
 which was her whole fortune while the final arrange- 
 ments were being made, the objections of Camille and 
 the Vichy Chamronds being overcome, and Madame 
 du DefTand trying to be cool and judicial, and discuss 
 the matter soberly with her friends. One can fancy 
 the delights, fears, hopes, which rose in Mademoiselle's 
 heart. She was now twenty-two years old. The girl, 
 who felt-within herself a power and brilliancy not given 
 to one woman in a thousand, was to be the companion 
 of the mistress of one of the most famous Salons in 
 Paris, and to associate daily with the most accomplished 
 society in the world. What was there left to desire ? 
 
 The history of that menage in the Convent St. Joseph 
 was from the first not a little strange. All the wit of 
 the wittiest capital in Europe gathered round two 
 women, one of whom was old and blind, and the other an 
 obscure and nameless dependant, who had neither beauty 
 nor fame. Madame rose very late, and received after 
 nine o'clock at night. Mademoiselle had her little 
 chamber de derriere. Here, in her many solitary 
 hours, she cultivated her mind with Locke, Tacitus, 
 Montesquieu, Montaigne, Racine, La Fontaine, Voltaire ; 
 read, and re-read, and read once more her dearest Rich- 
 
MADEMOISELLE DE LESPINASSE 27 
 
 ardson and the inimitable Prevost; and cultivated a 
 boundless enthusiasm for Rousseau. When was it that 
 the men, whom to know was a liberal education, first 
 discovered that Mademoiselle was something better 
 even than a divinely sympathetic listener ? When was 
 it that Mademoiselle first began to neglect her duty to 
 her benefactress, and forgot that she was here to please 
 Madame rather than Madame's friends ? There was no 
 woman in the world, perhaps, who would have been 
 superior to the delight of subjugating, by a charm which 
 had no need of beauty, such men as Turgot, Marmontel, 
 Henault, and d'Alembert. Or if there was such a 
 woman, it was certainly not Mademoiselle. These men 
 met her soon upon equal terms. Between five and six 
 o'clock in the evening Mademoiselle held in that famous 
 little chamber de derriere, her own Salon, composed of 
 Madame's adherents, and while Madame slept. 
 
 She had lived with her employer ten years — and 
 deceived her how many there is no means of finding 
 out — when one day the Marquise, waking earlier than 
 usual, came to Mademoiselle's room, and discovered all. 
 
 One can picture the scene very well. Here were 
 Henault, who had been the old woman's lover, and 
 d'Alembert, who had been as her son — the pride, joy, 
 tenderness, of her age. Here was the company who 
 once hung on her words, who sought inspiration from 
 her lips, and found in her sympathy sufficient. And in 
 their midst, with light in her eyes, ardour and anima- 
 tion on her face, was Mademoiselle de Lespinasse. 
 
28 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 This was, as it must needs have been, the end of all 
 things. 
 
 The two women reproached each other bitterly. 
 Mademoiselle was not a little hysterical. She took 
 enough opium to ruin her nerves for the rest of her life, 
 and to make her fancy herself dying. When Madame 
 came to her bedside, " II est trop tard," said the Les- 
 pinasse with her tragic instinct. It was too late for any 
 reconciliation to be possible. The older and wiser woman 
 recognised that from the first. Mademoiselle took rooms 
 not very far from the Convent St. Joseph, and once more 
 faced the world alone. 
 
 It was during those ten years that the influence which 
 was to mould and then shatter her life had first come to 
 her. Mademoiselle fell in love. It is said that a certain 
 Irishman who visited at Madame du Deffand's was her 
 earliest passion. It may have been so. But it is un- 
 doubtedly a fact that for the last seven years of her 
 residence with the Marquise she was attached to 
 d'Alembert. How could they help caring for each 
 other ? There was so much to draw them together. 
 They were both, wrote d'Alembert, without parents, 
 without relatives, and from their birth had experienced 
 neglect, suffering, injustice. D'Alembert, too, was one 
 of the most celebrated men of his age, already a member 
 of the Academy of Sciences, of the Academie Francaise, 
 and to be before long its perpetual secretary, and the 
 recognised chief of the Encyclopaedists. And he was 
 also, it may be added, one of those inconsequent, sensi- 
 
MADEMOISELLE DE LESPINASSE 29 
 
 tive geniuses, as little able to look after himself as a 
 child, and with the same appeal that a child has to a 
 woman's heart. Mademoiselle must have been in her 
 early twenties when they first met. 
 
 " Que de defauts elle a, cette jeunesse ! 
 On l'aime avec ces defauts-la ! " 
 
 quoted d'Alembert long after, looking back at this 
 spring-time. She loved him with that abandon and 
 that passionate sincerity which made her love irre- 
 sistible. The rooms she had taken were too far from 
 the house where he lodged for her impetuousness. She 
 endured the separation for something less than a year. 
 Then d'Alembert fell ill. Mademoiselle flung prudence 
 to the winds for ever, went to him in the hotel in the 
 Boulevard du Temple, nursed him back to health, and 
 brought him home with her. 
 
 From this point one must not look into her history 
 for any such dull steadfast things as self-restraint, 
 honour, decency. The torrent of her passions seized 
 her and swept her to ruin. She was not designedly 
 bad. She was not designedly anything. Her impulses 
 and desires were her rudder, and her shipwreck none 
 the less disastrous for that. 
 
 Writing of the early days of this manage, Made- 
 moiselle said that her happiness frightened her. 
 
 There seem indeed — suppose one leaves out duty and 
 conscience, and this pair left them out quite comfort- 
 ably — to have been but few drawbacks. Only David 
 
30 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 Hume, the historian, passing through Paris and coming 
 to see them, spoke bluntly of Mademoiselle by a name 
 which she deserved too well. The rest of her acquaint- 
 ance, with that careful self-deceit which was so damning 
 a characteristic of the age, conveniently accepted the 
 intimacy as perfectly innocent, and visited Mademoi- 
 selle exactly as before. 
 
 It was a little while before d'Alembert joined her, and 
 in the year 1764, that she opened her Salon in her little 
 rooms in the Rue de Belle Chasse. She was now thirty- 
 two years old. She was certainly not more beautiful than 
 she had been as a girl. If the emotions age, she must 
 have looked greatly older than she was. She had known 
 so many ! But her face, which never was young, had a 
 thousand varying expressions to describe her soul ; and 
 her heart, which was never old, such warm enthusiasms, 
 such generous indignations, and such an abundance of 
 life and feeling, as, said one of her lovers, would have 
 made marble sensitive and matter think. 
 
 Her gatherings could hardly have needed the addi- 
 tional attraction of a d'Alembert even. Those who came 
 presently to see him stayed to listen to her. The chief 
 of all the Encyclopaedists, and the most brilliant talker 
 of his age, might be well content to be second to the 
 woman who but a little while ago was nobody and 
 nothing, and who now, by the power of her mind and 
 the charm of her nature, had all witty Paris at her 
 feet. 
 
 It is extraordinary to think that this woman, or any 
 
MADEMOISELLE DE LESPINASSE 31 
 
 woman, could command such an assemblage almost 
 every night for nearly twelve years. She did not even 
 give the little suppers which helped Madame du Def- 
 fand's Mondays, or the little dinners of Madame Geoffrin. 
 Should she by any chance go into the country or to the 
 theatre, all Paris knew beforehand. Before five she 
 received her intimates, listened, as only Mademoiselle 
 could listen, to Turgot's plans of reform, or to the hopes 
 of Chastellux for his coming election. After five all the 
 world was admitted. 
 
 The meanest habitues of this Salon were the flower 
 of intellectual France of the eighteenth century. Here 
 came courtiers, philosophers, soldiers, churchmen. Here 
 were Bernardin de St. Pierre and La Harpe. Here 
 one listened to those splendid theories on humanity 
 and the Rights of Men which, put into practice, ended 
 in the Terror. Here were evolved some of the prin- 
 ciples of that Revolution which was to destroy first 
 of all the class who evolved them. Here one read 
 aloud the last play and the latest poem. One might 
 be grave or gay as one chose. There was all the 
 good in the world, thought Mademoiselle, in a little 
 mirth and lightness. She held in her slight hands 
 the threads of a dozen widely differing conversations, 
 and had the supreme gift of being to every one exactly 
 what he wished her to be. 
 
 Can't one fancy her, very tall and slight, moving 
 through the crowded rooms with her little dog at 
 her side, stopping to speak now to this man and 
 
32 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 now to that, with her heart always in what she said, 
 a little impetuous in speech, keenly sensitive to the 
 lightest change in the social atmosphere, very natural, 
 very animated, very quick? When people talked to 
 her they never felt how clever she was, but how 
 clever they were. It was Guibert who said of her 
 that she seemed to know the secret of all characters 
 and the measure of every one's mind. 
 
 Is it some fine scheme for the good of the people this 
 group are discussing? It must be, by the upturned 
 face, eager and tender, with which Mademoiselle listens 
 to them. She moves in a few minutes to another 
 little coterie which is philosophic or metaphysical 
 perhaps; and Mademoiselle has a passion for abstruse 
 thought. Over here they are talking music, or art. 
 The woman of whom it is said that she can appreciate 
 perfectly, each in its degree, a Rubens or the little 
 dead bird of Houdon, the famous painter on enamel, 
 brings into this conversation, as she brings into all 
 conversations, the warmth of human emotions and 
 the vivid charm of her inimitable personality. Her 
 contemporaries unite in speaking of her, as hostess 
 and friend, with such a glow of enthusiasm that after 
 more than a hundred years one still feels for her 
 something of the passion they did. 
 
 It was in 1767, and only three years after she had 
 given herself to d'Alembert, that Mademoiselle fell 
 violently in love— with the Marquis de Mora. The 
 Marquis was Spanish, ardent, chivalrous, and five- 
 
 I 
 
MADEMOISELLE DE LESPINASSE 33 
 
 and- twenty. Mademoiselle was ten years older. But 
 what did that matter ? Passion has no age, and, it 
 may be added, no sense of humour. With the 
 southern blood of de Mora on the one side, and 
 the vehemence of Mademoiselle on the other, it would 
 have been in vain to expect self-restraint from either 
 of them. The peaceful d'Alembert was quickly swept 
 aside by the rush of their feelings. His only use 
 soon was to listen to the story — though not all the 
 story — of Mademoiselle's devotion to his rival. When 
 de Mora came back from Ferney, where he had 
 been visiting Voltaire, she flung herself into his arms 
 with a delirious self-abandonment. The fever of this 
 attachment lasted for five years, during which Made- 
 moiselle never knew a rational moment. Then de 
 Mora, with the seeds of a fatal complaint already 
 within him, had to go back to Spain. 
 
 They parted in an agony of despair. It was 
 d'Alembert who fetched his rival's letters, and brought 
 them to Mademoiselle directly she was awake. And 
 it was to d'Alembert that she left as a legacy her 
 papers containing the history of the episode and 
 the certain proofs of her faithlessness to him. 
 
 What a pitiful story it is ! One is hardly surprised 
 to hear that Mademoiselle did not wait for de Mora's 
 death to betray him in his turn. Before that news 
 reached her Guibert was her lover, and the first 
 wild hours of a new passion had robbed her of the 
 last tattered shreds of her self-respect. Guibert was 
 
34 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 soldier, author, philosopher — the man of whom Voltaire 
 said " qu'il veut aller a la gloire par tous les chemins." 
 
 It was in her own Salon Mademoiselle had first met 
 him. He was known to every one by his Essai sur la 
 Tactique and his military feats in Corsica ; and half 
 the women in Paris listened, worshipping, while he 
 read aloud his new tragedy, Le Connttable de Bourbon. 
 With his connection with Mademoiselle began the cor- 
 respondence by which she lives. 
 
 The letters were from the first a cry. The mental 
 attitude of the woman who wrote them to Guibert, from 
 the house of d'Alembert, and in terms of an ecstatic 
 devotion for de Mora, may well baffle the student 
 of human nature. Yet there is not a page of 
 Mademoiselle's wild outbursts which does not bear 
 upon it the undeniable stamp of a vehement sincerity. 
 Her attachment to d'Alembert had no doubt cooled 
 before this into friendship. But her very first letter 
 unites a headlong devotion to Guibert with a passionate 
 love for de Mora and a wild remorse for the fatality 
 (Mademoiselle called it a fatality) which made her false 
 to him. It is not too much to say that of these letters 
 there is not one quiet, sane, or prudent. Though they 
 are written in that purest French in which Made- 
 moiselle thought and talked, they are" in no sense a 
 literary composition. They are only the bared heart 
 of that unhappy woman who said of herself, "Mon 
 Dieu ! que la passion m'est naturelle, et que la raison 
 m'est etrangere ! " 
 
MADEMOISELLE DE LESPINASSE 35 
 
 Guibert was travelling in Germany when she began 
 writing to him, not because he was obliged to travel, 
 but because he preferred it apparently to being in Paris 
 with her. She wrote to him constantly. She was 
 never quite sure of him, as it were. Did she remember 
 too often for her peace that she was forty years old, and 
 had neither beauty nor innocence to give him ? Her 
 letters were full of devotion, indeed; but then they 
 were full too of self-reproach — and of M. de Mora. 
 This woman had no subtlety. If it needed art to keep 
 her lover, sne would not keep him. The thought oi 
 him was with her always. While her passions lasted, 
 they were meat, drink, air, light, life to her. Even in 
 her Salon, "From the moment one loves," she says, 
 " success becomes a weariness. A-t-on besoin de plaire 
 quand on est aimee ? " The emotions of .the last years 
 had already begun to undermine her health. She was 
 thinner and paler and older-looking now than ever. 
 With d'Alembert she was not a little difficult and 
 capricious — full of those impatient imperfections which 
 first made him love her and kept him weakly faithful 
 to the end. She had known Guibert but a very little 
 while when the inevitable punishment of such a con- 
 nection fell, as always, upon the woman. The excess ot 
 her devotion bored hiuO He must have a little recrea- 
 tion after all. There was a certain Monsieur de Cour- 
 celles — with a daughter. One knows the end of that 
 story. 
 
 Mademoiselle received it, not the less, with a shriek. 
 
36 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 One can see her face, wild, haggard, and despairing, 
 through the reproaches she writes to him. " You have 
 made me know all the torments of the damned," she 
 says, "repentance, hatred, jealousy, remorse, self-con- 
 tempt." And Guibert answers to tell her of that other 
 person, "pretty, gentle, sensitive, who loves me, and 
 whom I am created to love." There is no cruelty 
 so complete and so selfish as the cruelty of a great 
 happiness. 
 
 On September 23, 1775, Mademoiselle wrote to 
 Guibert : " Perhaps one never consoles oneself for great 
 humiliations. I wish that your marriage shall make 
 you as happy as it has made me wretched ; " and then, 
 " You are married ; you have loved, love, will love one 
 whose brightness and strength of feeling have long 
 endeared her to you — that is in order, nature, duty 
 — and who would trouble your joy with questionings 
 must be fool indeed. Quand une fois le fil de la verite 
 a ete rompu, il ne faut pas le raj outer; cela va toujours 
 mal." 
 
 Her health was by now utterly broken and wretched. 
 It was her part to stand by and watch the happiness 
 which had ruined hers. She was long past pride, past 
 dignity, past honour. She went on writing constantly 
 to the man who had abandoned her, conscious that she 
 wearied and burdened him — bitter in her reproaches 
 and her self-reproach — and contemptuous of the wasted 
 love she was not noble enough to hide. Her body was 
 racked by cough and fever. But the soul which fretted 
 
MADEMOISELLE DE LESPINASSE 37 
 
 it to decay had the brilliancy of the last flame. She 
 still received her friends, had still that tender interest, 
 that perfect understanding, that divine sympathy which 
 were hers alone. She was in bed all day sometimes, 
 with her misery soothed by opium, and got up at 
 night to listen to this man's hopes of a noble future, to 
 splendid enthusiasms which were to redeem the world. 
 One last flicker of self-respect came to her before she 
 died. She would no longer ask Guibert to come and 
 see her. Sickness and sorrow are so dull ! " Point de 
 sacrifice, mon ami; les malades repoussent les efforts; 
 ils leur font si peu ! " 
 
 She would not have been Mademoiselle if that re- 
 solution had lasted and her pride had triumphed over 
 her passion to the end. 
 
 She asked d'Alembert's pardon before she died. But 
 the last words she wrote were to Guibert : " Adieu, mon 
 ami. Si jamais je revenois a la vie, j'aimerois encore a 
 l'employer a vous aimer ; mais il n y a plus de temps." 
 
 Before such a tragedy as this life one may well pause. 
 What was this woman ? A sinner. But if there ever 
 was a sinner in the world unmeet for compassion, it 
 was not Mademoiselle de Lespinasse. 
 
 She said of herself with a bitter truth that every- 
 thing was against her. Her birth of shame gave to 
 her, as to too many other creatures so born, a fatal 
 heritage of vehement passions,, without the strength 
 to control them. Her upbringing did not help her. 
 Injustice maddened her. Her splendid mental gifts 
 
38 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 brought her under the potent charm of those specious 
 philosophies which were enthusiastic for a virtue more 
 than half confused with vice, and of philosophers who 
 appeared to think that so long as they talked finely 
 they might live contemptibly. Her quick impulses 
 and " the most inflammable imagination since Sappho ' 
 led her to deeper ruin. She was capable of remorse, 
 and not of amendment; of noble ideas, without the 
 steadfastness to carry them into action. She was the 
 ship without ballast, without compass, without chart, 
 tossed by every wild gust of feeling — no anchor, no 
 port to make for, and at the helm no guide. 
 
 She pointed, indeed, her own moral. She sold her 
 soul for happiness, and gained fever, wretchedness, and 
 despair. Her passions hid, even from her dreams, that 
 better love in whose serene depths are mirrored peace, 
 honour, and content: faithful affection for husband 
 and children, the quiet striving after all things great, 
 a noble life, and a happy death. D'Alembert, for 
 whom she had long ceased to care, was true to her; 
 de Mora died ; Guibert was false (his fine Eloge 
 d'Miza rings as hollow as d'Alembert's " Lament " 
 rings true). Her letters are only so many witnesses 
 to her tragedy. It was she who spoke of " cette 
 maladie si lente et si cruelle qu'on nomme la vie." 
 " I have proved the truth of what Rousseau says : 
 ' There are moments in life which have neither words 
 nor tears.' " " How misery concentrates ! One wants 
 so little when one has lost all." " Diderot is right ; it 
 
MADEMOISELLE DE LESPINASSE 39 
 
 is only the unhappy who know how to love ; " and " To 
 love and be loved is the happiness of heaven ; when one 
 has known it and lost it, there remains but to die." 
 
 She stands out, in brief, as one of the saddest 
 instances in history of the disaster that must needs 
 ensue where the paramount idea of life is not duty — 
 that duty which can make the most unfortunate 
 passion not all ignoble, and teach one to build on the 
 ruins of one's own hopes a temple meet for the gods. 
 
 She stands out, too, as one of the most extraordinary 
 social figures of the most remarkable social epoch the 
 world has seen. She rose from nothing. She had no 
 money. (" It is only the bored and the stupid who need 
 to be rich," said she.) She had very bad health ; and 
 her lover, though he spoke of her as having that in 
 her face beside which beauty is a " cold perfection," 
 spoke not the less frankly of her laideur. Yet as long 
 as the Salon is remembered, so long will be remembered 
 the woman who ruled hers by the power of exquisite 
 sympathy and the most womanly genius that ever 
 woman had. And so long as there exist unrequited 
 or misplaced affection, sin, suffering, and disappoint- 
 ment, so long will the letters of Mademoiselle de 
 Lespinasse make their appeal to the heart. 
 
MADAME GEOFFRIN 
 
 One of the intimates of Madame Geoffrin remarked 
 one day in her Salon that everything was perfect chez 
 elle except the cream. 
 
 " What will you ? " said Madame. " I cannot change 
 my niilkwoman." 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because I have given her two cows." 
 " Voila," says a biographer, " le rare et le delicat." 
 The incident was, indeed, quite characteristic of the 
 woman whose motto was " Donner et parflonner," who 
 had a tact that was almost genius, and a heart so kind, 
 tender, honest, and generous that there is not one of 
 the Salonieres upon whose memory it is pleasanter to 
 linger. 
 
 Marie Therese Rodet was born at Paris in 1699. 
 She was, says one authority, the daughter of a valet de 
 chambre of the Dauphine ; while another has it that 
 the valet was of Dauphigny. Everybody is agreed that 
 her origin was entirely obscure and bourgeoise. Her 
 parents died when she was in her cradle. She was 
 brought up, but not educated, by a shrewd and illiterate 
 old grandmother, who had a theory that if a woman is 
 a fool learning will only accentuate her folly, and that 
 
 40 
 
MADAME GEOFFRIN 41 
 
 if she is clever she will do well enough without it. 
 There is something to be said for this idea. 
 
 At fifteen Marie married a M. Geoffrin, who was also 
 bourgeois, enormously wealthy, and a lieutenant-colonel 
 of the National Guard. They had a daughter, after- 
 wards the Marquise de la Ferte-Imbault. M. Geoffrin 
 died. With the exception of one famous visit to the 
 King of Poland at Warsaw, Madame never left Paris, 
 even for a day. She held there the Salon which has 
 made her famous, and died there full of years and 
 honour in 1777. 
 
 This greatest of all the Salonieres had, therefore, no 
 history. That is, if outward events make a history. 
 But there are some people who could write the incidents 
 of their life on a thumb-nail, and who yet have known 
 great emotions, exercised wide influence, and left behind 
 them a more lasting reputation than many kings and 
 dynasties. Perhaps Madame Geoffrin was one of these. 
 
 There are so few records of the early part of her 
 life, that what she was in her brief girlhood is mostly 
 a matter of conjecture. She does not seem to have 
 wished to learn any more than the clever old grand- 
 mother wished to teach. She had no masters. She 
 never even knew how to spell. But she was made to 
 read — and to read much — and, what is better than all 
 the reading in the world, to think. She was very 
 little instructed in facts, and a great deal in principles ; 
 versed in no science but the science of human nature ; 
 shown how to look at things simply as they are ; and 
 
42 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 certainly not left in the arid condition of the pedante 
 who, having stuffed her head full of information, leaves 
 quite uncultivated her heart, her tact, her sympathy, 
 and that deeper wisdom which is not of books. The 
 little Marie, too, had always before her the example of 
 the humorous and clear-minded old bourgeoise, who 
 " talked so pleasantly of the things she did not know that 
 no one ever wished she knew them better," and who at 
 least, if results are to be trusted, showed the grandchild 
 that noblest of the arts — how to live well. 
 
 Can't one fancy what a very bright, modest, sensible 
 little girl this Marie was likely to have been when at 
 fifteen she married her M. Geoffrin? The marriage 
 seems to have been the usual mariage de convenance, 
 inevitable at that date. Monsieur was a dull, heavy, 
 honest, ugly person. There is one little story to the 
 effect that in studying the Encyclopaedia, printed in 
 two columns, he read straight across the page, and 
 remarked afterwards that the book seemed very fair, 
 but a trifle obscure; and another little story to the 
 effect that he would read the first volume of a history 
 or book of travels, written in several volumes, over and 
 over asrain, and then wonder that the author should so 
 much repeat himself. The stories are not true, very 
 likely; but if they are, one cannot but think that 
 even this stupidity had, as it were, its own especial 
 appeal to the wide, kindly heart of the girlish wife. 
 It is only a very shallow cleverness that is annoyed 
 at stupidity after all. It is your wise people who can 
 
MADAME GEOFFRIN 43 
 
 afford to treat it very gently — seeing how little it is the 
 wisest can know — and who would have a fellow-feeling 
 for that worthy, silent old manufacturer of ices (this 
 was M. Geoffrin's trade) at the head of the table, trying 
 vainly to catch the sense of the witty, elusive talk going 
 on round him, and not a little thankful to get back to 
 solitude, where he could be as unintellectual as he felt 
 inclined, and practise comfortably on his tromjpette 
 marine by the hour together. 
 
 There is no evidence to show that Madame did not 
 treat Monsieur with at least as much sympathy and 
 thoughtfulness as she treated all the world. He gave 
 her great wealth, for which a woman who so loved to 
 make others happy could not but be grateful. Her 
 beautiful rooms were full of perfect statuary and pic- 
 tures. She was enabled, and already beginning, to 
 entertain her friends. This little bourgeoise, with her 
 fine talent for order and decorum, must needs have 
 regulated her husband's home well and happily. 
 Though he was a nonentity, a respectable old figure- 
 head to her guests, it does not follow he was nothing 
 more to her. The stranger who inquired presently 
 what had become of the old man who used to be at 
 Madame's dinners, and was now there no more, and 
 was met by the reply, " C'etait mon mari ; il est mort," 
 represented the attitude towards M. Geoffrin of some 
 of Madame's friends, but not that of Madame herself. 
 
 It is said that she received what may be called her 
 training for her Salon from the clever and corrupt 
 
44 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 Madame de Tencin. That may have been. No train- 
 ing, however brilliant, could have fitted a woman un- 
 fitted in heart and character to be, not merely the 
 hostess, but the friend, confidante, mother as it were, 
 of the most brilliant genius of the eighteenth century. 
 
 The Salon of Madame GeofFrin is one of the wonders 
 of the social world. She had no position. She could 
 claim as father a valet de chambre in an age when the 
 aristocracy would not touch the canaille with the tips 
 of their white fingers. She was wealthy, indeed, but 
 in a time when all the noblesse were also wealthy (with 
 their rich places and perquisites and blood-money from 
 the taxes), so that there was not then, as now, an 
 acknowledged aristocracy of bullion. Her trompette 
 marine, with his fortune made in trade, was no great 
 help to her. She was not beautiful. She had little, 
 gentle, old-maidish ways that never even let her seem 
 young. She was respectable when decorum of manner 
 was highly unpopular and taken to be a tacit reproach, 
 in the very worst taste, upon modish levity. She was, 
 as has been seen, uneducated. 
 
 And to her rooms soon flocked savants, philosophers, 
 artists, nobles, princes, ambassadors, politicians, re- 
 formers. On Monday one dined here — the perfection 
 of a little dinner, simple, suitable, well chosen — the 
 guests mostly painters and sculptors. What did 
 Madame know about art ? Nothing, except what a 
 refined natural taste could teach her. On Wednesdays 
 the dinner was literary — Marmontel, Holbach, d'Alem- 
 
MADAME GEOFFRIN 45 
 
 bert, Gibbon, Hume, Horace Walpole, and the only 
 woman besides the hostess, Mademoiselle de Lespinasse. 
 Can't one hear the conversation ? Madame Geoffrin 
 had the supreme art of making other people talk their 
 best. She knew just where to put in a word or to ask 
 a question. She had in perfection that finer accom- 
 plishment — how to listen. She might very well have 
 known more about books than she did. But it was 
 impossible that she should have sympathised better 
 with the makers of books, their hopes, cares, fears, 
 ambition. These men told her their difficulties. She 
 advised them, helped them, cheered them. She was 
 their good angel — quite a human good angel, with 
 that prim exactness about her dress, lavender-scented, 
 dainty, quiet, with her spotless muslins about her 
 neck, the little cap tied under her chin — the very 
 soul of gentle good sense, gay, kind, wise, natural, 
 orderly. 
 
 After the dinners she received all her world. What 
 an assembly it was ! This Salon was at once the most 
 catholic and the most particular of all the Salons. 
 Here, it is said, sovereigns met their people. The aris- 
 tocracy of genius was brought close to the aristocracy 
 of birth. Was one clever, poor, obscure, or titled and 
 famous? The two met on common ground and were 
 both the better. Here were Montesquieu, Voltaire, 
 Diderot, Algarotti, and Lord Shelbourne. Stanislas 
 Augustus, afterwards King of Poland, was a " host " of 
 the company, and brought in his train the Polish nobles 
 
46 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 and notabilities of the day. Here d'Alembert met 
 often his fatal passion, Mademoiselle de Lespinasse. 
 Here was Grimm, who had come straight from another 
 and a very different Salon and influence, that of his 
 mistress, Madame d'fepinay. Horace Walpole, perhaps, 
 had been at Madame du Deffand's. 
 
 In this corner one was complimenting Bernardin de 
 Saint- Pierre on his Paul et Virginie, " that swan song 
 of old dying France." In another there was a group of 
 laughing girls, for Madame loved such as they loved 
 her. Women of fashion talked with the rugged old 
 bourgeois reformers, who first of all should have re- 
 formed their class and character. The broken French 
 of those "foreigners of distinction," who never passed 
 through Paris without visiting Madame Geoffrin, was 
 audible everywhere. Vanloo and Vernet were looking 
 at the priceless pictures and statuary, bought out of 
 the trompette's ice-money. And over all, the genius of 
 good taste, good order, good sense, presided that woman 
 who was well called the " invisible Providence " of her 
 assemblies, Madame Geoffrin. 
 
 Though she must have been very young when she 
 first began to receive a society more illustrious than 
 any since the days of Madame de Rambouillet, she had 
 from the very first the quiet sageness of middle life, 
 and that aversion to change, hastiness, and discord 
 which one does not associate with youth. Were they 
 talking politics ? Madame knew nothing of politics. 
 They made people bitter, argumentative, quarrelsome. 
 
MADAME GEOFFRIN 47 
 
 She listened a little while, then, when the discussion 
 grew too heated, interposed with her "Voila qui est 
 bien." That was her oil on troubled waters, her 
 password to harmony, fairness, and reason. In her 
 rooms there was always a calm, though it were but 
 the calm before the storm. The distant rumble of 
 the thunder of that tempest that was soon to burst 
 over France was not heard in this quiet place. By 
 Madame's fireside, indeed, and under Madame's peace- 
 ful influence, one whispered of those doctrines which 
 would presently bouleverser the world. But it was the 
 writers, not the actors, of that great drama who gathered 
 here, and when they got too fiery and hot-headed in 
 their discussions, as some needs must, they drifted away 
 naturally from the gathering of Madame Geoffrin to the 
 greater liberty allowed by Holbach and Helvetius. 
 
 Madame had a little supper-party for a few chosen 
 intimates when her world had gone away. She did not 
 even now talk much herself — only interposed now and 
 then with a gay little story or a kind little axiom. All 
 her sayings were kind, it seems. It is not so difficult to 
 be witty if one is permitted to be a little bitter too. But 
 to be witty, and to see persistently the best side of 
 people and motives, is by no means so easy. If Madame 
 had believed less in her friends she could not have 
 helped them half so much. It is not hard to under- 
 stand why these impulsive, brilliant Frenchmen came 
 to this wise little bourgeoise with their confidences and 
 confessions. She scolded them well, a part, when the 
 
48 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 supper was over; but she understood them perfectly, 
 and had the charity that believeth and hopeth all 
 things, and that makes the most fallen once more 
 believe and hope in himself. 
 
 All her friends .were not, of course, brilliant people. 
 Was it Madame Geoffrin Shenstone was thinking of 
 in particular when he wrote of the Frenchwoman in 
 general ? — " There is a quality in which no woman in the 
 world can compete with her — it is the power of intel- 
 lectual irritation. She will draw wit out of a fool." There 
 is a charming story told of Madame Geoffrin, who found 
 herself tete-a-tete for a whole long winter evening with a 
 worthy and unsufferable old bore of an abbe. What 
 was to be done ? Yawn in each other's faces ? Die of 
 tristesse and ennui under a mask of social smiles ? 
 Madame, " inspired by the desperate situation," set her- 
 self to work to make the bore amusing ; and succeeded 
 so well that when he left her she gave him a little com- 
 pliment on his " bonne conversation." " Madame," said 
 he, "I am only the instrument on which you have 
 played beautifully." 
 
 This was the key at once to her character and to 
 her social success. She " played beautifully " the noble 
 music of the great masters on instruments from which 
 others only extracted the vile jingle of street songs 
 or the fierce passions of the "Marseillaise." She did 
 not only draw cleverness from the stupid, but good- 
 ness from the corrupt. Instead of the licence and 
 indecency of the gatherings of Mademoiselle Quinault, 
 
MADAME GEOFFRIN 49 
 
 there were her modest little suppers, where even 
 Burigny, her dear major-domo, was not required to 
 keep order, because she knew so well how to keep it 
 herself. She still stands out, with her carefully regu- 
 lated home and her serene mind, as the noblest high- 
 priestess of decency and right. She still gives the 
 lie to the delusion (which even now obtains in her 
 country, if one must judge by its fiction and plays) 
 that virtue must be stupid. If in reading of her, with 
 that lack of events in her history and that gentle 
 regularity in her daily life, she seems dull even for 
 a moment, the fault lies only with her biographer, 
 and not with the woman who for fifty years was as 
 a mother, beloved, worshipped, honoured by the most 
 brilliant spirits of her age. 
 
 It was in her own Salon that she first learnt that 
 affection, which she carried with her to her grave, for 
 Stanislas Augustus Poniatowski, afterwards King of 
 Poland. He appears to have been an honest, well- 
 intentioned person, not at all incapable of warm 
 feelings, or at all adequate to the tremendous situa- 
 tion in which he found himself. To Madame he was 
 her fits and her bien aime. A prince ? A king-elect ? 
 A king ? What did that matter ? He was first of 
 all, as it were, her son. She had the gift of looking 
 straight through the trappings of royalty, fame, posi- 
 tion, at the man within them. 
 
 In 1764 the Cabinets of Petersburg and Berlin set 
 him on the Polish throne, and Madame wrote to him 
 
 D 
 
50 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 as "Sire" and "Majesty," and regarded him for ever 
 as the child who wanted help and sympathy on a 
 difficult way, with whom one might quarrel a little, 
 but whom, feeble or strong, in or out of power, one 
 must needs love to the end. 
 
 .The letters the pair exchanged are not remarkable 
 as literary compositions. Madame's are full of the 
 faults of orthography for which she was famous. They 
 have very few of the blithe little anecdotes and epi- 
 grams which made her conversation delightful. She 
 was writing to a man always in danger, fear, difficulty ; 
 and was herself the most sympathetic of women. So 
 what would one have? They have no great political 
 interest, or only that feminine view of politics which 
 always centres on the politician. But they are not 
 the less letters which even a king might have been 
 glad to have received. If any one will look back on 
 some cherished correspondence of his own, he will find 
 in it, it may be pretty safely said, less wit and brilliancy 
 even than Stanislas found in Madame Geoffrin's. It 
 is only posterity which demands cleverness, and com- 
 ment on contemporary history in a letter ; the receiver 
 only needs the touch of the writer's hand, the assurance 
 of affection and faithfulness, and the reminder that the 
 only real separation is that which causes no pain. 
 
 Madame had been corresponding with her son and 
 king only a few months when the idea of visiting him 
 at Warsaw took possession of her heart. She was now 
 sixty-five years old. She had never been out of Paris 
 
MADAME GEOFFRIN 51 
 
 in her life. She had preferred her ruisseau de la 
 rue de Saint-Honore to all the splendid places of 
 the world. The difficulties of travelling in that time 
 are hardly estimable. She had no one to go with her. 
 Her daughter was married and had her own ties. 
 Madame had to tear herself from a Salon of perhaps 
 forty years' standing. But the idea grew,, and then 
 dominated her. She and her king had a quarrel on 
 paper, and the scheme seemed likely to be abandoned. 
 They had a reconciliation, and their reunion was the 
 necessary consequence. One has to be a woman, per- 
 haps, and to understand that maternal yearning in 
 every woman's heart, to realise the absorbing nature 
 of the desire to see her bien aime again which 
 made Madame Geoffrin pursue her plan against every- 
 body's advice, and carry it out in the teeth of diffi- 
 culty. Her bien aime himself had been more than a 
 little doubtful about his chere maman attempting a 
 journey so hazardous. He had warned her often of 
 the drawbacks she would find. He would do his best 
 for her — she should be infinitely honoured and beloved 
 — but drawbacks there would be; and she paid no 
 attention to his cautions — or, rather, listened to them 
 and persisted. 
 
 In the end of June 1766, escorted by the Comte de 
 Loyko, chamberlain to Stanislas, Madame Geoffrin, 
 bourgeoise, started with an almost royal progress, and 
 with, it is said, the eyes of Europe upon her, on the 
 first stage of her travels. Can't one see her looking 
 
52 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 out from the windows of that berline, built for the 
 occasion, upon the new world ? A widely travelled 
 generation can hardly fancy the excitement and eager- 
 ness, doubt, fear, anticipation which such a journey 
 must have represented in the mind of a woman who 
 belonged to the most stay-at-home people of a stay- 
 at-home age. And behold, this was Vienna ! Not 
 Paris, indeed, but not all contemptible. Madame 
 parted here from Loyko, who was replaced by the 
 Captain Bachone, who spoke all languages, and was 
 prepared, it appears, to travel with suites of furniture, 
 cooks, provisions, silver plate, to render Madame's 
 journey as little inconvenient as might be. At Vienna 
 the greatest nobility of the land received this clever, 
 dignified daughter of the people with their very best 
 parties and welcome. Maria Theresa showed her the 
 finest kindness and sympathy. She saw all the 
 Austrian Royal Family — "the prettiest thing one can 
 imagine " — at Schoenbrunn. Here was the young 
 Marie Antoinette, hardly twelve years old, and already 
 lovely as an angel. "The Archduchess told me to 
 write to France and say I have seen her, this little 
 one, and find her beautiful." Was this the first foot- 
 step of that grim destiny which was to overtake " the 
 Austrian," falling on the threshold of her life? "Arriere- 
 petite-fille du roi de France." "Lovely as an angel." 
 "Write to your country and say you found her so." 
 It would have been but a part of the fitness of fate 
 that one of the first little nails in the coffin of 
 
MADAME GEOFFRIN 53 
 
 monarchy and of the queen should have been driven 
 there by the daughter of a valet de chambre. 
 
 Madame would have been sorry to leave Vienna, no 
 doubt, if she could have had room for such a feeling as 
 sorrow in her heart when she was getting nearer every 
 hour to this son of her age and her affection. She 
 had expressed herself so warmly and decidedly in that 
 quarrel they had had ! She was so anxious to see him, 
 and tell him that she would not have been half so 
 angry if she had loved him less. To her serene nature 
 the omnipotence of fate or death to dash the cup of 
 realisation from one's lips, even at the last moment, was 
 not so vivid as to a less sanguine temperament. She 
 looked forward to their meeting with a sure heart. 
 They were to be so happy, son and mother once more — 
 a French son and mother, be it understood, between 
 whom is that intimacy and confidence not half so well 
 known to the relationship in other countries. He was 
 to tell her what he had done, was doing, was going to 
 do. They would talk over his marriage, his prospects, 
 his thousand daily difficulties in that stormy kingdom, 
 which needed the strongest man at its head, and had a 
 very amiable one. She would advise him, scold him, 
 help him. She did not know much about his Polish 
 politics, but she could learn. She was all for him, and 
 not at all for herself. She wanted no advancement, no 
 place for her friends, no influence used here or word 
 spoken there — nothing but the good of one person, 
 Stanislas Augustus Poniatowski. 
 
54 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 No one who has lived long in the world will wonder 
 that this meeting at Warsaw did not fulfil all it pro- 
 mised. It is a truism, but not less a truth, that the 
 only unalloyed happiness in life is anticipation, and that 
 the happiest people are those whose dreams are un- 
 realised. These two, who loved each other sincerely, 
 disagreed upon a thousand minor and immaterial points, 
 as many other sincere lovers have done before and after 
 them. They could not consent to differ. (Has one 
 ever met a woman who could let a man think differ- 
 ently from her without dragging that difference to the 
 fore, and discussing and threshing it out a hundred 
 times a day ?) Madame suffered not a little. Stanislas 
 lodged her with splendour and honour. She obtained 
 — if that was any advantage — a very good idea of the 
 tottering state of this poor little kingdom, torn by 
 internal dissension, the plaything of the greater Powers. 
 She received during her stay in Poland letters from 
 Voltaire and Marmontel. Her whole visit there lasted 
 only a little more than two months. When she was 
 back again in Paris she was able to write of it with 
 enthusiasm. But there were not the less those clouds 
 on her happiness. When she had gone away Stanislas 
 wrote in terms of a passionate regret, and she answered 
 him from Vienna that the " tu " in which he addressed 
 her was an " illusion of Satan," and recalled " all that I 
 have suffered." There had been, it is said, influences at 
 work upon the king which Madame dreaded for him, 
 and of which she could not persuade him to rid himself. 
 
MADAME GEOFFRIN 55 
 
 They would love each other better when they were 
 separated. It is from a distance that one obtains the 
 best view of a city. Too near, one sees the defects of a 
 part, and not the beauty of the whole. 
 
 The pair resumed their correspondence with all their 
 old fervour when Madame was back again in her Paris. 
 She sympathised once more with all Stanislas' difficul- 
 ties and trials, which did not get fewer as the years went 
 on. She was now, as ever, the genius of common-sense 
 and quiet reason — calm, far-seeing, judicious. Petty 
 jealousies were quite forgotten in the very real and 
 daily growing need Stanislas had of her faithful friend- 
 ship. In 1769 she was able to write to him, "When one 
 is young, one's pleasure, passions, tastes even, form 
 attachments and break them. My feeling for you de- 
 pends on none of these things ; therefore it has lasted. 
 It has lasted in spite of candour and plain speaking, 
 and will last to the end of my life." 
 
 Madame was now seventy years old. Famine, finan- 
 cial disorder, and parties in the Court and Government, 
 who sacrificed the public good to gratify private malice, 
 made the condition of France appear deplorable, even 
 to a woman whose nature was at all times gently 
 optimistic. But the misfortunes of her own country 
 were light beside those of her king's. 
 
 In 1772 took place the first partition of Poland. By 
 1792, when the second partition broke Poniatowski's 
 heart, and he retired to Petersburg, to live there till his 
 death in 1798 with, it is said, no consolation but that 
 
56 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 taste for letters he had learnt of Madame Geoffrin, she 
 had long gone the way of all flesh. She wrote to him 
 so long as she could handle a pen, loved him as long as 
 she had a heart to love with, and in her last letter to 
 him told him that she could not express her joy at 
 leaving him happy and content. So that even Fate 
 is sometimes merciful. 
 
 The close of Madame Geoffrin's life was like its be- 
 ginning, well ordered and regular. She continued to 
 receive her friends in her Salon when she was a very 
 old woman. In the summer of 1776 she was attacked 
 by paralysis. The attack was brought on, say some, by 
 too close an attendance at a church festival. It may 
 have been. Though Madame had been the intimate of 
 the philosophers, had listened many times in her rooms 
 to the free expression of free-thought, and had been a 
 warm patroness of the Encyclopaedia, yet it was not a 
 little in keeping with the tranquil conservatism of her 
 character that orthodoxy should have claimed her at 
 last. Her daughter, Madame la Marquise de la Ferte- 
 Imbault, who was properly aristocratic and conven- 
 tional, took possession of her mother's bed, and would 
 not let those adventurous souls, Morellet, d'Alembert, 
 Marmontel, come near it. The sick woman was past 
 troubling at their exclusion; or, perhaps, like many 
 others, after having in life reasoned and wondered, was 
 glad to die in the bosom of that Church whose great 
 attraction to the soul is that it admits no doubts, saying 
 with that self-confidence which gives confidence, " Be- 
 
MADAME GEOFFRIN 57 
 
 hold, I am the Truth ! Rest in me." Madame at least 
 only smiled when she learned that her daughter was 
 thus "guarding her tomb from the infidels." It was 
 thought that her reason was dimmed a little. But she 
 was able to make her preparations for death gaiement, 
 almost as she had made them for her journey to Poland. 
 She had been always gently cheerful, and she was cheer- 
 ful now. When she overheard the people about her 
 bed making fine suggestions of the means Government 
 might employ to make the masses happy, she roused 
 herself to say: "Ajoutez-y le soin de procurer les 
 plaisirs." It was her last recorded utterance. 
 
 The character of Madame Geoffrin is quite simple. 
 She was less a great woman than a good one. A great 
 woman is the phoenix who rises from the ashes of her 
 sex's littleness once in a thousand years, and is in pro- 
 portion to great men about one to a hundred. Madame 
 did not electrify the world. But she left her corner of 
 it fairer, kinder, wiser; made by her character and 
 influence a cool oasis, very pleasant to rest in, in the 
 desert of French philosophy, atheism, and immorality. 
 
 A thousand stories are told of her generosity, her 
 tact, her honesty. The very people whom her bourgeois 
 decorum and soberness must most have reproached 
 could not but like her. " I am so crazy, and she is so 
 prudent," wrote Galiani to Madame Necker. "Still I 
 love her, I esteem her, I reverence her, I adore her." 
 Others, if none more contemptible and licentious than 
 the witty abbe, had the same feeling. 
 
58 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 Horace Walpole called her his director, his confessor, 
 the embodiment of common-sense. To be censured by 
 the Sorbonne, or shut up in the Bastille for one's violent 
 opinions, was almost the only form of folly Madame 
 could not forgive her friends. 
 
 Quiet was the chief of her household gods. Speaking 
 to Diderot of a lawsuit that was bothering her : " Get 
 done with my lawsuit," said she. " They want money ? 
 I have it. Give them money. What better use can I 
 make of my money than to buy peace with it ? " 
 
 She did, indeed, make better use of it even than that. 
 She is the most generous woman in history. It was 
 she who allowed Mademoiselle de Lespinasse, who had 
 no kind of claim upon her, a pension for life. It was 
 she who paid Poniatowski's debts when he first came, 
 a young man and a foolish one, to Paris. When she 
 visited her friends it was her tender pleasure to look 
 round their rooms and see what was wanting to com- 
 pleteness, and afterwards to contribute a piece of old 
 china, a picture, a couch, or a bureau. She had such a 
 delight in giving, that he would have been surly indeed 
 who could have refused to accept. 
 
 To Morellet and to Thomas she made a sufficient 
 allowance " pour leur faire une existence independante." 
 How many more of those poor devils of authors who 
 frequented her Salon, and had such very fine notions on 
 life and so very little idea how to live, she helped from 
 that wide purse and heart, one can only guess. One 
 Sunday — on Sundays she did not receive her friends — 
 
MADAME GEOFFRIN 59 
 
 one of them took her by surprise, and found her doing 
 up a considerable sum of money in little bags for distri- 
 bution among the poor. It was her regular Sunday occu- 
 pation. For here, in evil Paris, with its great gulf fixed 
 between class and class, there were so many sick who 
 needed the necessaries — of death — so many orphaned 
 babies, so many despairing women ! If Madame, who 
 did " good by stealth," was convicted of so much kind- 
 ness, how much more must there have been of which 
 no one knew ! She was fond of quoting that Eastern 
 proverb: "Si tu fais du bien jette-le dans la mer, et si 
 les poissons l'avalent Dieu s'en souviendra ; " and when 
 she was found out in goodness, past denial, excused 
 herself by saying, with her gay little smile, she had 
 only Vhumeur donnante. 
 
 But she had, indeed, that nobler generosity of soul 
 of which giving is but a small part. It was Madame 
 who first stretched out a hand of friendship to Madame 
 Necker, whom as yet the other women would not ac- 
 cept. And it was Madame who remained her friend 
 when the Necker, who was, besides, young and hand- 
 some, presided over a dangerously successful rival Salon. 
 It was Madame Geoffrin who was, in brief, beloved of 
 women, though she was also beloved of men ; who could 
 not bear the false change of compliments, eulogy, flat- 
 tery, and clung instead to the frank affection of that 
 generous youth, to whom, as to childhood, all men are 
 equal, and all the world seems kind. 
 
 There is no prettier picture than that Madame herself 
 
60 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 draws, with her natural illiterate pen, in one of the 
 letters to Stanislas. Among her closest friends were a 
 troop of laughing girls, who came and took her by sur- 
 prise when they wanted to be amused. It was not here, 
 volatile youth that was to cheer old age, but this gently 
 gay old age ( " Mon coeur n'a que vingt ans," said 
 Madame) which was to make youth merrier yet. One 
 may imagine the scene. They cluster round her, chat- 
 tering and impulsive. They are so light-hearted and 
 demonstrative, so eager to make confidences, so sus- 
 ceptible of influence ! They have come to stay ever so 
 long. They must insist on having supper with her — 
 on spending the lengthiest and gayest of evenings. At 
 their head was a girlish Madame d'Egmont — twenty 
 years old at the most — who was quite irresistible, said 
 Madame, when she looked up into one's face and talked, 
 and who had "a grace and vivacity which neither 
 sculpture nor painting shall pourtray." The description 
 of her was so charming that Stanislas wanted her por- 
 trait. She died, poor soul! in the sequel, still only a 
 girl, and childless. On that evening death and disaster 
 must have seemed far off enough. For Madame, though 
 she was old and had suffered, had the supreme unself- 
 ishness which communicates all its joys, and keeps its 
 sorrows to itself. She laughed with her visitors, and 
 scolded them tenderly after her fashion. " I scold them 
 on the way they waste their youth," she said, " and preach 
 to them that they may have an old age as bright and 
 healthy as mine," and gave them, perhaps, that senten- 
 
MADAME GEOFFRIN 61 
 
 tious little maxim, at which they all laughed delightfully 
 at the moment, and thought over a little afterwards: 
 " There are three things that the women of Paris throw 
 out of the window — their time, their health, and their 
 money." 
 
 Is it not a pretty, natural little scene in the coarse, 
 clever, artificial drama of this French eighteenth cen- 
 tury? Madame Geoffrin was in her own person a 
 witness to the quiet good that always lives on through 
 the worst periods of noisy vice. She should be remem- 
 bered for ever, if only as the type and voice of those 
 silent multitudes who follow duty in the basest age, and 
 in the teeth of a low public opinion struggle towards 
 ideals not mean. 
 
MADAME D'fiPINAY 
 
 In the group of brilliant women who "ruled Paris 
 through their Salons," there was not one so character- 
 istic of the worst side of that great eighteenth century 
 as Madame d'Epinay. In her one sees its sublime self- 
 deceit, after which all sin is easy. She had in full 
 measure its charm, its cleverness, and its folly ; its fine 
 talk and its mean practice; its feeling for beauty and 
 truth, and its " windy sentimentalism," which led away 
 from both. From her rooms came a hot air feverish 
 with debate. Here it was always candle-light, with no 
 cold clear morning to search the shams. Here every 
 woman was in love with the wrong man, and every man 
 in love with the wrong woman. The worst crime was 
 forgivable if the sinner sinned wittily. And out of her 
 portrait the presiding genius of this little world looks 
 down the century with the falsest smiling face that 
 ever woman had. For Madame d'Epinay was light to 
 her soul. 
 
 As she was also the friend of the great men of 
 a famous age, listened to Voltaire, Grimm, Galiani, 
 Diderot, Duclos, Holbach, Rousseau, and wrote memoirs 
 to record what she had heard, she has no slight claim 
 on remembrance. 
 
( fla 
 
 cuz/rrte ^y f y// / /ts/ // . 
 
MADAME D'fiPINAY 63 
 
 Louise Florence Petronville d'Esclavelles was born in 
 1726. Her father was governor of Valenciennes, and 
 lived there with his wife and child until his death. 
 Then Madame brought up the little Louise to Paris 
 for an education ; gave her M. d'Affry as a tutor (Louise 
 attached herself to him with a charming childish 
 affection), and returned herself to Valenciennes, leaving 
 the little daughter to be brought up, with a large 
 party of cousins, by her Aunt and Uncle Bellegarde. 
 
 Judiciousness does not seem to have been the dis- 
 tinguishing feature of Louise's early training. Madame 
 d'Esclavelles was a severe, righteous woman — hard and 
 fast rules and sharp punishments. She inspired in the 
 little girl the fear which is but too prone to protect 
 itself by white lies. When Louise had been long a 
 married woman, she was still in no small awe of her 
 mother, nay, had, up to the time of Madame's death — 
 though she was a tender daughter and a devoted — the 
 shrinking of the weak nature before the strong. 
 
 Uncle Bellegarde seems to have been particularly 
 kind, and Aunt Bellegarde distinctly disagreeable. 
 Louise formed devoted youthful friendships with her 
 girl cousins, and wrote affectionate careful letters (care- 
 ful, remembering he was her dear tutor, and would not 
 expect faults of style and expression) to M. d'Affry. 
 Then she went for a little while to a convent. When 
 she came out of it she was no longer a child, but a 
 charming girl, not pretty (but then a Frenchwoman 
 does not need beauty to make her attractive), with 
 
64 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 great dark eyes in a very pale, thin, animated, and 
 expressive face. As there was a boy cousin a good deal 
 at home, Louise, of course, immediately fell in love with 
 him. She confided her passion to his married sisters, 
 who, to do them justice, warned her quite openly of 
 their brother's real character — of his " rare facility " for 
 lying, his expensive, gay tastes, and notoriety for worse 
 wickedness. Louise was not in the least disillusioned, 
 of course. She had the most obstinate youthful in- 
 fatuation. To be sure this delightful M. de la Live did 
 not at all care for her at present. But he would— he 
 must. M. de la Live — he presently changed his name 
 to d'Epinay — was, in point of fact, not long proof against 
 the very evident admiration of his charming little cousin, 
 and having just, and most conveniently, been made 
 fermier general, married her at St. Koch. Louise was 
 nineteen. 
 
 The young pair continued, after the French fashion, 
 to live with M. de Bellegarde. Madame Bellegarde was 
 now dead, so Madame d'Esclavelles had taken her place 
 in the house. The d'Epinays began their married life 
 with that abandon to passion which goes before dis- 
 enchantment more certainly than pride before a fall. 
 On the very first day they had the most charming 
 coquettish quarrel about rouge. Was Louise to put it 
 on, like other women of her time, or not ? Mamma said 
 no. M. d'Epinay, yes. Between these two s 
 minded people Louise really could not tell in the 
 how to act. She gives the most vivacious little ac. < 
 
 i 
 
MADAME D'EPINAY 65 
 
 of the scene herself. She was in the heyday of a very 
 brief delight — young, attractive, beloved. One can read 
 between the lines the pleasure of her gay little heart, 
 and cannot but feel sad for the happiness that had no 
 stamina to keep it alive. 
 
 The pair after a time, and not a little in opposition 
 to the wishes of Madame d'Esclavelles, very naturally 
 liked to go out and enjoy themselves. M. d'Epinay 
 seems to have taken possession of Louise's character, 
 as mamma took possession of it in her childhood. She 
 was, just now at least, more afraid of him than of her 
 mother, and, besides, wanted to go to those balls and 
 parties where her brightness and vivacity made her 
 more admired than all the regular, dull beauty in Paris. 
 So they ignored mamma's strictness, and presently, and 
 in the very greatest excitement, gave a ball themselves. 
 
 They had been married about a year when Louise 
 discovered, what the warnings of her sisters-in-law had 
 failed to make her realise, the true nature of the man 
 she had married. It is difficult to fancy a more con- 
 temptible person than this gay, easy, pleasant, extra- 
 vagant, self-indulgent, light-hearted fermier general. 
 M. d'Epinay was never troubled all his life long by a 
 scruple. He had not the faintest sense of responsi- 
 bility. He was more cheerfully and good-naturedly 
 * icked than any other Frenchman in history. He did 
 
 she >ed plan to avoid right and practise wrong. He 
 
 chax saw no difference between them. 
 
 doefc )uise was a very young wife, and had been, poor 
 ' E 
 
66 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 soul, happy but such a very short time, the shrieks and 
 faintings with which she first learnt of her husband's 
 faithlessness may be well forgiven her. M. Jully, her 
 brother-in-law, comforted her by saying, "What does 
 it signify ? He won't love you any less in his heart." 
 M. d'Epinay himself also thought it really did not 
 matter. Louise always ended by sharing the opinion 
 of the people she was with. So she put on a very 
 pretty frock and a little colour on to her pale cheeks, 
 felt quite bright again, and they all went to a delightful 
 ball at the opera. 
 
 She had a better consolation when in the September 
 of 1746 her little son was born to her. There was a 
 great deal of natural affection in this not very profound 
 little heart, it seems. Madame was delightfully fond 
 and proud of the baby, and wanted very much to keep 
 him with her instead of putting him out to be nursed, 
 after the unnatural fashion of the time. " Que voila 
 une de ces folles idees ! " wrote M. d'Epinay, who was 
 away making his duty tour en province. So Louise 
 yielded, as she always yielded. It was while Monsieur 
 was on this tour, and his wife was still calling him her 
 " angel," and finding his absence " insupportable," that 
 she discovered by chance one day at a Paris jeweller's 
 that the " angel " had been giving his portrait mounted 
 in pearls to Some Other Person. When she taxed him 
 with this faithlessness when he came home, he laughed 
 and stopped her mouth with a^kiss. " What difference 
 does it make to you ? " he said, just as M. Jully had 
 
MADAME D'fiPINAY 67 
 
 said. "However fond I am of others, I shall always 
 be fondest of you." It was a fine consolation. There 
 is not a little significance in the fact that as M. 
 d'Epinay, gay, self-pleased, and debonnaire, went out of 
 the room laughing, M. de Francueil, who was to play 
 so fatal a part in the wife's life, entered it. 
 
 The whole scene is quite characteristic of that " Age 
 of Persiflage" which was even now rushing, drunk 
 with wit and pleasure, blinded by its own lightness, its 
 specious talking and evil-doing, upon the naked swords 
 of the Terror. 
 
 Louise, since that gay, faithless husband left her so 
 much, began in a sort of self-defence to form friend- 
 ships on her own account. There was Madame d'Arty, 
 who had no reputation to speak of, and who one night 
 took Louise (Louise wanting to go, and half afraid, and 
 planning feeble little excuses for her naughtiness in her 
 own mind all the time) to a gay surreptitious supper 
 with the inspector of the opera. M. d'Epinay was 
 dreadfully angry when he found out about the ad- 
 venture. It was not wicked. . It was worse. It was 
 inconvenable. Of what could Madame d'Arty be 
 thinking ? It was Monsieur himself who introduced 
 his wife to the friendship of the notorious Mademoiselle 
 d'Ette, who was so shameless, so clever, and so aban- 
 doned — with her exquisite complexion of milk and 
 roses, and her girlish airs of timidity — that of all the 
 base actions of the fermier gtnSral's life this introduc- 
 tion was perhaps the basest. 
 
68 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 Mademoiselle took possession of the little Madame 
 immediately. She established herself chez Epinay. 
 Monsieur was away. She sat at work with Louise — 
 those endless tapestries and embroideries which were 
 the fashion of the day — looked up from the frame, 
 perhaps, with her beautiful false eyes, to see how much 
 she might dare to say to this weaker woman, for how 
 strong a poison the feeble soul was fit. Louise adored 
 her, and confided in her. (Louise went on adoring 
 and confiding in the latest comer nearly all her life.) 
 Mademoiselle told her own shameful history, adding 
 complacently, as comment, "In all that youth and 
 lightness made me do, there is nothing, thank God, for 
 which I need blush." 
 
 When M. de Francueil called and bent over Louise's 
 little hand, and brought to bear upon her very sus- 
 ceptible heart the charms of his cultivated intelli- 
 gence and of his handsome face, the little devil of the 
 embroidery frame (there is no other word that quite 
 fits Mademoiselle d'Ette) saw the means to get Madame 
 into her power, and used them. The next day, perhaps, 
 she told Louise the further true story of M. d'Epinay's 
 infidelities. The wife repudiated the insinuations — 
 listened, doubted, believed. There seems no very 
 specific reason why Mademoiselle should have wished 
 to ruin her friend. That Madame dared to be still 
 innocent while Mademoiselle was corrupt to the core, 
 may have been reason enough. 
 
 In June 1747 Louise had a little daughter. By the 
 
MADAME D'fiPINAY 69 
 
 time she returned to Paris and her husband joined her 
 again, the influence of the friend he had given her had 
 sunk deep into her soul. She complained plaintively 
 of the dreadful ennui of having to feign pleasure at the 
 reunion, when she could not feel it. Their marriage 
 was stripped of the last rag of illusion. From hence- 
 forward all intimacy between husband and wife was at 
 an end. 
 
 One can well imagine that Louise's frame of mind 
 when she went to her husband's place, La Chevrette, 
 with her children, her father-in-law and his household, 
 was not a little dangerous. She was young, deceived, 
 susceptible. She was under the influence of a bad 
 woman. She was deplorably weak. When M. de 
 Bellegarde invited Francueil to stay there with them, it 
 must have seemed like a decree of destiny. But then 
 as ever, " character is destiny," one must remember. 
 
 Francueil was one of the most brilliant figures of the 
 eighteenth century. He was a musician and an actor of 
 no mean order, and had the finest literary taste and 
 judgment. He was receiver-general, had a large fortune, 
 delightful manners, an agreeable person, and a complete 
 incapacity for any kind of fidelity. He had at this time 
 a wife in the background, but she does not seem to have 
 counted, and was, in fact, dismissed, as it were, from 
 consideration by a man who was once Francueil's secre- 
 tary, and was to be the greatest man of his age, in the 
 words bien laide, bien douce. 
 
 A very vivid imagination is not needed to picture the 
 
70 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 life at La Chevrette. Francueil taught Madame com- 
 position and harmony. The bright pupil looked up into 
 the tutor's handsome face and learnt there what is not 
 written in text-books. A woman can find, if she likes, 
 a personal application in algebra or in Greek roots. 
 One may be sure Louise was not long in discovering 
 a very human side to the lessons of this brilliant pre- 
 ceptor. She told him presently — with bewitching 
 tears, no doubt — the history of her husband's false- 
 ness. It is hard to say whether she was more charm- 
 ing when she was softly gay or softly sad. The pair 
 were soon vowing an eternal "pure" and " disinterested 
 friendship." They took long walks, when they dis- 
 cussed the problems of the heart and soul — the heart 
 and soul meaning, of course, those particular organs 
 which belonged to Madame d'fipinay and M. de Fran- 
 cueil. When they came home after these rambles, 
 half guilty, half happy, there was Mademoiselle d'Ette 
 with her evil smile, knowing everything, and working 
 to the vile end quietly in the background, and M. 
 de Bellegarde good-humoured and unconscious. 
 
 Everything was against them — the dangerous philo- 
 sophies both had imbibed, the low public opinion of 
 their age, base friends, bad examples, their own 
 characters. Louise denied herself to the lover for a 
 day or two, wept, fainted, and wrote, " Go, go ; I will 
 never forgive you" — and forgave. It is a very old, 
 shameful story, with the same end always. 
 
 There is, perhaps, no worse testimony against Madame 
 
MADAME D'^PINAY 71 
 
 d'Epinay than the account she herself gives of this 
 episode in her Memoirs. Her pretty self-complacency 
 is just ruffled. It is as if she would say, "A little 
 imprudent, a little unwise, but so naive, so impulsive, 
 so warm-hearted!" When M. de Francueil brought 
 down a little troupe of actors to La Chevrette, the 
 charming novelty dismissed from this light soul the 
 last faint shadow of uneasiness which might have 
 remained to trouble its peace. Louise was quickly 
 discovered to be the most piquante of amateur 
 actresses, with, it is said, something in her voice, 
 eyes, smile that moved the heart. Madame de 
 Maupeou, her sister-in-law, was also delightfully 
 piquante in the part of a servant, Lisette — so 
 piquante, in fact, that M. de Maupeou forbade her 
 to act any more. (The attitude of most of these 
 wives towards their husbands was pretty well de- 
 scribed by Francueil when he wrote to Louise, 
 "C'est que votre mari est un monstre et vous une 
 adorable creature.") The young people rehearsed 
 and coquetted and amused themselves very well 
 indeed. M. de Bellegarde and Madame d'Esclavelles 
 permitted the frivolity in the hope that it might 
 distract Louise from the melancholy thoughts of her 
 husband's infidelity. 
 
 She was sufficiently distracted, it seems. The play 
 was a comedy entitled U Engagement Umdraire, and 
 one night Francueil presented to the troupe the 
 author, one Jean-Jacques Rousseau, "as poor as Job 
 
72 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 and with wit and vanity enough for four." Rousseau 
 was at this time thirty-seven years old — coward, liar, 
 sensualist, genius. It was only the genius which 
 Madame d'£pinay and her friends regarded. That 
 covered all sins. The charming comediennes flattered 
 him, no doubt, to the top of his bent, and he answered 
 them, after his kind, with brutality and insult, so that 
 they must needs worship the more. Through his 
 comedy ran all the time that other comedy of the loves 
 of Francueil and Louise, and in the background, watch- 
 ing always, Mademoiselle d'Ette wrote her view of 
 the proceedings to her Chevalier Vallory. 
 
 Among the easy lies which stole into these Memoirs 
 of Madame d'£pinay there were, most naturally, also 
 many suppressions of fact. In 1750 was born her 
 daughter, Pauline, whom Madame, with but too good 
 reasons, tried to confuse with the child born in 1747. 
 But if it is the consequences of evil-doing which ruin 
 reputation, it is the evil itself which ruins the soul. 
 It seems to matter very little whether in such a case 
 Madame spoke the truth or not. The sin was 
 sinned. 
 
 It was in this same year that Louise was intro- 
 duced to the society of Mademoiselle Quinault. The 
 Quinault was a wit, entirely without a moral sense, 
 and with a taste for clever company and doubtful 
 jokes. Francueil called her "la Ninon du siecle." 
 At her house, twice a week, met a little party as 
 clever as any in Paris. Here one night was M. 
 
MADAME D'fiPINAY 73 
 
 Duclos, who was to be Secretary of trie Academy and 
 historiographer of France, and who was already the 
 man who could, or at any rate did, say anything 
 — trenchant, despotic, domineering. Here was the 
 Marquis de Saint-Lambert, soldier, poet, philosopher, 
 cultivated man of the world, and lover of that Madame 
 d'Houdetot, Louise's sister-in-law, who was afterwards 
 the original of Rousseau's " Julie " in Heloise. Louise 
 herself brought to the party ("we were only five") 
 youth, charm, sympathy; that engaging weakness 
 which always made her agree with the last speaker, 
 and that accommodating conscience which was hurt 
 by no vileness prettily expressed. The Quinault's 
 little niece was sent away at the dessert. One 
 wanted to say everything that came into one's head. 
 The hostess was not going to have any restriction on 
 her coarse pleasantries. When the conversation turned 
 on the decency of going without clothes, Louise weakly 
 thought for a minute the subject a little unsuit- 
 able — "but then, M. de Saint-Lambert puts into it 
 reflections so grave, so exalted ! " The remark is 
 inimitably characteristic of the woman. A new poem 
 by Voltaire was introduced presently — on whose merits 
 the little gathering differed charmingly — and another 
 evening, when Rousseau was of the company, they 
 discussed atheism. They touched all subjects with 
 a cleverness not a little seductive and extraordinary, 
 and expressed their theories with such a brilliancy 
 that there is no wonder that the theorists as well 
 
74 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 as their listeners were too dazzled to see the truth. 
 It was only Rousseau (though he was a beast, he 
 had something of the freedom and naturalness of a 
 beast of the field) who brought into this world of 
 shams and artifices that enthusiastic earnestness 
 which characterised all his emotions while they 
 lasted. 
 
 " As for me, sir," said he, " I believe in God." And 
 when Saint-Lambert spoke of such a faith as the 
 "origin of all the follies," "Messieurs," said Rousseau, 
 " if you say another word I go." And later, " I cannot 
 bear this rage for destruction. . . . The idea of a 
 God is necessary to happiness." 
 
 Louise was on the side of faith, too. But "we 
 only believe as deep as we live" after all. She had 
 a charming fit of repentance presently for her poor 
 light little life : confessed all the " chagrins que 
 m'avait donne mon mari" to the Abbe Martin; for 
 a few days wanted dreadfully to be a Carmelite, and 
 was a little deterred from the plan by the Abbe 
 telling her that God was not to be made a pis 
 alter, and a great deal deterred by the fact that the 
 world (where, said M. Martin, lay her duty) was 
 really more attractive after all. 
 
 By this time M. d'fipinay's extravagances had 
 necessitated a separation de biens between husband 
 and wife. Madame now began to receive her friends 
 regularly twice a week for music, and to read or 
 play comedies. Duclos came to stay at La Chevrette, 
 
MADAME D'^PINAY 75 
 
 half fell in love with Louise, and got her quite into 
 his coarse power by making her tell him the story 
 of her love for Francueil. Mademoiselle d'Ette, who 
 was still chez fipinay, hated Duclos, and fought him, 
 as it were, for the mastery over the little Madame. 
 Louise was the shuttlecock between two players. 
 If she had been a good woman, her weakness would 
 have ruined her past hope. As it was 
 
 Francueil grew cold presently, which, with his 
 temperament, might very well have been expected. 
 Louise wept over his coldness to Mademoiselle d'Ette, 
 looked up through tears and saw — or thought she 
 saw — that Mademoiselle herself had a passion for 
 Francueil. Louise was soon writing (very likely not 
 at all unjustly) of that dearest confidante and bosom 
 friend : " Who knows if she is not now my hus- 
 band's spy ? . . . I have so many reasons to suspect 
 her." 
 
 At a supper party at Madame Jully's, Francueil, 
 who was intoxicated, dropped a note Louise had 
 given him in front of M. d'fipinay. The hostess, 
 who had had on her own account a pretty little 
 experience in intrigue, picked up the note and saved 
 the situation. It was thought that M. d'fipinay had 
 incited Francueil to drink, in order that he might 
 make admissions derogatory to Louise. It may have 
 been true, perhaps. In this society nothing was too 
 vile to be possible. Madame's intimates were now 
 Eousseau, Gauffecourt, Duclos, Madame de Jully, 
 
76 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 Chevalier Vallory, and Mademoiselle d'Ette. In 
 that list there was no person clean, honourable, or 
 virtuous. It was not until Rousseau introduced 
 Grimm to the party (though even Grimm, Heaven 
 knows, did not reach an over-exalted standard of 
 moral perfection) that one could breathe at all in 
 that tainted air. 
 
 Grimm was at this time still a young man. He 
 was the friend of Holbach and Diderot, as well as 
 of Rousseau. He was of German extraction, with 
 some of the solidity of the Teutonic character com- 
 bined with the taste and polish of the Frenchman. 
 He was already an Jiabitui of the salons of Madame 
 Geoffrin and the Duke of Orleans. He was the 
 favourite of Catharine of Russia, and had begun his 
 Correspondance Litttraire. In character he seems 
 to have been strong, melancholy, and reserved — the 
 man who was, as it were, always superior to the 
 situation, hard and excellent in counsel, fixed in 
 idea, cool and wise in judgment, firm, clear-seeing, 
 and ambitious. 
 
 Since Louise had now broken with her lover, as 
 her lover, it was inevitable that she should fall 
 under a new command. 
 
 It would seem to be in the nature of the noblest 
 women, as the weakest, never to know rest or 
 happiness until they have met their master. Only 
 in the one case it is too hard to find him, and in 
 the other too eas}^. One may be thankful that it 
 
MADAME D'fiPINAY 77 
 
 was Grimm who now dominated this little Madame, 
 instead of another d'fipinay or a Francueil. 
 
 She began by asking him to her concerts. He 
 had a passionate love of music, as well as that 
 cultivated taste for art, science, and literature. One 
 night he heard her name insulted, fought a duel 
 for its honour (alas ! poor soiled little name), was 
 wounded, and had earned her gratitude for ever. 
 Duclos, who tyrannised over her, hated Grimm, as 
 may be imagined. Francueil, who still visited at 
 La Chevrette, may have been in his heart not too 
 much his friend. " But," says Madame easily, " we 
 led a very charming life." M. de Francueil came as 
 often as M. Grimm. "lis se partageaient meme de 
 fort bon accord les soins qu'ils voulaient bien se 
 donner pour l'instruction de mes enfants." There 
 is no sentence in history, perhaps, which reveals so 
 total a depravity of all moral sense as this one. It 
 was Grimm, but not Louise, who did at last object 
 to the situation, and, having forced her to quarrel 
 with Duclos, suggested that Francueil should no 
 longer be a guest at her house. 
 
 With her connection with Grimm (it lasted till 
 her death) began the least unworthy part of her 
 life. If he loved her, he loved his career and am- 
 bition better. But he ruled her. And on her side 
 she had that wholesome fear of him which often keeps 
 a fickle nature constant. 
 
 It was in 1756 that Madame d'fipinay offered 
 
78 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 Rousseau the famous " Hermitage," the little house 
 situated near La Chevrette, on the borders of the 
 forest of Montmorency and belonging to M. d'fipinay. 
 Rousseau responded to the offer after his manner: 
 " Do you want to make me a valet, a dependant, 
 with your gift ? " said he — and took it. 
 
 Madame had now the satisfaction of seeing every day 
 the greatest scoundrel and genius of the time. Here 
 was the man at once mean and great, lower than the 
 beasts in his instincts, and with aspirations reaching to 
 the gods. Here he was, very vile, but not wholly vile ; 
 mixed in the basest intrigues, vain, mad, morbid, lying, 
 treacherous, and yet with ideals not all ignoble, and a 
 rugged earnestness not to be denied. 
 
 Madame's pleasure at being so nearly in touch with a 
 celebrity could never have been quite unalloyed. The 
 celebrity was from the first consistently rude and un- 
 grateful, always taking offence where no offence was 
 meant, piqued, childish, ridiculous, and obstinately 
 seeing the world en noir. To La Chevrette came 
 constantly Desmahis, Saint-Lambert, Gauffecourt, M. 
 Jully. Louise, gaily playful, called them mes ours, 
 and Grimm her " Tyran Le Blanc." " Tyran Le Blanc " 
 was called away presently by his duties; and Louise, 
 on some ill-fated day, introduced that charming 
 sister-in-law of hers, Madame d'Houdetot, at the 
 Hermitage. 
 
 Hitherto the relationship between the Hermit and 
 Madame d'Epinay had been a kind of coquettish 
 
MADAME D'fiPINAY 79 
 
 friendship. If Rousseau was a little bit in love with 
 Madame (and he always fell in love — save the mark ! 
 — with any woman with whom he was brought much 
 in contact), Louise., for all her " Tyran Le Blanc," was 
 not the woman to object to the admiration. It seems 
 pretty certain that she felt a little betrayed when Jean- 
 Jacques found in the sister-in-law the Julie of his 
 Nouvelle Helo'ise in the flesh, and worshipped at the 
 shrine of a woman who was neither modish nor beau- 
 tiful, and was already provided (though, to be sure, 
 that did not count much in these times) with both hus- 
 band and lover. Louise was thrown back upon herself. 
 There was a coldness. Then she sent Rousseau some 
 flannel for a waistcoat — to restore warmth, one may 
 suppose. There was a deeper coldness. Then an angry 
 flame about a letter. If there is anything duller than 
 details of old intrigues, it is the details of old quarrels. 
 It may be safely assumed that Rousseau was in the 
 wrong (he had a talent for being in that position), and 
 that Louise was inconsequent and imprudent as usual. 
 One may well pity her. Her tyrant had joined the 
 army at the bidding of the Duke of Orleans. She wrote 
 to him that when he was with her he inspired her with 
 that feeling of security which a child has resting on its 
 mother's breast. There were a thousand dangers and 
 difficulties about her loneliness. Her father-in-law, who 
 cared for her, was dead. She had certainly no wisdom 
 or judgment of her own to rely on. She impetuously 
 confided in everybody, as she had always done, and her 
 
80 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 confidences were very naturally betrayed. She was 
 supposed to have informed the Marquis de Saint- 
 Lambert of Rousseau's passion for his mistress. Per- 
 haps she did; she denied the insinuation so warmly. 
 Everybody seems to have got mixed up in the quarrel, 
 and to have acted after their own natures, which were 
 bad. Its first vehemence died out a little. But Rous- 
 seau, who still kept her gift — the Hermitage — defamed 
 the giver with a matchless foulness in his " Confessions." 
 From that effect of her folly, even Grimm (who from 
 his letters would seem to have been the only person 
 who brought any reason and common-sense into the 
 dispute) could not save her. All the time Madame had 
 been writing him plaintive little lying letters (giving her 
 own convenient, plausible views of the situation and 
 her conduct), which deceived herself, but not her lover 
 or the world. 
 
 In 1757 she went to Geneva, partly on account of 
 money troubles, and partly to consult the famous Dr. 
 Tronchin. She left Grimm behind her, at war with 
 Rousseau, and revising the first volumes of the famous 
 Encyclopaedia with Diderot. With her went her son 
 and Linant, his tutor. (Louise was always a good 
 mother according to her lights, and has been aptly 
 described as one of those women "who write moral 
 treatises on education in the brief leisure left them by 
 their lovers.") She established herself then at Geneva 
 under Tronchin, and lived there a life very modest and 
 simple. She had her mornings to herself, dined en 
 
MADAME D'^PINAY 81 
 
 famille, and after dinner received till seven or eight. 
 She walked a good deal in the public gardens. She had 
 always been fond of walking, and Tronchin, who was 
 greatly in advance of his age in his views upon health, 
 recommended the exercise to his lazy and ladylike 
 patients. The little society of Geneva was very pleasant 
 and honest, Madame found. One played cards, did 
 needlework, had a little music, took tea after the 
 English fashion, and visited one's friends in the after- 
 noons. Wasn't this better than La Chevrette and 
 Mademoiselle d'Ette (Madame had completely broken 
 with the d'Ette by now), and the uneasy years of in- 
 trigue and passion that had made up her youth ? 
 
 When Grimm came to Geneva for an eight months' 
 stay, during which he and Louise worked together at 
 the Correspondance Litteraire, she was perhaps as 
 happy as she had ever been in her life. She presently 
 made the acquaintance of Voltaire, who called her his 
 Beautiful Philosopher, and played with her (all men 
 regarded Louise as a clever little toy, it seems) when she 
 became a constant visitor at Les Delices, while she on 
 her side spoke of that "withered Pontiff of Encyclo- 
 psedism " as more amiable, more gay, and more extra- 
 vagant than at fifteen. 
 
 When she returned to Paris, after an absence of two 
 years, Kousseau had left the Hermitage. Grimm had 
 been nominated envoy at Frankfort, and she found a 
 resource from boredom and solitude in the friendship 
 of Diderot and the Salon of Baron Holbach, and that 
 
 F 
 
82 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 Correspondance LitUraire, which is Grimm's true 
 title to glory, and which had as its aim to render 
 foreign princes an account of the art, science, literature, 
 wit, and mental progress of Paris. 
 
 Madame d'fipinay was now past youth. Her mother 
 was dead. Her daughter, Pauline, was married. M. 
 d'Epinay, of whom Diderot said that he ran through 
 two millions of money without saying a kind word or 
 doing a good action to anybody, was completely bank- 
 rupt. Madame took a very small house, established her 
 Salon, and reconquered that world which, through bad 
 health, damaged reputation, and long absence, she had 
 lost. She was now perhaps, both morally and mentally, 
 at her best. The quick temptations of youth had left 
 her. And this was the woman, alas ! who was only good 
 when there was no incitement to be bad. It must be 
 said of her that she had shown not a little pluck and 
 spirit in the face of poverty and difficulties. Her fickle- 
 ness had Grimm's strength to support it. Her sympathy 
 with literature made an honest interest for her. If she 
 was still something of the gay little liar, bright, volatile, 
 intriguing, who began the world as Louise d'Esclavelles, 
 that is because life, though it develops character, seldom 
 alters it. 
 
 The Salon of Madame d'Epinay had that character- 
 istic common to nearly all the Salons — its presiding 
 genius was neither young, beautiful, wealthy, nor even 
 well educated. 
 
 A woman, in fact, always influences not by how 
 
MADAME D'fiPINAY 83 
 
 much she knows, but by how much she feels. In 
 the gatherings of this little Louise, at any rate, the 
 gravest subjects were discussed and threshed out. 
 After the ivresse and folly of the Regency, gravity 
 had suddenly become the mode. The most frivolous 
 women were profoundly absorbed in political economy 
 and philanthropy. Philosophic ideas were daily gain- 
 ing ground. One day one was evolving a new religion 
 — some fine religion of Humanity, which worked out 
 beautifully in talk or on paper, and in practice led 
 to Candeille, Goddess of Reason. To this Salon came 
 almost the whole diplomatic corps. Baron Gleichen, 
 Lord Stormont (the Ambassador of Great Britain), 
 Caraccioli, Diderot, Galiani, and the ill-fated Marquis 
 de Mora, were here almost every night. Louise listened 
 equally / charmingly to them all. Was she a humbug? 
 Hardly. She had only that most dangerous gift — 
 the power of seeing things exactly as the last speaker 
 sees them. When this man was talking philosophy 
 to her she was an impassioned philosopher. With a 
 theologian she had a culte for religions. To be sym- 
 pathetic it is not necessary to know much of a man's 
 work and aims, but essential to catch his enthusiasm 
 for them, to respond to fervour with fervour, and to 
 realise that what one's dearest hope is to oneself this 
 man's career or philosophy or ambition is to him. 
 
 If even Madame d'Epinay had this gift in a less 
 degree than some of her rival Salonieres, that she 
 had it in a very marked degree is not to be doubted. 
 
84 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 In the early days of 1775 appeared in print her 
 Conversations oVEmilie, which were, in fact, literal 
 reproductions of conversations she had had with a 
 certain dear little granddaughter, her daughter's child. 
 The book, though it is really a book of education, is 
 only another proof that nature and naturalness are 
 always delightful. Little Eruilie's replies have the 
 innocent naivete of childhood, and all the freshness 
 of truth. Madame d'Epinay's talent as a writer is 
 indeed like the literary talent of nearly all women, and 
 lies in this work, as in her Memoirs, in reproduction 
 and observation, and not in invention. jSmilie was 
 smiled on by Voltaire in his old age at Ferney, and 
 by that cleverest of women, the Empress Catharine 
 of Russia. Diderot, Grimm, Gleichen, and Galiani 
 praised its gaiety and originality, and in 1778 it went, 
 to every one's satisfaction, into a new edition. 
 
 Before this time Madame d'Epinay's health, never 
 robust, had begun to cause her friends great anxiety. 
 She would seem, like many delicate people, to have 
 always borne her physical sufferings very pluckily. 
 The little Emilie was with her a great deal. Grirnm, 
 never impassioned, was yet always faithful. He had 
 an extraordinary attachment for the grandchild, which 
 perhaps brought him the more often to see Louise, 
 In 1777 she heard of Francueil's marriage to a 
 daughter of Marshal Saxe. (Of this marriage was 
 born a son, Maurice Dupin, who became the father 
 of Madame George Sand.) In 1778 Louise saw 
 
MADAME D'fiPINAY 85 
 
 in Paris Voltaire, now near his death. Rousseau 
 {whose "Confessions" had had so fatal an effect upon 
 her good name) did not long survive him. It was 
 Madame's part, though she herself was not an old 
 woman, to watch the going of almost all the acquaint- 
 ances of her youth. Her situation was very lonely. Her 
 husband's death did not make it any lonelier perhaps. 
 Her son was wild — after such an upbringing and amid 
 such examples how should he not have been? Her 
 daughter had her own life to lead. What must have 
 been the feelings of the woman with death in the 
 near future and that wasted existence to look back 
 at in the past? 
 
 Was it repentance, agony, remorse, terror, that she 
 suffered in those lonely hours of sickness and solitude ? 
 It would not seem to have been so. After all "one 
 can be but what one is." 
 
 The dying woman faced the Great Mystery with at 
 least something of that UgereU with which the coquette 
 of La Chevrette had faced life. A sinner ? Well, per- 
 haps. But not half such a great sinner as most of 
 one's acquaintance ! If one lives self-deceived, one 
 may well die so. 
 
 Madame was removed presently to a little house 
 at Chaillot, and there from her sick-bed composed 
 and sent to Grimm, with a lock of her hair, the verses 
 which begin : — 
 
 " Les voila, ces cheveux que le temps a blanchis : 
 D'une longue union ils sont pour nous le gage." 
 
86 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 She had friends and relatives about her to the end. 
 Her last correspondence was with that chief of all the 
 Encyclopaedists, d'Alembert. And then her " Conver- 
 sations " attained the supreme honour of being crowned 
 by the Academie Francaise. So that she died smiling 
 as she had lived. 
 
 Her Memoirs, which are chiefly known to English 
 people through Sydney Smith's brilliant critique, owe 
 their great claim to fame in the vivid pictures they 
 give of Rousseau, Duclos, Voltaire, and many minor 
 celebrities. They are written in a style very bright, 
 easy, and vivacious. They record not a few inimitable 
 conversations (as in the two scenes at Mademoiselle 
 Quinault's), and here and there a memorable axiom. 
 They present strikingly the life and manners of the 
 day. Further than this they are worth little. 
 
 These are the Memoirs of false names and suppres- 
 sions. Madame invents a tutor to tell the story of 
 the charming Emilie, and only tells the truth about 
 her because she does not perceive how damning that 
 truth is. When, indeed, the conduct of this heroine 
 has been too obviously shameless even for her to 
 think it virtuous, she appeals very prettily from the 
 reader's judgment and moral sense to that much more 
 gullible thing, his feelings. The whole book is full of 
 very brightly written details of very dull intrigues ; of 
 sordid details of bankruptcy and creditors ; of minute 
 details of old quarrels; of loathsome details of sick- 
 
MADAME D'fiPINAY 87 
 
 ness and sin. If one wants to keep intact a faith in 
 noble aims, in self-devotion, and in that spirit which 
 has made some put honour first and pleasure a great 
 way after, one will not read Madame d'fipinay. But 
 if one is a pessimist about human nature, and wants 
 his pessimism confirmed, he can hardly do better than 
 study this lively account of the littleness and mean- 
 ness of great men and of a great age; while the 
 historian will certainly find a niche in the temple of 
 fame for the woman who depicts so vividly, because 
 so unconsciously, the crying need in her class and 
 time of that cleansing by fire, the French Kevolution. 
 
MADAME NECKER 
 
 Character, like history, repeats itself. There is, in- 
 deed, in every man, seen aright, an originality which 
 makes the dullest human being supremely interesting : 
 and in each life a drama never before played on any 
 stage. But the type recurs. In Madame Necker, with 
 her passionate heart, her cleverness without wisdom, 
 her instincts in place of judgment, her talent for affec- 
 tion, and for making herself and others wretched by 
 that affection, every one will recognise some acquaint- 
 ance of his own. Perhaps he will be thus the more 
 able to feel for her that sympathy without which there 
 can be no real understanding. 
 
 Suzanne Curchod was the very bright little daughter 
 of a certain Louis, Evangelical minister at Crassier, in 
 Vaud. Madame Curchod was French, very pretty, 
 very firm, very religious. There was by no means too 
 much money in the little household. But when the 
 baby girl was born in 1737, she completed a very real, 
 pious, and modest happiness. 
 
 Her father was so proud and fond of her that he 
 undertook her tuition himself. It was such a clever 
 little creature from the first, that he felt justified in 
 giving it a boy's education. Suzanne looked up into 
 
MADAME NECKER 89 
 
 his face and learned Latin and geometry, presently 
 physics and science, and possibly Greek. From what 
 one knows of the famous Madame Necker, one must 
 .suppose that the little girl's intellect was exclusively 
 feminine, which is to say that she had a very fine in- 
 tuition, rather than solid reasoning powers, the impulsive 
 cleverness that is brilliant but hardly sound, and the 
 tendency to mistake feeling for logic which marked 
 Mother Eve, and marks her daughters for ever. 
 
 But Suzanne had not only an aptitude for head work. 
 She could play on the violin and the harpsichord. She 
 knew something about an unlikely instrument called 
 the tympanum. She painted delightfully. When one 
 adds that she was charmingly vivacious, with very blue 
 eyes, very fair hair, the most exquisite girlish com- 
 plexion, and all the gaiety, modesty, and freshness of 
 early youth, it does not seem at all wonderful that her 
 father always had a large and ever-ready supply of 
 young ministers from Geneva or Lausanne to help him 
 with his services on Sundays. When the day was over, 
 and the time came for the divine to ride home on 
 M. Curchod's old horse, it appears that he was not the 
 only person who felt regret at the parting. It is hardly 
 a stretch of the imagination to picture Suzanne going 
 out to the gate, half gay, half sad, and wholly charming, 
 on the pretence of giving a little sugar to the old 
 horse, or instructions to the man of God on the route 
 he should take. 
 
 She confessed very naively that she liked best that 
 
90 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 praise — on her little efforts at literary composition — 
 which came from the opposite sex. Compliments to 
 one's beauty are not less acceptable than compliments 
 to one's wit. Suzanne coquetted very prettily with a 
 number of persons, and permitted a rather ponderous 
 local genius, a certain Dariet Defoncene, to call her his 
 " modern Sappho," and address her in very second-rate 
 and highly inflammatory verses, signed " Melchizedek." 
 When she came to Lausanne presently with her 
 parents, she was the life and soul of all the dull Protes- 
 tant parties in the place. She enjoyed herself so much 
 that she must have given enjoyment to others. She was 
 made president, presently, of a literary society, called 
 the Academie des Eaux, to which the local young 
 persons of talent belonged, and called themselves after 
 the heroes and heroines of the plays and novels of the 
 day. They wrote essays and verses, and criticised each 
 other's compositions. They answered questions such as 
 " Is love sweeter by reason of its mystery ? " " Can the 
 same kind of friendship exist between a man and a 
 woman, as between two men or two women ? " The 
 Academie des Eaux was to them what papers and 
 magazines are to the English youth of to-day. They 
 set themselves to answer the same unanswerable or 
 self-evident conundrums with the greatest seriousness 
 and enjoyment. Not a little zest was lent to the enter- 
 tainment at Lausanne by the fact that the members 
 of the Academie were not exclusively of one sex, and 
 sometimes found the solution of the problems by ex- 
 
MADAME NECKER 91 
 
 perience. Most of the youth were, at any rate, more or 
 less in love with Themire, or Suzanne, its head. And 
 Theruire, who, with her impetuous, warm heart, couldn't 
 help enjoying admiration, dispensed her favours among 
 them with a beautiful impartiality. 
 
 It was at the Academie des Eaux, most likely, that 
 she first met the great Gibbon. The great Gibbon was 
 nobody in particular, however, at present. He was 
 only a fat English youth, who had turned Papist, and 
 been sent to the house of the Calvinist minister* of Lau- 
 sanne to be re-converted. He was now in character, as 
 he was hereafter, a very cold and self-complacent pedant, 
 extraordinarily vain and egotistical, with a sincere love 
 of truth, and a memory and capacity for learning un- 
 equalled even in the eighteenth century. If it was not 
 his genius, which a brilliant girl like Suzanne might 
 easily have discovered before a dull world suspected it, 
 it is hard to say what attraction she could have found 
 in him. He talked well, indeed. One may picture the 
 local talent of the Academie listening to him — too polite 
 to laugh at his awkward English fatness and affected 
 manner — but only very dimly, or not at all, guessing 
 the marvellous power, irony, accuracy, which that un- 
 prepossessing exterior covered. And listening, too, with 
 her lovely expressive face, and her ardent and sympa- 
 thetic heart, President Themire Suzanne Curchod. 
 
 When was it that Gibbon permitted himself to be 
 boundlessly and extravagantly adored by her? That 
 was always their attitude to each other. The " Decline 
 
92 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 and Fall " could never have been sincerely in love with 
 anybody but himself. 
 
 But for Suzanne, the ministers, and that absurd 
 Dariet Defoncene, and the adoration of all the Aca- 
 demie were so much less than nothing now. They 
 were but the false lights before the dawn. This was 
 morning, noon, sunshine. One lived, one worshipped. 
 She flung her whole heart and soul into this passion. 
 She had no prudence. She spoke her love, not ashamed. 
 She was the devotee before a saint, and behold, the 
 saint was but a stone effigy after all, whom the kisses 
 of a thousand years would not warm into life. 
 
 It is from the spirit of their letters one gathers the 
 real state of things. Gibbon's father disapproved of his 
 son's penchant And the lover — save the mark ! — who 
 had condescended to find Suzanne learned as well as 
 lovely, and to hope that he had made "some impres- 
 sion upon a virtuous heart," yielded to the paternal 
 authority as a good son should, and wrote to the girl, 
 eating that heart out with shame and misery, that his 
 cure was helped by hearing of her "tranquillity and 
 cheerfulness." 
 
 Tranquillity ! this woman never knew such a feeling 
 all her life. She was not the stuff of which tranquil 
 people are made. She certainly did not know it when 
 in 1758 Gibbon went back to England, and left her for 
 four years without a sign of his existence, beyond send- 
 ing her, with a frigid dedicatory epistle, his Essai 
 sur V Etude de la LitUrature. He had not been man 
 
MADAME NECKER 93 
 
 enough to break off their engagement decidedly and for 
 all. He left her to hope against hope that he would 
 come back to her. Her pride and her self-contempt 
 tortured her every hour. In four years one may well 
 feel all " the pangs of despised love." 
 
 In 1762 he at last wrote to break with her definitely. 
 In 1763 he came back to Lausanne. His Memoirs 
 relative to this time contain not a single allusion to 
 her. A few days after his arrival she begged him to 
 tell her plainly that he no longer cared for her. When 
 her impetuous letter had been given back to her, she 
 wrote on it in the depth of her humiliation : " A reflect- 
 ing soul is punishment enough. Every thought draws 
 blood." Finally she met him at Voltaire's, at Ferney. 
 He was so cruel (" only to be kind," perhaps) that the 
 next day she wrote him her last letter. She did not 
 spare him. He did not deserve that he should be 
 spared — though when an impulsive woman flings her- 
 self upon a cold man's heart, he is to be a little pitied 
 as well as she. She told him the truth. She told it 
 him at the greatest length, and with every line burn- 
 ing with indignation and wretchedness, and then 
 thanked God that He had delivered her from "the 
 greatest of misfortunes," a marriage with Gibbon, and 
 ended by saying that he might one day regret the 
 loss of the " too honest and too loving heart " he had 
 despised. 
 
 It would seem that this broken love-story affected 
 Suzanne's whole character. When it began, she was 
 
94 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 a girl. It left *her a woman. It found her a very 
 lively, pretty, vivacious coquette. It left her passion- 
 ately sensitive, not a little morbid and despondent, too 
 scrupulous in conscience, nervous, excitable, suspicious. 
 For to be betrayed is not only the bitterest experience 
 of human life; it is also the most far-reaching in its 
 effects. For it too often destroys trust not only in the 
 deceiver, but in all men. And to be without faith in 
 human nature generally means to be also without faith 
 in God. 
 
 In the January of 1760 Suzanne's father died sud- 
 denly, leaving his widow and daughter wretchedly 
 poor. Suzanne fought poverty with not a little spirit, 
 and began to give lessons. She was fighting, too, all 
 the time that source of wretchedness in her own heart, 
 her love for Gibbon. No one who has himself been 
 through some such period of youthful bitterness will 
 judge her harshly, because her trouble made her petu- 
 lant, exacting, and difficult at home. That noblest 
 fruit of sorrow — an infinite tenderness for the sorrows 
 and failings of other people — is fruit seldom borne by a 
 young tree. Suzanne could not yet believe that happi- 
 ness is not a necessity of life, and was at this time, 
 or said afterwards that she was, wicked and capricious 
 towards her mother. When two years later that 
 mother died, the daughter lamented her with a passion 
 of grief not a little hysterical. 
 
 She was now quite alone in the world. She was 
 so young ! She had no money. She was so proud ! 
 
MADAME NECKER 95 
 
 And she found one of the best friends of her whole life 
 in a certain Pastor Moultou. Another pastor, Cayla, 
 Moultou's father-in-law, offered her a home in his 
 house. Then, as now, the need of it brought out kind- 
 ness, and a world that has been called cruel vindicated 
 itself by generous deeds. 
 
 Suzanne did not lack lovers, one may be quite sure. 
 She was so lonely and despairing, that she very nearly 
 accepted an offer of marriage from a certain barrister — 
 simply for a home and peace. 
 
 It was at Moultou's house that she met a gay little 
 widow, Madame de Vermenoux, who was under the 
 famous Dr. Tronchin, and trying to console herself for 
 ill-health with the admiring society of a number of 
 male friends. She took an impetuous fancy to this 
 very pretty Mademoiselle Curchod. Suzanne must 
 come back and live with her in Paris ! Suzanne's 
 pride was up in arms in a minute. It was Moultou 
 who reasoned with her and made her accept so advan- 
 tageous an offer. The woman who was hereafter to 
 rule the most brilliant society in the capital entered 
 it first as an obscure dependant, who had not enough 
 money even to dress herself as fashionable Paris re- 
 quired, and who represented herself as rich to the 
 good-natured little widow for fear Madame should 
 humiliate her by presents. 
 
 To Madame de Vermenoux' s, as, it is said, one of the 
 charming widow's admirers, came one day a certain 
 M. Necker, Swiss, bourgeois, banker, very rich, very 
 
96 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 clever, rather ugly, and peculiarly absent-minded. 
 Perhaps he was so absent-minded that it slipped his 
 memory that his hostess was an aristocrat, and that 
 though she might permit herself to flirt with a finan- 
 cier, was not at all likely to marry him. Perhaps he 
 was thinking exclusively of M. Necker. (" Malebranche 
 saw all things in God," said Mirabeau, " and M. Necker 
 sees all things in Necker.") When was it that the 
 financial eye first rested with interest on Madame's 
 guest ? Mademoiselle was still young, and if sorrow 
 had robbed her of some of the soft and brilliant bloom 
 which characterised the happy President Themire, it 
 had lent her face feeling, depth, expression. Her own 
 clever mind could but be attracted by the sagacity and 
 intelligence of the banker's. His self-conceit — well, 
 that was a quality to which her friendship with Gibbon 
 should have accustomed her. That old rebuff of for- 
 tune made her cautious here. Once hurt as she had 
 been, one does not lightly put oneself in the way of 
 being wounded again. Did he care for her ? He had 
 not said so. He went away to Geneva, leaving her in 
 suspense; came back to Paris, and, with his offer of 
 marriage, the sunshine flooded her dull world once 
 more. 
 
 The pair kept their engagement secret from Madame 
 de Vermenoux. One fine morning they slipped out 
 quietly and were married. There seems not a little 
 meanness in their conduct, after the kindnesses Suz- 
 anne had received from Madame. But there were, 
 
MADAME NECKER 97 
 
 doubtless reasons (though possibly not good reasons) 
 for such reserve. 
 
 They went to live in the Rue St. Michel le Comte, 
 in the house belonging to the firm of Thelusson and 
 Necker. They enjoyed, one may well hope, that honey- 
 moon happiness of which description is a desecration. 
 And presently Suzanne was writing very gaily to a 
 friend, with M. Necker looking over her shoulder, 
 " Picture to yourself the worst-witted man in the world, 
 so completely persuaded of his own superiority that he 
 does not see mine," &c, &c, &c. If one has never 
 known the laughing tenderness of such a spring-time 
 in one's own experience, everybody at least must have 
 looked at it through other men's eyes. 
 
 The change which Suzanne's marriage made in her 
 worldly prospects was very great. Instead of Madame 
 de Vermenoux's dependant, she was the mistress of a 
 fine house and many servants. Her husband was very 
 rich, and not a little influential. When he was made 
 Minister for the Republic of Geneva, the position gave 
 him access to the Court and to the society of such men 
 as Maurepas. At home his wife was very loving and 
 brilliant, with curious fits of depression as a kind of 
 reaction after a great deal of liveliness, very conscien- 
 tious and impetuously religious. One cannot think that 
 she could ever have been an easy wife to manage. 
 Her very devotion to her husband, ecstatic, absorbed, 
 and without sense of the ridiculous, must have been 
 
 difficult for a practical man to deal with. Yet not 
 
 G 
 
98 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 the less this marriage is one of the very few marriages 
 in history which seems even to the onlooker well 
 assorted. M. Necker was a great financier rather than 
 a great man. But besides an extraordinary sagacity, 
 he had a sound common-sense which made a fine, 
 firm background to Suzanne's emotions. She could 
 not but respect one in whose life duty and the good 
 of others were strong sentiments, even if there was 
 some little truth in the mot of Madame de Marchais : 
 " M. Necker loves virtue as a man loves his wife, and 
 glory as he loves his mistress." 
 
 On April 22, 1766, Corinne-Delphine-Anne-Germaine 
 Necker made her entrance into the world. Madame 
 de Vermenoux, forgiving much, was her godmother. 
 Her father was infinitely proud of her. Suzanne re- 
 solved, as soon as ever the little girl was old enough to 
 learn anything, she would teach her herself. 
 
 Before that time came, Madame Necker found herself 
 the head of one of the most famous Salons in Paris. 
 
 Marmontel says that she started it as a relaxation 
 for her husband. This is very possible. It was not 
 easy to start. Unlike the other Salons, it was at 
 least partly coaxed into existence by the husband 
 himself. " The fruit of the tree of knowledge " was 
 then, as now, very often a particularly "aerial and 
 unsatisfactory diet." It was becoming the fashion or 
 the philosophers and the men of letters to seek 
 pecuniary aid from financiers. And M. Necker was 
 of them all the most generous. 
 
MADAME NECKER 99 
 
 As for his wife, " Who is this upstart ? " said the 
 other women at first. " A little Swiss Protestant from 
 Crassier ? Somebody's poor companion, quite unneces- 
 sarily good-looking ? The wife of a bourgeois ? Bah ! " 
 
 It is not a little curious that the Saloniere who, in 
 contradistinction to almost all her rivals, was at once 
 young, beautiful, rich, and learned, should not only be 
 the one who of them all found it the most difficult to 
 begin her Salon, but who, when it was at the height 
 of its fame, was not always kindly criticised even by 
 its habitues. 
 
 Diderot says he first came because she bothered him 
 to do so. The Abbe Galiani was a constant attendant, 
 chiefly because he could not hold his own in argument 
 against the open atheism of such a Salon as Baron 
 Holbach's, for instance, and complained a good deal — 
 without meaning a compliment to her — of Madame 
 Necker's " cold demeanour of decency." Grimm's cool 
 head and heart (his heart, says somebody, was always 
 in the right place — the market-place) could not believe 
 in the sincerity of her warm religious convictions. 
 Another friend murmured that she was without taste 
 in dress, artificial in mind and face, and pedantic in 
 language. It was said again that she never directed 
 the conversation without visible effort, and suggested 
 that her manner was too effusive, that that "fiery 
 soul" expressed its convictions or prejudices too 
 warmly both in looks and words, and that some Jof the 
 
 passionate sensitiveness and nervousness which afflicted 
 
 L.cVC. 
 
100 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 herself, afflicted her friends. It may be true as well 
 that she was too keenly absorbed in the drama of her 
 own life, and the far greater drama of her husband's, 
 to be very interested in other people. As for her 
 learning — it is only a supremely tactful and sympa- 
 thetic woman who can hinder learnedness from being 
 a social hindrance to her. Madame Necker was too 
 impetuous for tact, as she was too concentrated for 
 sympathy. 
 
 But her Salon, not the less, attained a wide fame. 
 The litterateurs and philosophers flocked to Lt on 
 Fridays, in her new house the Hotel le Blanc, Bue 
 Clery, and presently in the famous Bue Bergere. On 
 Tuesdays her intimates dined with her at four o'clock. 
 In summer she received, first at her house in the Bois 
 de Boulogne, and then at the Chateau de St. Ouen, 
 between Paris and St. Denis. " I go once a week to 
 supper at St. Ouen," said Madame du Deffand. She 
 spoke of her host as quite frank and natural, but a 
 little bit ponderous in conversation, and very absent- 
 minded. 
 
 Suzanne had an impulsive welcome for all her guests; 
 knew how to flatter their self-love a little, it is said, 
 though this was less by design than because her 
 impetuosity led her to say the right thing instead of 
 the wrong. Some of her friends asked for her help 
 and influence to elect them to the Academy. Some- 
 times in the evening she had Mademoiselle Clairon, 
 the famous actress, to amuse them. She relied much 
 
MADAME NECKER 101 
 
 less than the other Salonieres on her own powers of 
 entertaining. On a footstool at her mother's feet sat 
 the little Germaine, very bright and very precocious. 
 When the Maison Necker received at St. Ouen, its 
 guests walked about under the trees on the terrace, 
 and Monsieur sent them back presently to Paris in 
 his own carriages. There was a famous dinner, de- 
 scribed by Grimm, at which seventeen men of letters 
 proposed to erect a statue to Voltaire by subscription, 
 and the daughter of the good Calvinist Curchod 
 objected, because Pigalle, the sculptor, would have 
 the figure represented almost without any clothes 
 at all. 
 
 What has been called the "marsh-miasma of 
 Salons" can hardly be said to have risen from this 
 one. Its head, at least, was a passionately religious 
 woman, a faithful wife, and a severely conscientious 
 mother. If she permitted in her rooms a society by 
 no means immaculate, that proves rather the low 
 moral tone of her age than any laxity in her own 
 virtue. It was the custom. Let any one try to alter 
 the public opinion of his own time, and he will pardon 
 Madame Necker that she could not change the public 
 opinion of hers. 
 
 Buffon, the naturalist, supremely pompous and self- 
 complacent, and with, alas ! most of the typical vices 
 of the French philosopher of the day, was one of her 
 faithful adherents. She admired the heavy pedantry 
 of his style, and modelled her own upon it. And in 
 
102 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 Thomas's bombastical periods — Thomas being her 
 devoted worshippei for twenty years — she saw only 
 solemnity and magnificence. Literary taste was hardly 
 Madame's forte. Here, as elsewhere, the strong biases 
 of a warm heart led her astray. Perhaps it was such 
 a bias that made her seek and keep Diderot, whom " it 
 was impossible to respect or to help loving," and who, 
 though " he talked as never man talked," was not the 
 less "utterly unclean, scandalous, shameless." Kindly 
 old Madame Geoffrin scolded Suzanne's guests — for 
 their good. The Duchess de Lauzan was one of her 
 attached friends. It was this duchess who, married 
 at sixteen, and abandoned by her Due the next day, 
 was to be hereafter of that noble army of martyrs 
 who expiated others' sins under the guillotine, and 
 who mounted the scaffold with "that air of sweetness 
 and virgin modesty " which once captivated Rousseau. 
 Besides these were Suard, the censor of the Academie, 
 Morellet, Raynal, Arnauld, Saint-Lambert, Marmontel, 
 and many others. It was Suzanne's ambition which 
 loved her Salon, and her heart which loved to get 
 back to the husband she worshipped, and the child 
 who was to divide her from him. 
 
 Her relationship to Germaine belongs to Germaine's 
 history rather than to her own. It suffices to say here 
 that, as a mother, Madame Necker was governed by 
 that passionate and morbid desire to do right which 
 ruled her whole life, and that she was always so sternly 
 seeking the child's real good that she had no time 
 
MADAME NECKER 103 
 
 for the little tendernesses which gain a child's heart. 
 When was it she felt first for the gay and engaging 
 little creature, who appealed to a side of M. Necker's 
 nature which the intense wife could never touch, a 
 sudden and miserable jealousy? Suzanne was at no 
 time a petty woman. But to see this charming, vain, 
 clever, naughty little daughter taking up all the time 
 and attention that once were only hers ! That was 
 too much. The father spoilt the child and laughed 
 with her. They had a hundred little understandings 
 from which Madame felt herself shut out. She 
 watched them — when was he ever so light-hearted 
 with her? — fond, stern, and wretched. She thought 
 she suffered only because Monsieur interfered with 
 her scheme of education. She was always communing 
 on the subject with her own sore heart. She wrote 
 pages and pages of prayers, as ecstatic as a fasting 
 nun's, iter troubles were not lessened when Germaine 
 grew up into a most vivacious and accomplished girl. 
 The daughter must be married — for her good. Suzanne 
 wanted her to be the wife of Pitt. And Pitt said, " I 
 am married to my country." So in 1786, and in 
 default of better, Germaine was given to the Baron 
 de Stael-Holstein, lived near her parents, and became 
 at length the presiding genius of their Salon in the 
 Rue Bergere. 
 
 Was this time, which should have been the happiest, 
 one of the most wretched of Madame Necker's life ? 
 No one can lightly say that troubles which come 
 
104 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 chiefly from one's own morbid temperament deserve 
 no compassion. There is no cure for them but some 
 cruel blow from fate. For it is only in the presence 
 of a real misfortune one knows no imaginary ones. 
 
 Madame sat by while the daughter, unconsciously 
 perhaps, and certainly with no evil intentions, took 
 her adherents from her. They talked politics. Ger- 
 maine could (and did) talk about anything. Madame's 
 bent was literary and not political. She was suffering 
 much in health at this time, and her old vivacity — 
 was this the Themire of Crassier and Lausanne ? — failed 
 her. Her friends, Thomas, Buffon, Diderot, were dying 
 or dead. There was impassioned talk of the times 
 that were coming — nay, were come — upon France. 
 Madame did not need such fearful anticipations to 
 fill her cup of misfortune. Her own self-torment had 
 filled it to the brim. It was M. Necker who said of 
 his wife that to make her entirely delightful in society 
 she only needed one thing — to have something to for- 
 give herself. She seemed outwardly stern, righteous, 
 and cold. But what a morbid self-reproach in those 
 prayers — what a mistrust of everything, of the husband 
 who loved her so much, of the daughter she loved 
 not a little ! When the enormous task of introducing 
 his great plans for financial and administrative reform 
 made Monsieur worried and preoccupied, Madame 
 thought he was cold to her because her beauty was 
 fading and her youth gone. When he disapproved 
 of her talent for writing (which indeed she turned 
 
MADAME NECKER 105 
 
 too often to morbid uses), she offered to destroy her 
 Essay on Fenelon if he would give up his direction 
 of the India Company. The inequality of the bargain 
 did not occur to her. She was passionately devoted 
 to him. But she did not rise to that better devotion 
 which would have helped him to do his duty, even 
 if the path to it had to be cut through her own 
 heart. 
 
 Perhaps she was easier in mind when they went 
 to Coppet — the estate near Geneva, which they bought 
 in 1784. Here, in the presence of the great quiet 
 mountains, with their peaceful slopes of field and 
 forest, her jealous mind may well have been more 
 at rest. Her unhappiness was always partially phys- 
 ical. If one could but have stayed here ! If one 
 could but have got away for ever from the political 
 whirlpool which engulfed one's husband, from the 
 social life which brought one into rivalry with one's 
 own child ! 
 
 In 1781 M. Necker had "resigned his official situa- 
 tion (which he had kept for five years) as Controller- 
 General of the Treasury. 
 
 From 1781 to 1788 he was out of place, though 
 hardly out of power, and spent his time in schemes 
 for the good of his country and in defending his past 
 acts. In 1788 he was recalled as Controller-General. 
 
 It was on July 11, 1789, when Monsieur and 
 Madame were entertaining a party of friends at 
 dinner, that he received his letter of banishment from 
 
106 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 Louis XYI. He put it in his pocket and said nothing. 
 After, he told Madame. She rose to the occasion as 
 such a woman would. When there was so great a 
 cause for emotion she forgot to be emotional, and 
 only thought of her husband. They ordered the 
 carriage as if they had been going to take a summer 
 evening drive. They made an excuse to their guests. 
 They told Germaine nothing, for fear in her grief 
 she should have been indiscreet. If the mob — that 
 wild mob of Paris, always in a frenzy of love or 
 hatred — knew that Necker, their idol, was being taken 
 from them, they would bring him back by force in 
 triumph. Madame, who was in wretched health, did 
 not even wait to change her dress. They never rested 
 day or night until they reached Brussels. Germaine 
 found them there three days later, worn and travel- 
 stained, and otherwise just as they had left the dinner- 
 table on that memorable evening. They had only 
 reached Frankfurt when they received the king's 
 urgent and passionate recall. The Bastille had fallen ; 
 Paris was mad for the man the monarch had dis- 
 graced. What were the feelings of these people as 
 they were led back in glory, with the mob applaud- 
 ing them, drums beating, music playing, " a host of 
 cavalry, infantry, and citizens" guarding them, chil- 
 dren throwing flowers, women singing, and the flags 
 of what once was the Bastille waving in the air? 
 The father and daughter shared that "universal in- 
 toxication" of joy. Perhaps Madame's more fore- 
 
MADAME NECKER 107 
 
 boding soul was fearful of such a wild success — 
 suspicious of that frenzied worship. She was with 
 her husband in the City Hall, where the people wept 
 at his words and he seemed to them " as a god." He 
 was reinstated in his high functions in the Govern- 
 ment, and, with his wife, took up his residence at 
 Versailles. 
 
 On the morning of October 5, that great day of 
 the Insurrection of Women, when the "ten thousand 
 Judiths" advanced upon the palace, Madame de Stael 
 hurried there to her parents, fearful, as she might well 
 be, for their safety. Outside was "an infernal host," 
 " an immense people." Within, M. Necker hastened to 
 the king. His wife followed him to the Salon next the 
 king's, that whatever might be her husband's fate she 
 might share it. In this supreme crisis, when every 
 moment one lived through made history, she would seem 
 to have been at her best and her serenest. The next day, 
 when Marie Antoinette returned from that immortal 
 scene on the balcony, when Lafayette kissed her hand 
 and the fickle people shouted " her name to the very 
 clouds," it was to Madame Necker she turned saying, 
 sobbing, "They force the king and myself to go to 
 Paris with the heads of our bodyguard borne on the 
 pikes." 
 
 Suzanne was spared that cruel scene, and drove back 
 to the capital with her husband and daughter on a 
 smiling autumn day through the Bois de Boulogne. 
 What was in her heart ? Could her husband even now 
 
108 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 save France ? He himself said it was too late. The tide 
 rushed on to the Terror, and a greater than Necker could 
 not have stemmed it. Suzanne implored him to retire 
 and save himself before that public feeling, upon which 
 no man could rely for an hour, turned against him, and 
 made salvation impossible. She had always been for 
 peace and obscurity. Who shall say that when they 
 went to Coppet, but a little more than a year after that 
 great recall to power, the wife's heart was all sad? 
 They left their country, indeed, in a condition past hope. 
 The world that began so brilliantly for her husband lay 
 in ruins at his feet. But now the wife, who had been a 
 part of his life, might perhaps be all of it ! If Madame 
 Necker had some such feelings, she was not the first 
 woman who has known them, and will not be the 
 last. 
 
 The arrival at Coppet in September 1790 was dismal 
 enough. M. Necker wrote much. Suzanne had a 
 gloomy room looking out over the park, and fell into 
 that old, bad habit of brooding, brooding, brooding. 
 Gibbon came over from Lausanne, where he was writing 
 his "Roman Empire," to stay with them. He had 
 stayed with them before this in Paris, and they had 
 a comfortable friendship for him, and a very sincere 
 admiration for his talents. Did he or Suzanne re- 
 member those old days when they first met ? He 
 wrote of her to Lord Sheffield: "Madame Necker's 
 outward manner is better; mais le diable n'y perd 
 rien." And she loved her husband with that absorbing 
 
MADAME NECKER 109 
 
 devotion which admits no other affection. Madame de 
 Stael came from the red heart of the Revolution to 
 join her parents, and Coppet was a shelter for many 
 refugees. 
 
 Madame Necker's condition of health was now very 
 unsatisfactory. Her conduct to her mother at that 
 bitter time — how many long years ago ! — preyed upon 
 her mind. Perhaps Coppet itself, with its thick, dark 
 avenues of trees and great solitary rooms, was not very 
 good for a melancholy temperament. She tried to 
 collect her friends in the neighbourhood round her; 
 but could she help thinking often of an earlier visit 
 there, when they saw her famous and prosperous ? M. 
 Necker, "abandoned by his friends, vilified by his 
 enemies, disowned by his country," could not always 
 have been a cheerful companion. 
 
 By 1792 Madame was really ill. The great doctors 
 saw her. But who can minister to a mind diseased? 
 A happy temperament is either a gift from the gods or 
 the fruit of one's owu effort. If no one could give ease 
 and rest to the fortunate young wife of the successful 
 banker, how should they find it for this grey-haired 
 woman ? A passionate loathing for Coppet took pos- 
 session of her heart. She was moved to Robe, from 
 where she wrote her farewell letter to her husband, 
 which he must have read after her death. She thought 
 her soul would still watch over his fate. Before this she 
 had had a great desire that her body should be em- 
 balmed instead of buried. A thousand morbid fancies 
 
110 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 took possession of her. This woman, who had always 
 tried to be good, was haunted by such a fear of death as 
 an evil conscience is often spared. 
 
 She was taken to Lausanne to be under Tissot. The 
 last thing she ever wrote was her will, dated January 6, 
 1794. She made provision out of her very little dot for 
 her maid, for some of her poor people, and some distant 
 relatives; asked her husband to supply the further 
 money the dot would not cover; and then, with that 
 doubting heart which was her torment, reproached her- 
 self for having thus appealed to his generosity. 
 
 Her last months were passed in dreadful bodily 
 suffering ; but her husband's devotion must have 
 killed even her distrust. Germaine, too, was with her 
 mother. Oh, how small, seen from the threshold of 
 another world, must have looked the jealousies which 
 made this one miserable ! The daughter sang to her 
 sometimes. When she was alone the sick woman 
 prayed fervently out loud. Often, worn by fatigue, 
 she fell asleep on her husband's arm, and he remained 
 in the same position for hours rather than disturb her. 
 She turned to him once to say, " I fear death, for with 
 you I loved life." At last, when she was too weak to 
 speak, she stretched out her hand to him. She died 
 May 6, 1794. 
 
 Oh, what a stormy soul was this, and under that cold 
 exterior what a full and throbbing heart! There is 
 hardly any other famous woman in whom the idea of 
 duty was so overmastering and persistent as it was in 
 
MADAME NECKER 111 
 
 this one. Was she, indeed, as Madame du Deffand 
 described her, " rigid, frigid, and good " ? Was her 
 virtue often forbidding and severe ? She lived in an 
 age when, if a woman's virtue was not severe, she had 
 none. The very intensity of her feelings made her 
 seem stern. If she had loved her husband less absorb- 
 ingly, she might have been easier to live with. If she 
 had been less passionately desirous of her daughter's 
 real good, she might have been a more judicious mother. 
 Some irony of fate always pursued her. If few have 
 tried so hard to do well, many with less effort have 
 done better. In considering Madame Necker, one must 
 remember always that " it is not what man does that 
 exalts him, but what a man would do." 
 
 As a philanthropist she founded a famous hospital, 
 and, like her husband, was sincerely devoted to the 
 good of the people. 
 
 Religion was the mainstay of her life, and remained 
 an absorbing conviction, though there was hardly one 
 of her friends who shared it, and scepticism was in the 
 air she breathed. 
 
 It was Madame Necker who wrote : " I am every day 
 astonished at the moral perversion which withers all 
 minds and all hearts. Vices or virtues are alike indif- 
 ferent, provided only conversation is animated, and 
 ennui, outmost dreaded plague, is banished." 
 
 As an authoress, she was as ecstatic as she was in her 
 prayers and her heart. 
 
 Her Reflexions sur le Divorce are the most passionate 
 
112 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 and touching argument for the sanctity of marriage. 
 Her Melanges, published by her husband after her 
 death, are rich in axioms and epigrams. 
 
 If there was another woman of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury whose judgment was so unperverted by its shams, 
 she is hard to find. 
 
 At Coppet, where first Bayle, and then the greatest 
 financier and his daughter, the most brilliant literary 
 woman of modern times, lived, and where all nature has 
 that supreme serenity which is peculiar to a moun- 
 tainous lake country, may still be seen the tomb where 
 rests at last the passionate heart of the woman who 
 began the world at little Crassier, not six miles away, as 
 the minister's daughter, Suzanne Curchod. 
 
<&aJ£^ 6 &<&atlt..fLA..j<.. 
 
 > tf(iitf{?ji.e ae <y/s/s/ . 
 
MADAME DE STAEL 
 
 There is no more dazzling figure in modern European 
 history than Madame de Stael. The daughter of 
 Necker and the Revolution, she lived to see the new 
 condition of society which was ushered in by the 
 battle of Waterloo. She was the connecting link 
 between the, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. 
 Brought up in an age when women influenced greatly 
 indeed, but influenced exclusively from their own 
 homes and Salons, she ran about Europe always talking 
 and always writing, carrying on an immortal warfare 
 with Bonaparte — the newest of new women, as she 
 was certainly the cleverest and the most extraordinary. 
 She made for herself a life which the concisest of 
 encyclopaedists and biographers seem unable to com- 
 press into the usual half column. She plunged into 
 politics. She was stateswoman, novelist, playwriter, 
 actress, metaphysician, patriot, intriguer, musician, 
 philosopher. What was she not ? As a Saloniere her 
 Salon was nothing. It was only its mistress who 
 counted. Its habitues were there, not to talk with 
 each other, but to listen to her. In the other Salons 
 it was the men who made history. In this, it was 
 the woman who whispered in their ear, who suggested 
 
 113 h 
 
114 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 this, proposed that, and made them say at the Tribunat 
 to-morrow, what she thought in her rooms to-night. 
 So that Napoleon said, " Ce n'est point un salon, c'est 
 un club " — and exiled her. 
 
 Born in Paris, April 22, 1766, Germaine was almost 
 from the first a cause of disagreement between the 
 parents who loved her. Papa was so gay, and mamma 
 so strict ! The bright, ugly, black-eyed baby distracted 
 M. Necker with her infant vivacity from the great 
 cares of his position. He was the best of playfellows. 
 At what absurd age does a little woman discover that 
 one admires her, and finds her small sayings laughable, 
 and her small ways charming? When her mother 
 received, Germaine sat by her side on a very straight- 
 backed little chair (Madame thought straight-backed 
 chairs and uncomfortableness in themselves virtuous 
 and regenerating to the soul), and listened with a 
 very keen little mind, which no doubt took in much 
 more than that righteous mother fancied, to the 
 most brilliant conversation of an age gorgeous in its 
 setting. 
 
 All the guests spoke to the little girl. Here were 
 Grimm, Raynal, Thomas, Marmontel, who especially 
 loved to draw her out. Be sure Germaine replied to 
 them with a perfect confidence. It was not, indeed, a 
 very good bringing-up for a small person naturally 
 not a little vain. 
 
 She was still quite a child when she was writing to 
 her mother : — 
 
MADAME DE STAEL 115 
 
 "My dear Mamma, — I want to write to you. My 
 heart is drawn tight. I am sad, and in this large 
 house I see now only a desert." 
 
 And again : 
 
 "Let me kiss you a thousand times, and press you 
 to a heart that belongs only to you and papa." 
 
 Before the practical English mind condemns the 
 letter-writer as an affected little poseuse, it should 
 remember that Germaine was a French child, and that 
 when she was no longer a child she never knew an 
 emotion — and she knew many and passionate ones — 
 without talking or writing about it. 
 
 Some painter should put on canvas that garden 
 scene at St. Ouen, where she was sent as a girl to 
 recover her health after too much brain-work, and 
 where, with a little Mademoiselle Huber, she amused 
 herself by declaiming tragic verses, and reciting plays 
 and poems, dressed in white like a wood nymph. She 
 was not at all pretty. She was never pretty. She 
 had rather coarse features, and a certain bold brilliancy 
 of expression, not all attractive. But then every fresh 
 feeling re-created her face. She was at this time 
 divinely young. And her ugliness was now, as later, 
 so clever that it interested more than any placid beauty. 
 
 She had written tragedies before she was grown up. 
 She had a mind that dared anything. She had already 
 begun to idolise her father with that idolatry which 
 only died at her death. She herself said that the 
 enlevement of Richardson's Clarissa was one of the 
 
116 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 events of her childhood, and might well have exclaimed 
 with the heroine of another novel, " II me faut des 
 emotions ! " " That which amused her was that which 
 made her weep," wrote Mademoiselle Huber. There 
 was no other girl in the world — not even another 
 French girl — who was at sixteen or seventeen years 
 old such a brilliant compound of genius, vanity, in- 
 spiration, sentiment, and impulse as Germaine Necker. 
 
 The richest heiress in France was just twenty when 
 she married the Baron de Stael-Holstein, Swedish 
 Ambassador in Paris. He was much older than her- 
 self. He was nobody. He only lent his wife a name 
 which she was to render immortal. They separated 
 pretty soon without making any extraordinary fuss 
 about the parting. A friend of de StaeTs said that 
 he was always "sincerely attached to his charming 
 wife, although she showed entire indifference to him." 
 That may have been so. But perhaps the Baron 
 found with Lamartine, that "celebrity is like a fire 
 which burns when one is close to it, and gives light 
 when one is away from it. Happy he who is far from 
 a woman's glory ! " 
 
 With her marriage began that torrent of events 
 which formed Madame's life. 
 
 She was still a very young wife when the long- 
 smouldering misery of her country broke into flame. 
 She had an absorbing passion for liberty. She had 
 already published her "Letters on the Works and 
 Character of Jean Jacques Rousseau," which are them- 
 
MADAME DE STAEL 117 
 
 selves a clever girl's passionate hero-worship for the 
 man "without whom," said Napoleon r "there would 
 have been no revolution in France." Before the meet- 
 ing of the States-General — that "baptism day of 
 democracy," "the extreme unction day of feudalism" — 
 she watched from a window the great procession of 
 the twelve hundred deputies with an exultant joy. It 
 remained for another woman, much less brilliant and 
 further-seeing, to say, "Do not rejoice; out of this 
 day will arrive frightful disasters to France and to us." 
 
 Madame was with her father at his disgrace and at 
 his recall to power. It was the Millennium — it was 
 the Golden Age — it was Utopia ! And to-day she 
 was at Versailles and the great Insurrection of Women. 
 As soon as possible after the birth of her son in the 
 dramatic August of 1790, she joined her parents at 
 Coppet. But, " I have all Switzerland in a magnificent 
 horror," she wrote, and rushed back to Paris. 
 
 It was supremely characteristic of her now and al- 
 ways that she should find anything better than inaction. 
 She must be moving, doino:, to the fore. A Kevolution 
 — and I not in it ? Social Paris still sociable, though 
 its streets run with blood — and I not there to talk? 
 There is no human face that expresses such an extra- 
 ordinary degree of vitality and energy as Madame de 
 StaeTs. She arrived in her dearest capital, and started 
 there the first, the most brilliant, and the most influential 
 of her Salons, the Salon of the Kevolution. 
 
 It is pre-eminently of French society that it can be 
 
118 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 said that it is at its liveliest and wittiest in a time of 
 anarchy and confusion. If one is French one must 
 amuse oneself. And if, without, there is tragedy and 
 ruin, why, within, only the more need to distract one's 
 thoughts. In this Salon, besides, there was not only 
 laughter. Here met the old nobility, and the men of 
 the tiers etats. The habitues were Talleyrand, Barnave, 
 Chenier, Lafayette, Lally Tollendal, Narbonne, and Ben- 
 jamin Constant. Madame did not lead the conversation 
 gently, imperceptibly, as did the Salonieres of those 
 old Salons of that old world, gone for ever. Her per- 
 sonality dominated the room. Those flashing black eyes, 
 those full, passionate lips, could never have belonged to 
 a woman content to be merely tender and charming. 
 She wanted to make felt her power, and the genius of 
 which she was supremely conscious — and could but be 
 conscious. She talked politics in a fire of enthusiasm. 
 She wrote "the most important part of Talleyrand's 
 Report on Public Instruction in 1791," and then was 
 imploring Barras, the only member of the Birectoire 
 admitted here, to spare one or another victim of that 
 insatiable monster, universal anarchy. 
 
 Before long she was saving her friends by her own 
 exertions. She hid Narbonne in her house, and, with 
 that infinite wit and resource which never deserted her, 
 prevented the officials from searching it. If she ever 
 was, as Sismondi said, excessivement poltronne, she 
 certainly did not show it now. She had, instead, the 
 mettle and pluck of a war-horse. On that awful day 
 
MADAME DE STAEL 119 
 
 of the Massacre of September she tried to escape to 
 Coppet. She was stopped and taken to the Hotel de 
 Ville, escorted by that rnob who the next day murdered 
 the Lamballe with nameless atrocities. The carriage 
 was three hours in getting through the streets. The 
 people, goaded to madness by its aristocratic appearance, 
 howled blasphemies and death. The gendarmes would 
 not help her, except one, who was with her in the car- 
 riage, and fell under the potent charm of her cleverness, 
 and promised to save her with his life. In the Hotel 
 de Ville she was brought before Robespierre. Manuel, 
 the " procureur of the Commune," and her friend, found 
 her there, and, after many hours of waiting, conducted 
 her, in the safe shelter of the darkness, through mid- 
 night Paris to her home. The next morning she left 
 for Coppet. There is no scene in either of her novels 
 half so dramatic as the story of that September day. 
 If she had written her own romance of the Revolution, 
 it would have outlived many Corinnes and Delphines. 
 
 Early in 1793 she paid her first visit to England. 
 She joined the little colony of emigres at Mickleham. 
 They were all very gay, witty, and poor. Neither 
 poverty nor the horrible scenes they had come from 
 (and in which they must have left many of those dear 
 to them) prevented them from entertaining each other, 
 and forming little Salons and picnic parties after the 
 light-hearted manner of their nation. Their morals 
 were by no means too strict, said English respectability. 
 Some people gave Narbonne to Madame de Stael as a 
 
120 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 lover. The Miss Berrys disapproved of her. Madame 
 was to the fore in this society, as she was in all societies. 
 She recited tragedies, and read aloud the first chapter 
 of her " Influence of the Passions on the Happiness of 
 Nations and Individuals." When she had found time 
 to write it, Heaven knows. How she found time to 
 write any of her works, much less to think of them, is 
 certainly known to no one in this world. "Since you 
 sleep all night, and act or talk all day," said her cousin 
 and biographer, "when do you reflect and study ?" "In 
 my sedan chair," replied Madame, with her inimitable 
 confidence. And she was back again at Coppet, writing 
 her " Reflections on the Trial of the Queen," with her 
 impassioned pen dipped in the impulsive pity of an 
 ardent heart; weeping for the death of her mother; 
 and then back again in Paris, ruling her Salon of the 
 Directoire, and fighting tooth and nail that greatest 
 of fighters, Napoleon Bonaparte. 
 
 The history of their quarrel is, after all, only the 
 history of two powers who both wanted to be absolute 
 in the same territory. It has been said that it was 
 unworthy the manhood of Napoleon to persecute a 
 woman. But it would certainly have been inconsistent 
 with his matchless cleverness to have ignored the 
 " talent and influence " of her whom he called a " rest- 
 less intriguer," with " a mania for writing about every- 
 thing and of nothing." There could be no higher 
 compliment to her power and genius than that Bonaparte 
 feared them, just as there is no better testimony to his 
 
MADAME DE STAEL 121 
 
 unique ability than that Dix Anne'es d'Exil which she 
 wrote to expose his character. 
 
 To this her second Salon — her Salon of the Consulate 
 or the Directoire — came at first his brothers Lucien 
 and Joseph. She could influence them. 
 
 She influenced, too, the journalists and the news- 
 paper editors who now rubbed shoulders in her rooms 
 with aristocrats who were still wearing the humble 
 clothes which they had first donned as a protection in 
 the Terror. The great ladies of the old regime were not 
 at all above meeting here the men of those classes 
 once called lower — of imploring of them, of gaining 
 from them, by flatteries to which only love could 
 have made them stoop, the restoration of exiled 
 friends. 
 
 Madame herself was hardly of these great ladies. 
 There was a coarseness about her somehow, in her 
 strong passions, overweening energy, and vaulting 
 ambition, which had very little of the calm and re- 
 finement, and a thousand times more life and vigour 
 than ever ran in the blue blood of a dying aristocracy. 
 It is a marvel that she could have held her Salon 
 for an hour, in spite of a Napoleon. For that most 
 "exquisite pleasure" of her life, "the pleasure of 
 conversing in Paris," she fought with all her talents 
 and powers. 
 
 Her adherents slunk away from her at last, afraid 
 to stay ; and Madame, undaunted, published her " Essay 
 on Literature," won them back in spite of themselves 
 
122 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 and of danger, talked once more as well and as much 
 as it was only given to her to talk, brought out " Del- 
 phine" at Geneva, and in 1803 was banished by 
 Napoleon to forty leagues from Paris. 
 
 If one could not be in the capital, there was no good 
 in being in France at all. To be out of Paris was 
 extinction! All the loveliness of Lake Leman only 
 caused Madame to exclaim, "Oh for the gutter of 
 the Rue du Bac!" She was still panting from the 
 effects of her fight with Napoleon, and not more in a 
 frame of mind to approach sober German philosophy 
 than the great calm of nature, when she rushed fran- 
 tically to Metz, Frankfort, Weimar, Berlin, and the 
 acquaintance of Goethe, Schiller, and Wieland. 
 
 It was not, everything considered, very surprising 
 that these grave thinkers found themselves unable 
 to judge Madame wholly kindly. She was the more 
 generous. She was always a warm admirer. She was 
 not, it would seem, less self-confident now than usual. 
 She argued philosophy with Geothe with the same 
 impassioned brilliancy and ignorance of the subject 
 as, later on, said Byron, " she preached English politics 
 to the first of our English Whig politicians the day 
 after her arrival in England." 
 
 She chatted vivaciously on subjects to the study of 
 which her listeners had given all their lives, their 
 deepest earnestness, and their profoundest thought. 
 " To philosophise in society," said one of them, writing 
 of her with not a little bitterness, " means to talk with 
 
MADAME DE STAEL 123 
 
 vivacity about insoluble problems." These heavy people 
 were in the dumps and must be roused ! Madame 
 plunged headlong into discussions where men and 
 angels fear to tread. She was much too impulsive to 
 be reverent. She always wanted to be first, to attract 
 notice, "to excite passion, no matter what." She did 
 not wait to hear her adversary's reply. She jumped 
 at the cleverest conclusions. Her whole genius was 
 inspiration. "The altogether unprecedented glibness 
 of her tongue," of which the grave Teutons complained, 
 did not leave her a single moment for reflection or 
 for self-distrust. When Robinson said to her later, 
 "Madame, you did not understand Goethe, and you 
 will never understand him," she replied, "Monsieur, I 
 understand everything that is worth understanding; 
 that which I don't understand is nothing." This was 
 the key to all her brilliant mind, to her whole mental 
 attitude towards the deepest intellects of her century. 
 
 There is no wonder that such a very naive vanity 
 should have been ill content with the "moderate 
 German plaudits" given to her reading and reciting 
 in public. It is not a little to the credit of her mag- 
 nanimity that, though these stupid people did not 
 worship her half so enthusiastically as they ought, 
 she was even now taking notes for her De VAUemagne, 
 that book which has been well called "the revelation 
 of the genius of Germany to the French people." 
 
 In 1804 the illness and death of her father recalled 
 her to Coppet. She mourned him with a very loud 
 
124 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 and a very sincere grief; but, whether he was alive 
 or dead, his daughter must be moving, doing, a power 
 in the world. She ran through Italy in an ecstasy. 
 She wrote "Corinne" in another. She finished it at 
 a friend's house very near Paris — to which she was 
 creeping back, in spite of Napoleon. After its publica- 
 tion, and the roar of delight with which it was received, 
 he banished her anew. It is supremely characteristic 
 of the woman that, although she declared he had no 
 heart, she was everlastingly appealing to it; that, 
 though she herself said, "Demosthenes and Cicero 
 combined could not lead him to the least sacrifice of 
 his personal interest," she never ceased to try upon 
 him the effect of her own eloquence and cleverness. 
 
 She went back to Coppet. She held there a kind of 
 Salon. She wrote plays and acted in them. Among 
 her guests were the exquisite Juliette Recamier (for 
 whose loveliness Madame de Stael said she would 
 give all her own genius), Bonsetten, Werner, Prince 
 Augustus of Prussia, and the inevitable Benjamin 
 Constant. But even the society of her friends — and 
 of such friends — could not make Coppet endurable 
 for long. She went to Germany a second time, taking 
 Constant with her. She had that famous interview 
 with Goethe's mother when she appeared dressed as 
 " Corinne " in " an orange and blue turban, a robe of 
 the same, an orange tunic, with a very short waist 
 . . . and the usual laurel twig in her hand." She must 
 have been now about forty years old, stout, snuff-taking, 
 
MADAME DE STAEL 125 
 
 and it must be presumed, without any very keen sense 
 of the ridiculous. She met Fichte, and asked him to 
 give her an account, " in fifteen minutes or so," of that 
 famous system which it had taken him all his life and 
 genius to evolve. The disgust of the poor man may 
 be imagined. He had not spoken for ten minutes 
 when she interrupted him — " It is enough ; I compre- 
 hend, I comprehend perfectly" — and told him a little 
 anecdote from "Munchausen's Travels" to illustrate 
 his theory of " I " and " me " ! It is impossible to con- 
 ceive of another mind at once so clever and so inade- 
 quate. Madame's intellect was like her life: it puts 
 one out of breath to follow it. 
 
 She was at Coppet again now, writing Be VAllemagne, 
 acting plays, entertaining friends, and having her por- 
 trait painted as " Corinne," seated on a rock with a lyre 
 in her hand, by Madame Vigee le Brun. The sitter 
 declaimed tragic passages from Corneille and Racine, to 
 give her face the proper expression. She was the best 
 of actresses — of the kind that are born, not made. She 
 published her Be VAllemagne, that "most masculine 
 production of the faculties of woman," and was exiled 
 for it. These banishments gave her so much excite- 
 ment, and so much fame, that to such a nature as hers 
 they could not have been an unmixed evil. But she 
 was coming — nay, had come — to that time when she 
 realised to the full how little even such a celebrity as 
 hers was satisfying, and that " the love of all is but a 
 small thing to the love of one." 
 
126 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 Her husband was dead. Her relations with Benjamin 
 Constant — whatever those relations may once have 
 been — were certainly now not more than friendship. 
 To that bored and brilliant cynic she had played a part 
 at least not all ignoble ; she had made him do what 7 ; he 
 could. She was a middle-aged woman — who ought to 
 have known better, said the (world, when it heard the 
 story hereafter — when she fell in love with de Rocca. 
 M. de Rocca was a French officer who had distinguished 
 himself in Spain and returned home ^wounded, and 
 was young, brave, chivalrous, and enthusiastic. It was 
 Madame's fame which first attracted him to her, no 
 doubt. And on her side ? A passion which has been 
 looked upon as almost exclusively ridiculous, places her 
 character, not the less, in its best light. What had 
 she to gain by marrying him ? She had everything to 
 lose. If it was a folly, it was a generous folly. There 
 is nothing so pathetic in her history as her passionate 
 conviction that there is no blessing in life comparable 
 to a happy marriage. It is her cousin who says, very 
 truly, that the inconvenience of love-matches ?is " pre- 
 cisement qu'on ne choisit pas." Madame had to suffer 
 many of these inconveniences. She kept her secret, 
 indeed, as much as such a woman could. It was^ not 
 till after her death that every one knew of her impru- 
 dence and her happiness; but if she had had to lose 
 the world for it, to her it would have been the world 
 well lost. 
 
 The natural imprevoyance of her character could 
 
MADAME DE STAEL 127 
 
 not prevent her from having much anxiety about her 
 husband's precarious health. "There is only one un- 
 happiness in life," she said, "the death of what one 
 loves." 
 
 In 1812 their child was born. By now, the rigid 
 surveillance of Napoleon had become intolerable to 
 Madame's energetic spirit. She escaped from Coppet 
 on May 23, 1812, with de Kocca, and her son and 
 daughter de Stael, to Vienna, and through Austria 
 to Russia and Sweden. On the journey were many 
 narrow escapes from the vigilance of the tyrant, and 
 dramatic adventures which quite suited Madame's 
 penchant for the picturesque. She stayed six months 
 in Sweden, and, after twenty years absence from it, 
 visited England once more. 
 
 This visit was throughout in the nature of a trium- 
 phal progress. England did not like Madame less 
 because Bonaparte hated her. Her talents had made 
 her not only the first woman in France, but the first 
 woman in Europe. Hundreds of these cold English- 
 women had sobbed over her " Corinne " and " Delphine." 
 The most exclusive of the great houses flung open their 
 doors to her. She visited Lord and Lady Jersey, Lord 
 and Lady Hardwicke, Lord Liverpool. She was at the 
 Hollands' and at Rogers' literary dinners. Among her 
 acquaintances were Canning, Lord Grey, Campbell, 
 Bowles, Croker, Coleridge, Byron, Sir James Macintosh, 
 Wilberforce — all the celebrities of the time. Her ap- 
 pearance at a party created a furore. People got on 
 
128 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 the chairs and tables to see her. This "spiritual 
 Amazon," this constellation to whom all the stars sang 
 Te Deum, talked, harangued, lectured, argued every- 
 where. Sir James Macintosh said he had dined with 
 her " at the houses of almost all the Cabinet ministers." 
 " The most active, combative, and voluble of all the 
 human beings I ever met," could put her volubility 
 into four languages — German, English, Italian, and 
 French. She quoted Latin. She had a "very good 
 battle " with Lord Wellesley at Holland House on the 
 Spanish treaty. The superior knowledge of her adver- 
 sary did not daunt her in the least. Byron spoke of 
 her society as an " avalanche." The social rules which 
 bound other people had no hold upon her. " Mrs. 
 Corinne always lingers so long after dinner," said the 
 poet again, " that we wish her — in the drawing-room." 
 When the Be I'Allemagne, suppressed in France, was 
 published in London, the shout of applause was deafen- 
 ing. Jeffrey had already called her, on the strength of 
 " Corinne," " the greatest writer in France since Voltaire 
 and Rousseau, and the greatest female writer of any 
 age or country." What was her position now? To 
 this woman with her " strong passion for fame " such a 
 universal worship must have been intoxicating indeed. 
 It proves that, with all her faults, there must have been 
 something not a little noble in her, that, though she 
 drank deeper of the nectar of celebrity than any woman 
 has drunk of it before or after her, she never doubted 
 that the best thing in life was not fame, but love. 
 
MADAME DE STAEL 129 
 
 She went home. The battle of Waterloo had given 
 the French nation another of those changes which it 
 needs, said Napoleon, about every three months to 
 captivate its imagination. " With it, whoever does not 
 advance is lost." 
 
 At her brilliant Salon of the Restoration — "more 
 instructive than a book and more amusing than a 
 play " — Madame received the Duke of Wellington, and 
 could not help saying of him to a friend in a whisper, 
 " II faut pourtant convenir que jamais la nature n'a fait 
 un grand homme a moins de frais." She was now fifty. 
 But her heart had the passion and vigour of twenty. 
 Such a woman could never grow old. 
 
 She was at Pisa with her husband, her daughter, and 
 Schlegel. De Rocca's health was wretched. It caused 
 Madame an intermittent and tempestuous fear, which 
 in deeper hearts is replaced by that persistent, dull ache 
 called anxiety. Before this her mother had, in her 
 own words, forced Mademoiselle de Stael to make a 
 marriage of inclination. 
 
 In June 1816 she returned to Coppet. She re- 
 ceived Byron, whom England, having worshipped, had 
 turned and rent. Was it not characteristic at once of 
 Madame's boundless self-reliance and of her impulsive 
 heart, that one of the last acts of her life should have 
 been to attempt a reconciliation between the poet and 
 his wife? She died, after one of the most eventful 
 and extraordinary lives ever led by a woman. 
 
 Madame de Stael took her own generation by storm. 
 
130 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 She inspired everywhere an enthusiasm of love or 
 hatred. There was no medium. The time is not yet 
 come when she can be regarded with that cold and 
 disinterested eye which is supposed to search out truth. 
 Her ample and vivid personality still takes one in 
 possession. Her rush of words, her rush of feeling, her 
 inimitable intellectual daring, her supreme conceit, 
 and her strong passions, leave the beholder breath- 
 less, astounded, and in a frame of mind essentially 
 unjudicial. 
 
 In her bold inconsistency and her marvellous intui- 
 tions she was supremely a woman. She was supremely 
 unwomanly in her amazing egoism and her lust for 
 fame. Take refuge with her from the battle of life 
 without ? She was herself a battle. Her love was a 
 torrent of generous and undisciplined emotion. " If she 
 gives herself up to her impetuous nature," said Ben- 
 jamin Constant, " there is a commotion like a thunder- 
 storm or an earthquake. . . . Did she but know how to 
 govern herself, she could govern the world." That is 
 her whole character summed up in little. 
 
 Her works are personal in an extraordinary degree. 
 It is "I," "me," "my," always. The most famous of 
 her books are full of appeal, of insistence that the 
 world should admire, not German literature or a 
 heroine of romance, but Anne Germaine Necker de 
 Stael-Holstein. 
 
 "Delphine" is not -immoral French fiction half so 
 much as it is a brilliant girl's passionate cry for enjoy- 
 
MADAME DE STAEL 131 
 
 ment — the outburst of a very young heart that could 
 not yet quite believe that " we were not sent into the 
 world to be happy, but to be right." 
 
 "Corinne," that "chef-d'oeuvre of the youth of her 
 talent," is a picture of Italy photographed upon a most 
 poetic heart. Corinne crowned at the Capitol, Corinne 
 with her lyre, her beautiful sentiments, and her pas- 
 sionate grief, has all the ardour and genius and the 
 lack of stern, cool common- sense of the real Corinne, 
 Madame de Stael. The authoress always wrote, as it 
 were, with the blood of her heart. Her cousin calls 
 " Delphine " the book " where she has said everything." 
 Her genius and weakness alike consisted in this. She 
 always said everything. She put down what she felt at 
 the moment. She never paused to reflect what effect 
 the record of those feelings would have on other minds. 
 She never corrected or thought over what she had 
 written. When the hour for reflection had come she 
 was busy composing something else. She wrote in all 
 places and at all times. When some one read her a 
 passage out of one of her own works, "That is very 
 beautiful," she said, " did I indeed write that ? " In 
 the stream of publications with which she flooded the 
 world she might well forget a few flowing phrases. 
 If her feelings were always changing, they were not 
 the less acute feelings for the time. "Corinne" and 
 "Delphine" will never altogether die, because when 
 they were written they came straight from the heart 
 of the woman who wrote them, and abound in those 
 
132 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 touches of nature which make all men kin. The 
 supreme achievement of Madame's talent was doubtless 
 De UAllemagne. She studied for it for six years. It 
 was part of her cleverness that when it was finished it 
 appeared to have in it the research of a lifetime. 
 
 If her Dix Annies d'Exil revealed a great deal more 
 of her own character than it did of Napoleon's, yet not 
 the less, with her intuitive genius, she had her infidel a 
 thousand times upon the hip. 
 
 Her " Essay on Literature," which has been called 
 " the greatest of all the literary productions of women," 
 abounds in fine aphorisms, and has all the splendid 
 dash and vigour which were pre-eminently the de 
 
 Steel's, 
 
 There 1 are few writers who have such quick-flowing 
 grace of expression, and at once such warmth, such 
 spirit, such passion, and such tenderness. 
 
 It is Madame de Stael who loves to quote that inimi- 
 table definition of Shelling, "architecture is frozen 
 music." It is she herself who says, " Comprendre, c'est 
 pardonner," and by the mouth of her dying Corinne, 
 " Tout comprendre rend tres indulgent, et sentir pro- 
 fondement inspire une grande bonte." It is the most 
 famous woman of her century who finds that "for 
 women glory is only a brilliant mourning worn for 
 happiness," and that " everything which does not touch 
 one's heart leaves one's life free." 
 
 On a profounder subject she says, "The mystery of 
 existence is the connection between our sins and our 
 
MADAME DE STAEL 183 
 
 sorrows. I have never done a wrong which has not 
 been the cause of a misfortune ; " and " One must take 
 care, if one can, that the decline of this life be the 
 youth of the next. To forget self without ceasing to 
 be interested in others gives the soul something of the 
 divine." 
 
 All her thoughts have thus the softness of pearls or 
 the sparkle of diamonds. They are exquisite gems for 
 ornament, if they are not gold for use. 
 
 Whatever be the judgment of future generations 
 upon the talent of Madame de Stael, the woman herself 
 is immortal. 
 
 So long as human nature is an interesting study, so 
 long will stand out clearly that strong figure in the 
 flowing dress of the period, with the yellow turban on 
 the black hair, the laurel twig in the hand, the flashing 
 eyes and brilliant coarse face. 
 
 The other Salonieres made their Salons their world. 
 It was only this one who attempted to make the world 
 her Salon. 
 
MADAME RECAMIER 
 
 It takes perhaps a century for truth about a celebrity to 
 be wound up from the bottom of its well.; Madame 
 Kecamier has not yet been dead sixty years. Her 
 biographies are the work of friends who wrote when 
 they were still under the spell of her exquisite love- 
 liness, or who were bound to her by the ties of kinship. 
 The unfavourable criticisms on her are attributable to the 
 jealousy of rivals. This last and least of the Salonieres 
 is, therefore, the most difficult to consider. She herself 
 wrote nothing, or practically nothing. From the enemies 
 and the flatterers, therefore, and from chance allusions 
 in contemporary memoirs and letters, one has to colour 
 her picture as near to life as one can. 
 
 Jeanne Francoise Julie Adelaide Bernard had, as she 
 might be expected to have had, a very handsome father 
 and mother. M. Bernard was good-looking and stupid ; 
 but Madame, his wife, was lovely, shrewd, and business- 
 like. 
 
 The little creature born to them at Lyons on Decem- 
 ber 4, 1777, did not like any of those four fine Christian 
 names, it appears, and elected to be called, or at any 
 rate was called to the end of her life, Juliette. Juliette 
 
 134 
 
Si 
 
MADAME KfiCAMIER 135 
 
 found her first lover when she was about seven, and 
 being educated by an aunt at Villefranche. The young 
 gentleman was also about seven. The romance ended 
 abruptly when Juliette was sent as a pupil to a certain 
 convent of La Deserte, at Lyons. Years after she re- 
 called, as in a " vague sweet dream," the calm convent 
 garden, with its old-fashioned flowers, and the dim 
 chapel, incense-scented, with its beautiful, mysterious 
 rites, which have impressed children of a larger growth 
 than Juliette for many centuries. 
 
 What she learned at the convent does not much 
 transpire. She went back to Paris and to her mother, 
 who quickly perceived that Juliette's fortune in life was 
 to be made by her beauty. Beauty unadorned was not 
 at all to the taste of an age when even a Yigee le Brun 
 painted a Marie Antoinette with a structure on her head 
 which would have made a lesser loveliness entirely 
 ridiculous ; so, no doubt, Madame Bernard was right in 
 compelling her little girl to give up many hours to her 
 toilette, and to realise at the earliest possible period the 
 necessity of applying herself seriously to this gravest 
 branch of female education. 
 
 It would not appear that Juliette was now or ever 
 vain. She grew up with her beauty, as it were, from 
 her infancy. She accepted it, calmly complacent. It 
 was not a part of herself. It was her whole self. The 
 little creature, sitting hours and hours in front of her 
 looking-glass, was as used to her own loveliness as she 
 was to the exceedingly injudicious compliments to which 
 
136 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 she was always listening at the parties to which gay papa 
 and mamma were continually taking her. 
 
 Once they took her to see the king and queen dining, 
 according to custom, in public at Versailles. The queen 
 noticed the little Juliette. Her beauty always attracted 
 attention, even a queen's, naturally, and as a matter of 
 course. She was the same age as Madame Royale. 
 The children must be measured ! Juliette was taken to 
 the private apartments and measured with that other 
 child, for whom Fate was preparing so widely different 
 a destiny. Juliette was a little bit the taller. She was 
 always, as it were, a little bit taller, a little bit lovelier, a 
 little bit more charming, than any other woman. That 
 was her career. 
 
 At home Madame Bernard gave her just such an 
 education as would make her beauty yet more attractive. 
 She was taught the harp and sang to it. She played 
 on the piano. When she was old she recalled that 
 music of her youth, without notes, at twilight. She 
 danced divinely. Does not one know, later, all about 
 that shawl dance, which gave the de Stael one of the 
 most charming scenes in her novels ? 
 
 Juliette had the gayest early girlhood imaginable. 
 There were innumerable parties at home ; and abroad 
 — theatres, concerts, a thousand things. It was 1791— 
 1792, and the Revolution was already at the gates. One 
 may not be able to amuse oneself much longer ! » So 
 much the more reason to be all the merrier while we 
 can ! With what an awful literalness in these times 
 
MADAME RECAMIER 137 
 
 was that saying fulfilled, "Let us eat and drink, for 
 to-morrow we die." 
 
 In that Annus Mirabilis 1793, a certain M. Recamier 
 visited very assiduously chez Bernard. M. Recamier 
 was a banker, very handsome, very gay, very charming, 
 with the most delightful manners and the kindest heart. 
 It was not at all wonderful that he should have fallen 
 in love with the spring beauty of Juliette Bernard. 
 There was but one drawback. M. Recamier was five- 
 and-forty, and Juliette was hardly older than that other 
 Juliet of the house of Capulet of Verona. 
 
 It was an occasion on which one might have suspected 
 a case of tearful loveliness and obdurate, worldly parents. 
 But such a suspicion would have been unfounded. 
 Juliette of Paris accepted the prosaic, elderly husband 
 with that perfect equability which was to preserve her 
 beauty long past an age when other women have wept 
 theirs into wrinkles and crows' feet. It was destiny — 
 and not a bad destiny. Let us take it philosophically ! 
 If Juliette of Paris could not be called heartless, she 
 had at least a very different order of heart to Juliet 
 of Verona. 
 
 In the very thick of the Revolution, then, Made- 
 moiselle Bernard became Madame Recamier. It is 
 one of the tragedies or one of the alleviations of life, 
 as one chooses to take it, that though one half of the 
 world be dying, the other half must needs go on laugh- 
 ing, visiting, marrying, as under serener skies. M. 
 Recamier saw many executions with his own eyes. 
 
138 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 His house and the Bernards' were protected by 
 Barrere. Did this girl-wife at home tremble for the 
 fate that had overtaken many she knew, and for fear 
 it might overtake herself? Perhaps. Her life at first 
 was a very secluded one. The ardour of the Salons 
 even had been damped at last by so much blood. 
 There were nothing but public entertainments now. 
 In France it will take the Judgment Day to stop those. 
 So, behind the veil of enforced privacy Juliette Ee- 
 camier's beauty rose to that dazzling loveliness before 
 which all descriptions fail. Her biographers, indeed, 
 speak of the exquisite complexion, the little rounded 
 arms, the delicate figure, the clustering dark hair — and 
 convey nothing. The great David painted her, and was 
 driven to despair by a beauty no canvas could repro- 
 duce. Gerard had hardly more success. Later, Canova 
 did her bust in marble. But what had marble and this 
 warm, soft loveliness, with its tints of morning, in com- 
 mon with each other ? If " the best part of beauty is 
 that which a picture cannot express," Madame had that 
 best part in an extraordinary degree. In the Louvre 
 to-day thousands of people pass by her portrait un- 
 noticing or disappointed. The sure testimony to the 
 reality of her loveliness in life is the men who wor- 
 shipped her, and Paris who went mad over it. 
 
 When the churches were opened again, Madame 
 collected for a fashionable charity at St. Roch, and 
 her impulsive countrymen got on the side altars, and 
 perhaps swarmed up the pillars, to look at her. She 
 
MADAME RECAMIER 139 
 
 was no doubt serene, as always. Such a worship did 
 not turn her head — hardly made that calm heart beat 
 quicker. It was pleasant to be adored indeed — nay, 
 it was the only thing worth living for. It was the 
 end of education. Was it possibly also the end ot 
 marriage with a man who would treat one in all 
 respects as a father, and guard one sufficiently from 
 the effects of those passions it was so pleasant and 
 so dangerous to excite ? 
 
 M. Recamier took, and furnished with a royal splen- 
 dour, a house in the Rue de Blanc, belonging to M. 
 Necker, where another Saloniere, much less calm and 
 philosophic than Juliette, had once held her Salon. 
 The maison Recamier was rising in the world. Beauty 
 is a very long ladder to success, as every one knows. 
 In 1799 Madame met for the first time, at a dinner- 
 party, twenty-four-year-old Lucien Bonaparte, very 
 vain, very fatuous, very susceptible, but with an 
 adorable boyish smile. He fell in love with her. 
 That goes without saying. Did she object to the 
 infatuation ? Lucien was the First Consul's brother. 
 He wrote her a most passionate, absurd, simple letter. 
 The lovely Madame had a little inspiration: treated 
 it as an essay in novel-writing, and handed it back 
 to the devout lover in public, advising him to devote 
 his talents to better things. She was only the more 
 charming when she was cruel. It is hardly necessary 
 to say that the distracted Lucien wrote more letters. 
 He signed himself Romeo. He was dreadfully roman- 
 
140 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 tic and emphatic and young. Juliette got a little 
 frightened, and told her husband the story. Lucien 
 must be forbidden the house ! And M. Recamier, 
 with the easy optimism of his character, or the lax 
 morality of the time, or with shrewd business instincts 
 (or with a little of all three feelings, perhaps), replied 
 that he could not offend the brother of General 
 Bonaparte, and that though Madame must "grant 
 him nothing," she must not drive him to despair. 
 Poor Lucien! He suffered himself to be made a fool 
 of for a year perhaps. Before that year was over the 
 First Consul himself had condescended to admire 
 Madame's loveliness, and presently tried to get its 
 omnipotent influence on his own side by offering her 
 an appointment, which she refused, as lady-in-waiting 
 to the Empress. 
 
 M. Recamier' s bank had been getting for some time 
 into a very embarrassed condition. It happened at 
 last that, unless the Bank of France would advance 
 a million, the Bank Recamier must stop payment. 
 With Fate's fine sense of the picturesque, there was 
 a great dinner-party chez Recamier the very evening 
 husband and wife were waiting the decision on which 
 depended their fortune — perhaps the fortune of their 
 lives. The strain was too great for pleasant M. 
 Recamier. He fled to the country. It was Madame 
 who received the guests, exquisitely dressed and smil- 
 ing — tranquilly apologising, no doubt, for Monsieur's 
 absence, — listening with a like divine sympathy to the 
 
MADAME RECAMIER 141 
 
 tittle-tattle of the| hour or the best talk in Paris. 
 The crash fell the next day. Madame took ruin very 
 pluckily. She sold her fine dresses and her jewels, 
 parted with the gorgeous plate, and finally sold the 
 house in the Rue du Blanc. Her philosophy was 
 admirable. Yet there was that in it which forces 
 one more and more into the belief that she never 
 felt any misfortune deeply, and owed part of her 
 courage to that insensibility. 
 
 It is to the credit of impulsive Paris, that when 
 its beauty became beauty in distress it fell at her 
 feet, worshipped her, wept for her, respected her and 
 loved her a thousand times more than ever. 
 
 Madame Bernard died in 1807, "becomingly dressed" 
 to the end. In the summer of the same year Madame 
 Recarnier visited the de Stael at Coppet. These two 
 women had for each other the attraction of opposites. 
 Juliette was dowered with the beauty for which the 
 de Stael longed, and the de Stael with the intellect 
 Juliette must have found it so difficult to do without. 
 Corinne spoke of her friend as " that beautiful person 
 who has received the worship of all Europe, and who 
 has never forsaken an unhappy friend;" and it is 
 as she knelt, weeping, at the de StaeTs death-bed, 
 that Madame Recamier first met the most powerful 
 influence of her life, Chateaubriand. 
 
 That summer at Coppet was not a little eventful. 
 Prince Augustus of Prussia was among the de StaeTs 
 guests, and fell straightway head over ears in love 
 
142 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 with Juliette's exquisite face and girlish airs of 
 timidity. He was an impulsive person, this prince. 
 He was not content to worship — a devotee before a 
 passionless statue, who would accept the most burning 
 devotion, and give in return a perfect smile and the 
 touch of a marble hand. There is only one thing 
 between us ! Juliette must get a divorce from her 
 husband! It is characteristic of the morality of the 
 time that this proposal was not taken at all as an 
 insult. Juliette's cool blood had been warmed ever 
 so little by the lover's ardour. " Three months passed 
 away," says her partial biographer, who can see nothing 
 but good in her conduct, "in the enchantments of 
 a passion by which Madame Recamier was deeply 
 touched, if she did not share it." His hostess was 
 the prince's "eloquent advocate." At last Juliette 
 asked her husband to grant her a divorce. It is 
 said that the generosity of his answer moved her to 
 reconsider her request, but it is not unfair to suppose 
 that she was also moved by the consideration of the 
 inconveniences that divorce would bring upon herself, 
 and by a true Parisian's horror of living out of Paris. 
 She went back there with her mind made up to stay 
 with her husband, and left her prince to think "of 
 a happiness which must surpass all the most delicious 
 dreams of the imagination," and to "confidently ex- 
 pect" she would become his wife. From Paris she 
 sent him her portrait, and complacently received his 
 rapturous love-letters. When she at last wrote to 
 
MADAME RECAMIER 143 
 
 him plainly, the news fell upon him, he might well 
 say, "like a thunderbolt." She consented to see him 
 every now and then during her life — that he might 
 not quite forget how to love her — and had never an 
 idea for a moment that her conduct was not com- 
 pletely generous and noble. 
 
 In 1811 Madame was exiled for visiting the de 
 Stael at Coppet. She travelled in Italy, saw Canova 
 at Rome, and at the fall of Napoleon returned to 
 Paris and started her Salon under the Bourbons. 
 
 This Salon would appear to have differed widely 
 from any of its predecessors. People did not come 
 here to listen to its mistress's wit, to meet each other, 
 nor — most potent of all attractions — to hear their own 
 voices. They came to look at a woman's loveliness. 
 Juliette sat on her throne to be worshipped. The 
 dazzling complexion, the long lashes on the exquisite 
 cheek, the little curls on the clear forehead, red lips, 
 dimpled arms, milk-white skin — with such possessions 
 as these what I need has a woman of cleverness ? The 
 habitues of her rooms were her lovers. Three genera- 
 tions of the Montmorencies adored her. It was Adrien 
 de Montmorency who said of the impression that she 
 made on her contemporaries, "they did not all die 
 of it, but'' were all wounded." A lover does not want 
 wit in his mistress, or only just so much wit as 
 will enable her to admire his. Madame had at least 
 enough cleverness to manage her Salon without any. 
 There is hardly a bon mot recorded of her. If she 
 
144 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 had said anything it might have been the wrong thing. 
 She herself suspected that, or knew it. Sometimes 
 she put her handkerchief to her mouth to stop a 
 burst of the most naive girlish laughter. She felt, 
 indeed, with that sound and curious intuition often 
 given to stupid women and rarely to stupid men, that 
 beauty alone would not, in a vulgar phrase, run a 
 Salon, and used hers to attract and chain to her such 
 various cleverness as that of a Chateaubriand, a Ben- 
 jamin Constant, a Bernadotte, and a Canova. The 
 last of the Salonieres had as little in common with 
 the caustic wit of a du Deffand, which brought all 
 famous Paris to worship at the shrine of an old blind 
 woman, as she had with the passionate sympathies of 
 a Lespinasse, who had no need of beauty to make 
 men love her. She was as far from the tranquil 
 motherliness of a Madame GeofTrin as she was from 
 the ardent conscientiousness of a Madame Necker, 
 and had a prudent outward respectability entirely 
 unknown to the careless lightness of a " black-locked 
 d'Epinay." 
 
 When a further reverse of fortune involved the 
 loss of most of her own money as well as of M. 
 Recamier's, she separated from him and went to live 
 in a " cell " in the Abbaye-aux-Bois. The cell was a 
 Salon at once. It was in reality only a bedchamber 
 furnished with a harp, a piano, a bookcase, a portrait 
 of the de Stael, and a view of Coppet by moonlight. 
 
 It is part of the tact and delightfulness of a French 
 
MADAME RECAMIER 145 
 
 woman — and perhaps of Madame Recamier above all 
 French women — that she was as serene and easy here 
 as in a palace. Presently she was able to take a 
 larger suite of rooms in the same house, and received 
 there the Duchess of Devonshire, Sir Humphry and 
 Lady Davy, the Earl of Bristol, Maria Edgeworth, 
 Humboldt, Miss Berry, and heard read aloud, before 
 their publication, the Meditations of Lamartine. 
 
 But the first habitut of her Salon, as well as the 
 first influence of her life, was Chateaubriand. Her 
 relations to this man are frankly set down by some 
 people as infamous, and as hotly defended by others as 
 innocent. Perhaps the truth lies between these two 
 extremes. M. Chateaubriand began as a kind of ami 
 de la maison ; as a worshipper of a loveliness all Paris 
 worshipped too. But there does not seem much doubt 
 that, in spite of the existence of a Madame Chateau- 
 briand, he very soon wished to be more than Madame 
 Recamier's friend. It is entirely characteristic of 
 Juliette that she delightedly received letters from 
 him which had all the warmth of love-letters, and 
 did not find it inconsistent with her honour to be 
 told " to be with you is the only good thing." " To 
 be loved by you, to live in a little retreat with you 
 and a few books, is the desire of my heart and the 
 goal of all my wishes." In brief, Juliette loved this 
 man's love — until his love demanded the sacrifice of 
 outward respectability, and of the homage even a bad 
 world pays to a good woman. When, like Lucien and 
 
146 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 Augustus, he asked proof of her affection, she drew 
 back. She found it necessary to take a trip abroad. 
 On her return she was able to feel that Heaven had 
 " blessed her self-imposed sacrifice, and that hence- 
 forward the friendship of M. Chateaubriand would be 
 as she wished it . . . calm as a good conscience and 
 pure as virtue." Virtue ! Well, perhaps. Madame's 
 conduct may be summed up as never disreputable and 
 always mean. 
 
 During those winters in Rome she had met there 
 Queen Hortense, Madame Mere, her old lover Lucien, 
 and the Princess Borghese. 
 
 When Chateaubriand was made ambassador to the 
 Eternal City, he, and Madame in Paris, exchanged 
 many tender letters. M. Recamier died presently at 
 the Abbaye-aux-Bois, his wife's Salon being given up 
 to him. Their relations were quite friendly. Madame's 
 exquisite serenity was very little disturbed. It was 
 part of her charm that she was always sweet, cool, and 
 patient. She went to Dieppe presently, the ozone of a 
 gay watering-place being then, as now, a very favourite 
 and effectual panacea for the afflictions of the feminine 
 soul. In 1832 she again left Paris, to escape the 
 horrors of the cholera year. 
 
 By now Madame was getting old, and failing in 
 health. Her friends, Chateaubriand and Ballanche, 
 were no stronger than she was. When in 1841 
 she made what may be called her last great public 
 appearance, at the subscription soiree she got up for 
 
MADAME RECAMIER 147 
 
 the sufferers from the floods of the Rhone and Saone, 
 she was sixty-four years old. 
 
 The scene should be immortalised on canvas. Here 
 was Chateaubriand doing the honours of the Salon, 
 and accepted according to long custom as its host. 
 Madame Rachel was acting. Garia, Rubini, and 
 Lablache gave their services. Here gathered the 
 wit and fashion of that Paris which, since it wor- 
 shipped Juliette's girl loveliness of milk and roses, 
 had been through such disasters, anarchies, triumphs, 
 horrors, chaos, as are not compressed into the history 
 of another city in hundreds of years. The Saloniere 
 had still something of that loveliness which made men 
 mad. As when one puts a hand into a jar of pot- 
 pourri one sees again the rose, the garden, and the 
 summer, so this woman kept to the last the divine 
 fragrance of beauty. Care had scored few wrinkles on 
 the face. The heat of passions had not seared it ; the 
 thousand emotions, hopes, fears, tendernesses of one 
 absorbing affection had not written a history in the 
 eyes nor drawn pathetic lines about the mouth. 
 Juliette had still her calm, sweet smile, her easy 
 grace of manner. She had resigned herself to " the 
 first touch of time." She was not desperately trying 
 to remedy the failings of old age by art. She was 
 never desperate about anything. When a friend, who 
 had not seen her for a long time, complimented her on 
 her looks, " Ah," she replied, " I do not deceive myself. 
 From the moment I noticed the little Savoyards in the 
 
148 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 streets no longer turned to look at me I knew all was 
 over." But to-night was a rejuvenation. It was the 
 swan song of the loveliness which was this Saloniere's 
 metier; it was the swan song of the Salon itself. 
 After this Madame was seen in public no more. 
 Chateaubriand was much with her. Her beautiful 
 eyes were attacked by a cataract, and she became 
 almost entirely blind. 
 
 In 1847 Ballanche died and Madame Chateau- 
 briand. Chateaubriand asked Madame Becamier to 
 marry him. She refused. " Let us change nothing," 
 she said, " in so perfect an affection." She was 
 present at his death — still quite composed — in 1848. 
 Less than a year after she died herself, of the cholera 
 which she had always so greatly dreaded. Even that 
 pitiless complaint left her beautiful. She lay like 
 an exquisite statue, and Achille Deveria traced from 
 her dead loveliness that esquisse fiddle which expresses 
 " suffering and repose." 
 
 The chief events of Madame Becamier's life have 
 been noted to very little purpose if her character has 
 not been seen through them. One's life is only a 
 theatre to display one's nature, after all; and what 
 we do, is what we are. 
 
 Juliette of Paris was one of the women who received 
 of the gods the two gifts of a perfect beauty and a 
 perfect tact, which are often given in place of all else, 
 and which, from a social point of view, are in them- 
 selves all sufficient. 
 
MADAME KECAMIER 149 
 
 They sufficed, at least, to make Madame Recamier 
 the idol of her generation, " the fate of the Mont- 
 morencies," and the adored of a Bernadotte, a 
 Chateaubriand, a Canova, a Ballanche. There was 
 such a divine sympathy in her smile, her manners, 
 her beauty, that that deeper sympathy which would 
 have come either from having suffered, or from having 
 been capable of suffering, a like sorrow to that of 
 which she was hearing, seemed hardly necessary. If 
 she was a tepid mistress, she was a very gentle friend. 
 There is no occasion on record in which she was not 
 serene, modest, pleasing, and perfectly even in temper. 
 " That which she does not like does not exist for her." 
 She was constant in her friendships. Change and tem- 
 pest were hateful to her. It is not a little noteworthy 
 that the lives which are written of her are not lives 
 of Madame Recamier, but disjointed biographies of 
 Chateaubriand, Montmorency, and Ballanche. There 
 is so little to say about Madame ! She wrote very 
 few letters even, in that fine little hand. She had a 
 kind of intellectual timidity, not a little charming — 
 and safe. She seemed as if she were always saying, 
 " Look at me. In that lies my strength and your 
 weakness." 
 
 As a lover, Juliette wanted the admiration of all. 
 If she was ever capable of a great passion, she frittered 
 away that capacity in those delightfully perilous flirta- 
 tions with her princes and her authors. But that 
 capacity, if it does not demand a great intellect, 
 
150 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 demands a great nature, a power of absorption in 
 one aim, self-devotion, not seldom self-immolation. 
 Madame had none of these things. 
 
 Her morals, which a present generation is apt too 
 hastily to condemn from a very vague hearsay, seem 
 rather to have lived on the border of immorality than 
 to have crossed it. As she was too cool for passion she 
 was too prudent for sin. 
 
 It was not unmeet that the Salon itself, as an 
 institution, should die with a Recamier. It began as 
 an intellectual power. When it had declined into 
 a court of beauty, its end must needs have been 
 near. Since the days when the Rambouillet gathered 
 round her all the stars of the intellectual firmament, 
 and lit her rooms with the spiritual fire of a Fenelon 
 and the flaming eloquence of a Bossuet, it had indeed 
 passed through a hundred changes. It had nourished 
 in its breast the Free Thought which, put into action, 
 was to emancipate men's bodies from the misery and 
 oppression of a thousand years, and their minds from 
 a hundred priestly delusions. It had been alternately 
 a school of wit and an arena for the discussion of the 
 deepest problems of the soul — fate, freewill, death, 
 eternity. It had brought to birth more Ion mots, 
 epigrams, madrigals, fantasias, than had been produced 
 by any other society at any other time. Under its 
 fostering care a little shoot of an Encyclopaedia grew 
 into a tree whose branches reached to all lands. It 
 was a playground for the light loves of a d'Houdetot, 
 
MADAME RECAMIER 151 
 
 a Saint-Lambert, a d'fipinay, a Mademoiselle d'Ette. 
 It encouraged the virile vigour of a de Stael and the 
 brilliant timidity of a d'Alembert. No social function 
 in history can boast members a hundredth part as 
 distinguished. Not content with a Rousseau and a 
 Voltaire, a Diderot and a Duclos, it attracted from other 
 nations a Grimm and a Holbach, a Hume, a Gibbon, 
 and a Walpole. 
 
 That it polished manners and brought to an ex- 
 quisite refinement the courtesies and little social 
 tendernesses of daily life, was not perhaps much, but 
 it was something. 
 
 It gave an extraordinary impetus to book-writing. 
 It flooded the world with memoirs which are become 
 history. It produced some of the best letters ever 
 written. It was the direct origin of innumerable 
 poems. It inspired masterpieces and corrected them. 
 Its effect on the Encyclopedia alone would have 
 made it a literary influence without rival in the 
 history of the world. 
 
 But it was as a moral anomaly that it was most 
 remarkable. Here men and women, " whose chief 
 ambition it was to excel in corruption and to be 
 fancifully original in sin," were the first to discuss 
 that purer morality and generous philanthropy which 
 are the boast of the world to-day. The rights of 
 men were first realised by the people who most trod 
 them under foot. The Revolution was brought about 
 by the class whom it first turned and rent. 
 
152 THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS 
 
 The uses of the Salon are over, and so the Salon 
 itself is no more. 
 
 It is not a good man who lies dead. It is rather 
 a bad man who has wrought much good. It were 
 unjust to remember that his morals were the morals 
 of his age, and to forget that he originated ideas far 
 in advance of it. So to this brilliant talker, with his 
 light life and fruitful thought, be peace. 
 
— £/ - V/rv/////// . 
 
Tronch d 
 i day a wider influence 
 q than h 
 ,1, Dider 
 His fame - was not French, but European. Aim 
 the monarchs of the Continent were at some time 
 or another his patients. He was the most enlightened 
 medical man of the eighteenth century. He was all 
 his life long fighting the ignorance and prejudice, 
 almost universal at that date in his profession, He 
 popularised innoculation in France. He flung open 
 udows in Ye poor, stifling, mori- 
 
 enjoy at 
 
 bin, the good 
 
 ician. 
 

 
TRONCHIN: A GREAT DOCTOR 
 
 As there are some celebrities whom posterity honours 
 unnecessarily, there are others whom it unduly forgets. 
 Of these last is the Doctor Tronchin. Yet Tronchin 
 had in his own day a wider influence and a more 
 dazzling renown than his_ friends and contemporaries, 
 Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot, Grimm, and d'Alembert. 
 His fame was not French, but European. Almost all 
 the monarchs of the Continent were at some time 
 or another his patients. He was the most enlightened 
 medical man of the eighteenth century. He was all 
 his life long fighting the ignorance and prejudice, 
 almost universal at that date in his profession. He 
 popularised innoculation in France. He flung open 
 the windows in Versailles and let poor, stifling, mori- 
 bund royalty enjoy at least the free air of heaven. 
 He was a practical influence upon thousands who 
 were unmoved by Jean Jacques' "passionate appeals 
 to mothers " and to the great Mother Nature from 
 whom the Doctor learned almost all his art. Deeply 
 religious in an age of scoffers ; austere to himself 
 and tender to others ; the gentlest of all stoics ; wise, 
 firm, strong, beneficent — such was Tronchin, the good 
 physician. 
 
 153 
 
154 TRONCHIN: A GREAT DOCTOR 
 
 He was born in Geneva in 1709. The atmosphere 
 of his childhood was narrow, peaceful, puritanical. 
 There must very early have been inculcated into 
 the boy the principles which ruled the man, a strict 
 devotion to duty, plain living, high thinking, and the 
 noblest of all ambitions — u to find one's right work 
 and to do it." 
 
 Theodore was still very young when his father, 
 a rich banker, was ruined. But the loss of fortune 
 is not always a misfortune, as every one knows. The 
 boy was sent to England to be near a relative of 
 his mother's — St. John, Lord Bolingbroke. My lord 
 was in disgrace, so he had no place or favour to 
 give away. But he had something better, for he 
 directed Theodore's studies at the university — the 
 boy went through the usual course at Cambridge — 
 and introduced him to some of the most learned 
 men of the age. Rather a serious nature had this 
 Swiss undergraduate, it appears, beneath those charm- 
 ing and sympathetic manners which made him 
 such a delightful companion hereafter. He had a 
 very handsome face too, this " Apollo Tronchin " of 
 the letters of Voltaire; so perhaps it was the easier 
 for his fellows to forgive him that he was from the 
 first a close student, and already devoted to that 
 art to which he was to impart so splendid a lustre. 
 Did he meet in England by any chance, one wonders, 
 that coarse, kindly old fire-eater my Lady Mary 
 Wortley Montagu, who had lately brought from the 
 
TRONCHIN: A GREAT DOCTOR 155 
 
 East a strange custom, highly disapproved by medical 
 big- wigs, called innoculation ? If the two never met, 
 it was in England that the boy first heard of and 
 studied that remedy. It needed an honest doctor, 
 to be sure, to see the good points of a preventive 
 of so " profitable a distemper" as the smallpox, and 
 a brave man to push it in the teeth of learned 
 opposition, to fight for it, single-handed, through 
 patient, zealous years, against ignorance, contempt, 
 ridicule, and that wilful blindness there is no en- 
 lightening, and to benefit the world in spite of 
 itself, at last. 
 
 Theodore Tronchin began most likely that crusade 
 at Cambridge — a penniless boy with all knowledge 
 and experience against him, with nothing to depend 
 on but his own brains, his own honour, and his own 
 indomitable will. It was at Cambridge he first read 
 Boerhaave, the great Dutch physician, who was 
 responsible for the saying that it would have been 
 better for the world if there had never been any 
 doctors at all. The boy Tronchin had a passion 
 for the man's writings, and then to be near him 
 and study under him. He went to Leyden, and 
 flung himself heart and soul into his art. He learned 
 at the feet of Boerhaave all that Boerhaave could 
 teach him. When it reached his ears that the 
 master had said that M. Tronchin — handsome, boyish, 
 Apollo Tronchin — devoted too much time to doing 
 his hair, Apollo cut it all off, and appeared cropped 
 
156 TRONCHIN: A GREAT DOCTOR 
 
 at the schools the next morning. He had at least 
 one great presage of success — a single - minded 
 devotion to his aim. He must have been, too, 
 something better than a parrot learner, since at three- 
 and-twenty he was practising as a physician in Am- 
 sterdam, with an ever-growing renown, only second 
 to that of the great Boerhaave himself. 
 
 What was the secret by which this boy inspired 
 confidence in every patient he attended ? He was 
 completely at variance with all the medical science 
 of his age. No black draughts, blisterings, bleedings, 
 drugs, and stuffiness for him. Fresh air, exercise, 
 temperance — these were the heresies he preached. 
 Forswear sack and live cleanly. Obey natural laws 
 and you won't want to call in Us, with our pompous 
 formulas and precedents, and our dear old time- 
 honoured prejudices, which make medicine in this 
 my day " the scourge of the human race." What 
 wonder if this daring youth had already half the 
 medical colleges in Europe about his ears ? But 
 Amsterdam made him inspector of its hospitals, and 
 the Stadtholder would fain have had him as his first 
 physician; and presently he was president of the 
 city's medical schools. When he went back to Geneva 
 in 1750, the Anabaptists of Amsterdam offered him 
 15,000 florins to return to them. He had been so 
 unwearying, so clever, so kind, so honest ! In that 
 last word lay the crux of the matter, perhaps. Pro- 
 fessional honesty was at a low ebb in this eighteenth 
 
TRONCHIN: A GREAT DOCTOR 157 
 
 century, it must be confessed, and Tronchin rose to 
 fame less because lie knew so much, than because he 
 was ready to confess he knew so little. 
 
 He carried on the same crusade in Geneva against 
 the ignorance, prejudice, and hardness of heart which 
 were degrading the noblest of all arts. He was never 
 weary of insisting to his pupils on its splendour and 
 dignity. He was always working for the health — 
 moral as well as physical — of that poor little republic, 
 rich only in virtues, which was all his life bound to 
 his heart by strong chains. One likes to fancy him, 
 like a Greater Physician, going about doing good. 
 He set apart a certain time every day that he might 
 see the poor and prescribe for them — free ; and on 
 a little table at his side there was a bag of money 
 out of which he provided the means for the necessaries 
 he recommended. A light of beneficence seems to 
 shine always from that handsome, youthful face. 
 Fame and applause began to reach him from afar 
 off, and did not disturb its serenity. All the time 
 he was fighting steadily, unswervingly, for that little 
 Benjamin of his soul, innoculation, and the cries of 
 " Quack ! Knave ! Innovator ! " did not move him 
 either. He was married by this time — not happily, 
 it is said. But if there was some wound in his own 
 soul, it only served to make him the more tender 
 to the wounds of others ; and his own sorrows, 
 which he bore in a noble silence all his life, only 
 prompted him to be the more earnest and the 
 
158 TRONCHIN: A GREAT DOCTOR 
 
 more set to relieve, if that might be, the sorrows of 
 the world. 
 
 In due time he innoculated his own children. Then 
 a few more converts came to him, and yet a few more, 
 and more. In 1756 he was called to Paris to inno- 
 culate the Due de Chartres and Mademoiselle de 
 Montpensier, the children of the Duke of Orleans; 
 and M. Tronchin and his innoculation became a furore, 
 and the mode. 
 
 There are many sudden changes in the history of 
 Parisian popular feeling, but hardly one so sudden 
 and complete as this one. Instead of the most 
 monstrous humbug and impostor, M. Tronchin was 
 the saviour of his people, the one great benefactor 
 of the race. Fashionable Paris nocked to him to a 
 man. The street where his house stood was so 
 blocked with fine carriages that all traffic was im- 
 peded. From having shuddered with horror at a 
 quackery that would upset a dear old time-honoured 
 institution like the smallpox, people would now have 
 been innoculated three times a week if they could. 
 The wit and beauty of the capital jostled each other 
 in the great doctor's waiting-rooms. In the clubs 
 one forgot Port Mahon, Minorca, the English, and 
 talked Tronchin instead. The Duke of Orleans had 
 given him ten thousand Sens, to say nothing of jewels 
 and gold, and he was already appointed physician to 
 the Children of France. An enterprising milliner 
 invented a bonnet a V innoculation, daintily trimmed 
 
TRONCHIN: A GREAT DOCTOR 159 
 
 with ribbons on which a sewing of peas imitated the 
 spots of that fallen monster, la 'petite virole. There 
 was a Tronchin vinegar, whose healing properties, said 
 the tradesman who sold it, were so great that it 
 was not only useful, but necessary to carry about 
 a little bottle of it on the person, in order that you 
 might be able to rub it frequently on your hands 
 and temples, and to enhale it. There was scarcely 
 a gallant at court who had not come to be Tronchined. 
 All the migraines and vapcurs of the capital flocked 
 to touch the healing garments of this virtue and be 
 saved. M. Tronchin was also enabled — and in spite, 
 too, of the solemn faculty which surrounded them — 
 to persuade dukes and princesses that even royalty 
 cannot live healthily without some sort of ventilation, 
 and a little occasional attention to the primary rules 
 of sanitation. How his brethren must have hated, 
 and did hate, a man not yet fifty years old who had 
 effected changes so radical, and was about to effect 
 others more radical still : who wrote with a dreadful 
 clearness to the Doctor Boyer of Paris : " I know, and 
 you know, that all our learning and study has not 
 done away with those infamous persons in our pro- 
 fession, who every day and all day sacrifice to con- 
 ventionality and prejudice the divine art which they 
 dishonour : " and whose ridiculous obstinate notion 
 " Prevention is better than cure " was certain to fatally 
 undermine many very comfortable little fortunes in 
 the faculty. 
 
160 TRONCHIN: A GREAT DOCTOR 
 
 Alike through hatred and adulation M. Tronchin 
 remained as he had always been, cool in judgment, 
 fixed in purpose, wise, beneficent, and serene. He 
 had done what the world would call much. But 
 there was so much more to do ! Paris used all her 
 charms — they were not few in these latter days of 
 the old regime — to keep him with her. She laid 
 money, honour, rank at his feet, and he would have 
 none of them. In his mind had long been another 
 design, by which he would work more good, gain 
 wider influence, and bring into mode principles which 
 should work for the happiness of the race when 
 innoculation had long been superseded by greater 
 discovery than Tronchin would live to see. He re- 
 turned to Geneva. He established there what would 
 now be called a " cure," and began to exercise upon 
 the habits and hygiene of women an influence far 
 greater than Rousseau's. 
 
 It was no doubt at first M. Tronchin' s delightful 
 personality which attracted to the little, dull Swiss 
 republic the butterflies of Paris, with physical ailments, 
 real or imaginary, moral ailments only too certain, 
 weak, witty, charming — the natural product of that 
 supremely clever and silly age, the eighteenth century. 
 Many of them had seen him in the capital. This 
 dear doctor, with his sympathetic manner, his hand- 
 some face, his perfect understanding of one's symptoms 
 and constitution ! M. Tronchin, indeed, understood 
 his patients much more perfectly than they supposed. 
 
TRONCHIN: A GREAT DOCTOR 161 
 
 The hotels of Balances and de Secheron in Geneva were 
 soon filled with them ; they overflowed into villas on the 
 banks of the lake. " An ever-changing and renewing 
 crowd of invalids, exclusively belonging to the French 
 aristocracy," formed a unique and enormous clientele. 
 Here was the Duchesse d'Anville, " the philosophic 
 duchess ; " the beautiful Madame de Vermenou, " the 
 image of Minerva," who solaced her illnesses with the 
 society of many admirers, and was accompanied by 
 the intense Mademoiselle Curchod — the future Madame 
 Necker — whose diseases were always of the soul more 
 than of the body. Here was Madame d'fipinay, the 
 most graceful of all sinners, one of the especial " de- 
 votes du reverend Pere Tronchin," the friend of Rous- 
 seau, and the mistress of Grimm. Madame Denis 
 came over very often from Uncle Voltaire's at Ferney, 
 for Madame Denis was a gourmande, and constantly 
 in need of the temperate counsels of M. Tronchin. 
 Here was Madame d'Albertas, " laide et coquette" the 
 wife of the President of the Grande Chambre of Aix- 
 en-Provence. Here was the Marquise de Muy — " a 
 very little soul," wrote the doctor, " enclosed in a very 
 little body naturally feeble, and much debilitated by 
 remedies." Here, too, came a rheumatic, dissipated 
 duke or two, and the nephew and niece of the Cardinal 
 de Tencin, that their only son might be innoculated. 
 But the chief part of the crowd was made up of the 
 pretty feminine vice of Paris, whose worst disease 
 was sin, whose universal disease was folly, and who 
 
162 TRONCHIN: A GREAT DOCTOR 
 
 found themselves, for the first time in their lives, 
 for the most part, under the influence of a good 
 man. 
 
 One understands the full extent of the great Doctor's 
 tact and cleverness, supreme strength of will, and 
 steady uprightness, when one reflects on the unpalat- 
 able nature of the truths which he enforced. 
 
 He preached Nature to the most artificial class of 
 the most artificial people in the most artificial period 
 of the history of the world. What is the matter with 
 me, Doctor ? Your life, Madame. Your card parties 
 till three o'clock in the morning, your never-ending 
 routs, balls, and masquerades — the stifling atmosphere 
 of your houses, your vanity, your self-indulgence, your 
 idleness. And what will you give me to cure me ? 
 Nothing, Madame. Fling aside the drugs and the 
 drops, the pills and the potions, which you have 
 been offering outraged Nature to appease her. Wash 
 the paint off your face, throw away the ridiculous 
 structure on your head, and the absurd hoops and 
 wires which make movement an exertion and exercise 
 an impossibility. Get up early, go out of doors, walk, 
 live simply, read a little, even think a little if you 
 can. What is the world better for a simpering doll, 
 with a little shallow wit as her finest attribute, with- 
 out the most rudimentary sense of duty or a single 
 quality which can make men respect her ? You have, 
 and will have for ever, the noblest of all missions in 
 life — but only one mission — to be a good wife and 
 
TRONCHIN: A GREAT DOCTOR 163 
 
 mother. Not all the mincing frivolities of your day, 
 nor the shrieking fanaticism of those (so-called) strong- 
 minded sisters who will come after you, can alter that 
 fact. You have the one great mission — and you have 
 failed in it. 
 
 It was, no doubt, Tronchin's supreme glory that 
 he brought back the mothers to the babies they had 
 neglected, made them nurse their own children, and 
 at least not ruin the race in its beginnings. The 
 splendid scoundrel who wrote "£mile" was still 
 polishing his wonderful periods in his " Hermitage." 
 When the book appeared in 1762, Tronchin, the 
 good physician, and the helpful helplessness of those 
 powerful agents of his, the babies themselves, had 
 accomplished their aim. Rousseau might have shouted 
 his loudest, and not a woman would have heeded him, 
 if the great Doctor had not already done his best. 
 
 One can fancy the life at Geneva. The mondaines 
 of Paris began to meet each other out walking in 
 the mornings in the most absurd, comfortable, walk- 
 able shoes one can imagine, carrying long canes, and 
 wearing the light, short skirts called Tronchines, in 
 which it was evidently possible to do something more 
 energetic than sit about and feel beautiful. There 
 were not any routs and balls here — so one could not 
 go to them. Geneva was dull — horribly, impossibly 
 dull. But were dulness and peace a little akin after 
 all ? There was the lion of Ferney, certainly, to go 
 and peep at, by way of recreation. There were also 
 
164 TRONCHIN: A GREAT DOCTOR 
 
 modest — very modest — little tea-parties a V Anglaise. 
 And when M. Tronchin — M. Tronchin was quite 
 clever enough to know the importance of the day 
 of small things — perceived one was getting really too 
 bored, he would invite one to supper, and Voltaire's- 
 " dear ^Esculapius " might be seen en famille playing 
 whist very badly, and supposing himself to be playing 
 it very well. The illustrious visitors also amused 
 themselves by commenting freely on the ill- temper 
 and laidcur of Madame Tronchin, and of her husband's 
 invincible goodness and patience towards her. " Et 
 que fait Madame Tronchin ? " said some one to the 
 sprightly Madame Cramer. " Elle fait peur," was the 
 answer. 
 
 Grimm came here to edit his Correspondance Lit- 
 teraire, with the help of Madame d'fipinay, and to 
 admire the wise, firm counsels of her physician. The 
 Empress would fain have had the Doctor with her 
 in Russia; and to Voltaire, who had aptly described 
 himself as toujours allant et souffrant, Tronchin was a 
 necessity. 
 
 There is no higher testimony to the Doctor's char- 
 acter, than his friendship with the patriarch of 
 Ferney. 
 
 Is it possible that the great Voltaire was half afraid 
 of the great Doctor ? The diagnosis of M. Tronchin 
 was so sure and penetrating, that he found out the 
 sicknesses of the soul as well as the diseases of the 
 body. The Prince of Sceptics would fain have had 
 
TRONCHIN: A GREAT DOCTOR 165 
 
 M. Tronchin, with his deeply religious mind, believe 
 that he too was almost persuaded to be a Christian. 
 The Doctor listened without a word. He hated re- 
 ligious discussion, which always led, he said, to the 
 profit of irreligion. And besides, he knew M. de 
 Voltaire — to the core. When Geneva was flooded 
 with blasphemous pamphlets, which the patriarch 
 disavowed, he disavowed them louder than ever to 
 his dear iEsculapius. Cannot one fancy the little, 
 lean, withered cynic having a very bad quarter of an 
 hour with the only man in the world who never lied 
 to him nor flattered him, after the publication of that 
 infamous " Pucelle " ? 
 
 When a theatrical company of evil reputation would 
 have established a theatre in the immediate neigh- 
 bourhood of Geneva, Tronchin fought Voltaire tooth 
 and nail for the morals and honour of his little re- 
 public — and won. This man never cringed. The 
 greatness of the great was nothing to him. " I had 
 always spoken the truth to him," he says simply of 
 Voltaire. There is no record that that truth-telling 
 offended any one of his illustrious patients. The path 
 of duty was then, as now, the surest way to glory. 
 
 In 1766 M. Tronchin came to Paris as perpetual 
 physician to the Duke of Orleans, and remained there 
 for ten years. It was alike the height of his power 
 and his fame. He used the influence he had obtained 
 with an unwearied persistence. He recommended the 
 fine ladies to polish their own floors, and the Court 
 
166 TRONCHIN: A GREAT DOCTOR 
 
 gallants to chop wood. The renewed charges of 
 quackery only made him smile. The quackery was 
 in the loathsome nostrums of the Pharmacopoeia, and 
 not in a little honest work; and the common-sense 
 of the laity had begun to find that out for itself. 
 There must indeed have been then, as there are now, 
 many patients who continued to suppose the more 
 numerous the medicine bottles, the better the doctor ; 
 and others who would seem to have believed that a 
 healing virtue lay in the physician feeling the patient's 
 pulse and looking at his tongue, and that to obey 
 orders was altogether a work of supererogation. 
 
 It was during these ten years that M. Tronchin 
 freed the children from the " swaddling bands which 
 deformed their bodies and ruined their health," and, 
 never too busy or too professional to be abun- 
 dantly compassionate, substituted innoculation vesica- 
 toires for the incision which was at once painful 
 and alarming to the baby patients. That famous 
 Correspondance LitUraire contains a hundred allu- 
 sions to his work at this period. Now it was an 
 operation, hitherto unattempted, he had performed 
 on a monkish patient for the relief of acute nervous 
 pains in the head. Another day a grateful sufferer 
 burst into poetry on the complete, and completely 
 drugless, cure M. Tronchin had made of his case. 
 Madame d'fipinay, whom the Doctor was now attend- 
 ing in Paris, spoke gratefully, poor soul ! as well 
 she might, of mon sauveur and of opium as " this 
 
TRONCHIN: A GREAT DOCTOR 167 
 
 charming remedy." Galiani alludes to the iced 
 sponges Tronchin recommended for blood - spitting. 
 It was the Doctor himself who wrote to a patient 
 this memorable sentence, " M'est il permis, Monsieur, 
 de vous le dire ? One must dare to do nothing. 
 Men, and doctors above all men, fear less to make 
 victims than to be suspected of ignorance. I repeat 
 to you, fear the physicians more than the disease." 
 
 In 1778 Voltaire arrived on his last visit to Paris, 
 and called in his old friend and adviser. Tronchin' s 
 counsels had lost nothing in wisdom and firmness. 
 " Go back to Ferney," he said. " Your Marquis de 
 Villette and your Madame Denis, with their interested 
 advice that you should remain here, are nothing to 
 me. Go back. The noise and flattery of this Paris 
 will kill you. Go back while you can." The patri- 
 arch was continually bursting into tears, promising 
 to go, and not going. The sequel every one knows. 
 The great Doctor, full of pity, was at this death- 
 bed, as at so many others. " I saw Voltaire sicken 
 and die," he says, " and marked the difference between 
 the serenity of the soul of a dying sage and the 
 frightful torment of him to whom death is the King 
 of Terrors." " La rage s'est emparee de son ame. 
 Rapellez vous les fureurs d'Oreste." One is re- 
 minded of that saeva indignatio of a greater than 
 Voltaire. 
 
 Another death-bed was even now preparing. Full 
 of years and honour, having found his work and done 
 
168 TRONCHIN: A GREAT DOCTOR 
 
 it, having brought infinite blessing to the race, greatly 
 comforted sorrow, helped the helpless, strengthened 
 the feeble, sustained the dying, M. Tronchin himself 
 went the way of all flesh. His death was but the 
 consequence of his life. What terror could that King 
 of Terrors of whom he had spoken have for a man, 
 who, the greatest anatomist of his day, had believed 
 firmly in the divine origin and resurrection of the 
 body — feeble and sin-stricken, no doubt, but so evi- 
 dently and exquisitely adapted by a Master Hand in 
 every function for the work it has to do ? The fact 
 that the innocent suffer, and will suffer, nameless 
 diseases and horrors for the sins of the guilty, had 
 not affected this man's faith in the perfect goodness 
 of God ; and that he had seen in his long life and 
 shameful eighteenth century more of such sin and 
 horror than the modern medical student who, from 
 a brief hospital experience, can find no place for a 
 Deity in the scheme of things, need not be doubted. 
 
 Tronchin died. There was hardly a celebrated man 
 of his day who did not lift up his voice over that 
 grave to honour it. But his true glory lies, not in 
 " Portraits " and eulogies ; not even in the tardy recog- 
 nition of the faculty who fought him. The most ordi- 
 nary practitioner of to-day knows a thousand things 
 undreamt of in Tronchin's philosophy. The new truths 
 he battled for against the world are but the alphabet 
 of modern medicine. Who would have welcomed so 
 eagerly as that generous and open soul the marvellous 
 
TRONCHIN: A GREAT DOCTOR 169 
 
 advance in surgery and sick-nursing ; the use of anaes- 
 thetics, a new faculty the most honest and enlightened 
 the world has seen ; the vaccination which has made 
 his innoculation but a dead page of history ? 
 
 Yet the sane, strong, and healthy of the race to-day 
 may well pay the passing tribute of a thought to the 
 man who, in the time of their by no means distant 
 ancestry, made temperance and decent living the mode, 
 and to be a good mother a European fashion. 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 
 
 In 1750, when the Pompadour ruled France through 
 its doddering king, and a certain ex-clerk called Clive 
 had begun to expel the French from India and to lay 
 the foundations of a vaster than any French Empire, 
 there was born at Ajaccio, in Corsica, a baby girl 
 named Maria Letizia Ramolino. 
 
 Corsica was then much as it is now, the engaging 
 ne'er-do-weel of the island family, always brave, pic- 
 turesque, and delightful, entirely unreliable and no- 
 body's enemy but its own; the handsome boy with 
 whom all the powers coquetted, and whom in turn 
 Phoenicians, Carthaginians, Romans, Vandals, Greeks, 
 Goths, Saracens, and Genoese loved and left. 
 
 In 1750 it was Italian. The little Letizia spoke a 
 degenerate Italian as soon as she could speak anything, 
 and spoke it as her mother-tongue to the end of her 
 days. She came of a good family, though to come of 
 a good family in a barbarous island two hundred years 
 ago did not necessarily imply any very high degree of 
 culture or refinement. Her father died when she 
 was very young. She was brought up by her mother 
 exactly as little Corsican girls always were — book- 
 learning dangerous and unnecessary, the art of reading 
 
 170 
 
'aMca~ 3-£t?e/zt<*M../2/T~ *<■ 
 
 , y/tt <yM^£Ae^#/^/l<i/>r/<< 
 
, THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 171 
 
 itself a suspicious accomplishment, and writing admir- 
 able for signing one's name. But she was taught too, 
 very early indeed, household " order, economy, the good 
 direction of affairs," the whole art of marketing, and 
 the practical arithmetic by which one makes a single 
 greasy lira do the work of two. 
 
 One can picture the serious infant Mademoiselle 
 Ramolino — very pretty and good — going market wards, 
 or to say her little prayers in the dark church hard by, 
 through that Place which is to bear her name, past the 
 white house where she is to live her young wifehood, 
 and give a great man to the world. She was but a 
 small creature when her mother, Madame Ramolino, 
 married again and became Madame Fesch. When 
 other little girls are playing with dolls, this one was 
 gravely mothering a baby half-brother named Joseph. 
 When other children are children still, blithe and care- 
 less, and with a child's gay thoughtlessness for the 
 morrow, Mademoiselle Letizia, aged thirteen, was ac- 
 counted marriageable and being briefly wooed. 
 
 Did Charles Bonaparte fall in love with a sweet, 
 girlish face, innocent eyes, dark curls, grave mouth ? 
 He might well have done so. He was himself 
 eighteen, "doux, insouciant, ddpenseur" very little money, 
 a lovely talent for verse making, and only a couple 
 of stupid old uncles to raise objections to a prema- 
 ture engagement. While for Mademoiselle — Perhaps 
 Madame Fesch, after the custom of those times, 
 said, " Here is the man you are to marry ; marry 
 
172 THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 
 
 him." To an older Letizia, one knows, duty was the 
 master motive of life, and obedience to rightful autho- 
 rity a religion. But one would rather think, as one 
 may well think, that in this case a girl fell in love 
 girlishly with M. Charles' handsome face, brave air, 
 and light heart, or that a motherly little person per- 
 ceived that the lover wanted taking care of, and took 
 care of him. 
 
 "Je me mariai a l'age de treize ans avec Charles 
 Bonaparte qui etait un bel homme, grand comme 
 Murat." It was an old woman at Rome who re- 
 called the husband of her youth — who forgot, perhaps, 
 as she dictated these Souvenirs, danger, sorrow, diffi- 
 culty, the great rising and the great falling which 
 separated the present from the past — and was again 
 for the moment the child Letizia, beginning the world. 
 
 The young couple at first settled — if such a word 
 can be applied to any of their doings — in the white 
 house at Ajaccio. The wife must have been at the 
 most fifteen — Heaven help her ! — when she knew the 
 troubles of maternity without its joys and, herself 
 a child, held a dead child on her breast. There is 
 a little bust in marble by Chaudet of the Signora 
 Bonaparte which must have been modelled in the 
 early days of this early marriage. It represents a 
 very sweet, thoughtful face, with hair curling on 
 the forehead and the dress open at the throat to 
 show a girlish neck. Is it only imagination that 
 makes one trace in the lines of the serious mouth 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 173 
 
 and the tender gravity of the expression the sad 
 little history of those two or three first babies, who 
 died babies, of the childish wife who had so soon 
 to be wise and prudent because the husband was so 
 easy-going, debonnaire, and careless ? It was Madame 
 — even a Madame of " treize ans " — who was always the 
 better man of the two. She knew it because she 
 must have known it. There is hardly a nobler trait 
 in a noble character than the fidelity with which she 
 hid it from the world and obeyed, loved, reverenced 
 the man she had married: 
 
 In the winter of 1767 he took her to Corte, the 
 impregnable, dauntless little city founded on a rock, 
 and there at the house of his uncle, General Cazanova, 
 was born little Joseph, living and likely to live. In 
 such a nature as Letizia's the tenderness with which 
 she bent over her vigorous son was not without care 
 for the morrow, and grave thought of how he was 
 to be provided for and brought up. Corsica was dis- 
 turbed as usual — or more disturbed than usual — 
 which is saying a great deal. Genoa had just handed 
 it over to France ; and Corsica, objecting to the 
 transaction, was fain to fight France under Paoli 
 and make herself independent. Yet perhaps the 
 quietest days of Letizia's whole life — the only quiet 
 days in it one might almost say — were those she 
 spent at Millelli, the Bonaparte " garden of olives " 
 near Ajaccio, with her baby, for her convalescence, 
 while Charles was paying a flying visit to Rome, and 
 
174 THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 
 
 over Corsica was the calm that comes before the 
 storm. 
 
 The treaty by which the island became French 
 was finally signed in the August of 1768. It might 
 have been expected that the impulsive Charles, who 
 was brave enough to make any woman love him, 
 should throw in his lot with Paoli and be ready to 
 fight for an inspiring leader and a free country, to 
 the death. But there is only one woman in a thou- 
 sand who can be a patriot when patriotism asks of 
 her domestic peace, a husband and a child. Letizia 
 was that woman. She was herself of that wild and 
 picturesque company who, mounted on the little 
 rough horses native to Corsica, came to Paoli at 
 Corte and offered him their services and their lives. 
 If with some it was the impetuous courage of the 
 moment, it was not so with her. All her life she 
 counted the cost of the tower she would build — 
 and built it. She foresaw with a fatal clearness to 
 what private ruin public spirit would lead — and did 
 her duty. 
 
 She followed her husband through the first cam- 
 paign. At the fatal battle of Ponte-Nuovo, when 
 Paoli's troops were entirely routed by the French, 
 this girl, with her child in her arms, encouraged 
 her ruined countrymen with her own courage and 
 enthusiasm. After that disastrous day, when only 
 flight was left them, the young husband and wife, 
 with little Joseph, fled for shelter to the caves 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 175 
 
 and rocks of the great frowning Monte Rotondo. 
 Letizia already had the hope — if under such circum- 
 stances it could be called a hope — of being again a 
 mother. What must she not have suffered ? The 
 hostile French were surrounding them ; Corsica was 
 ruined ; in the wretched villages through which they 
 passed the ominous silence was broken only by the 
 heart-rending voceri and lamentations of the Corsican 
 women. On the back of a mule this girl of eighteen 
 went through the fordless rivers and the sweet dense 
 macquis, or undergrowth "which covers the country, 
 with her baby in her arms and the boy husband 
 for sole guide and protector. " I had no other 
 thought," she said long after, " but of his danger 
 and that of Corsica." He was always loving and 
 devoted ; but it was upon her own soul, and upon 
 her own soul only, that she relied. 
 
 It was at her instigation, at her passionate wish, 
 that he left her in the midst of danger and ill in 
 health, to see the ruined Paoli set sail for Leghorn. 
 When he returned, something of her history and 
 courage had reached the ears and stirred the gen- 
 erosity of the French, and they offered the little party 
 the first advantage of armistice and a safe passage 
 to their home in Ajaccio. 
 
 With what an infinite sense of relief that young 
 couple, travel-stained and footsore, must have gained 
 that quiet white house, with its dull, cool rooms, 
 after the burning midsummer heat and the fever 
 
176 THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 
 
 of danger and difficulty without ! Their relations, 
 after the fashion of the time and the country, 
 gathered about them. Here came Uncle Archdeacon 
 Fesch, Monsieur and Madame Fesch and their son 
 Joseph, now six years old, as well as Madame 
 Bonaparte, the mother of Charles. In the midst 
 of them Letizia moved about her daily duties — a 
 very notable housewife, a very wise mother, a beauti- 
 ful woman who never thought of her beauty, a girl 
 who did not expect to amuse herself, and who scarcely 
 ever left the house except to go to the church hard 
 by. She crept there very often, it seems, on these 
 sultry summer days. If her child may but be born 
 alive and strong, every daughter she has shall be 
 called Marie and " vowed to the Virgin ! " What a 
 simple prayer it was, and from what a wise and 
 simple heart it came ! It is hard now to realise 
 that there was then no premonition of the child's 
 greatness in her mind, that she was only a Corsican 
 girl, praying that in spite of fate, which had been 
 cruel, she might be again the joyful mother of a 
 living son. 
 
 On the feast of the Assumption she was brought 
 hurriedly home from church, and in the morning 
 of that August day, 1769, Napoleon was born. It 
 is one of the great days of history. The little pallet 
 bed, the narrow room, the white house itself, have 
 become relics, sacred to hundreds of pilgrims of all 
 nations. The escritoire where Madame wrote (a very 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 177 
 
 little), the harpsichord where she played, her sweet- 
 faced picture on the wall, are now, for the sake of 
 the child born that day, vertu almost priceless. But 
 to Letizia he was but a baby whom she must love 
 the more indeed because she had so suffered for 
 him, who must be brought up righteously, and not 
 allowed to be peevish because he was so frail. She 
 nursed him herself — with the nourrice, Camilla Ilari, 
 to help her when need be. His grandmother wanted 
 to spoil him. Charles would laugh at his baby 
 tempers. The Mammucia- Camilla indulged him after 
 the fashion of her kind. Only the mother wanted 
 his good more than his pleasure, looked with those 
 lovely serious eyes to a future when he would thank 
 her that she had been firm, just, consistent ; treated 
 him not as a plaything to nestle and caress, but as 
 a man-child — gotten from the Lord. 
 
 Before Napoleon — the Nabulionello of the circle 
 at home — was two, he had a little sister who died. 
 Lucien, Elisa, and Louis were born in quick succession. 
 The Bonapartes were poor enough, and getting poorer. 
 Charles would seem to have been the kind of man who 
 was always having his own and his wife's portraits 
 painted and making pretty offerings to her heaux ycux, 
 while he lacked the means almost to pay for the 
 necessaries of life, and considered the future of his 
 young family scarcely at all. It was Letizia who 
 did that. With what a grave face she must have 
 watched those babies playing in the garden at Millelli ' 
 
 M 
 
178 THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 
 
 They had no one to depend on but herself. She 
 taught them to the best of her ability — Corsican 
 history and legend, love your country and fear your 
 God — a brief education but not a bad one. She 
 saved for them, pinched for them, for them grew 
 into those frugal habits on which was founded later 
 the charge of avarice. It is the only one her bitterest 
 enemies have been able to bring against her character. 
 
 When Louis was a baby, little Napoleon, with his 
 elder brother, Joseph, went to school at Autun. 
 Whatever that parting cost the mother she showed 
 nothing. Before they started she took the nine-year- 
 old Napoleon to the "Peres Lazaristes " of Ajaccio 
 and prayed their blessing for him. It was the 
 Mammucia Camilla and the bonne Saveria who 
 lamented and wept. There were no tears in the 
 mother's eyes. She would have her boys be men 
 — strong to do their duty. It is Napoleon who 
 speaks long after of her " severe tenderness," and 
 who says that he owed to her motherhood " all my 
 fortune and whatever good I have done." She ex- 
 horted the little sons to courage — to courage ! What 
 need she must have had of it herself when the white 
 sails of the retreating boat were like a gull on the 
 blue Ajaccian bay and she turned home to work 
 and care with the tears " the lids deny falling dreary 
 on her heart " ! 
 
 In 1780 she had a little daughter — " Paulette 
 bien aimee." Directly she was well enough she took 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 179 
 
 Lucien to Autun, to replace Napoleon who had been 
 promoted to Brienne. She found the Nabulionello 
 of childish days very thin and working like grim 
 death, while he — " My mother was then nine-and- 
 twenty," he says, " and belle comme les amours. " Hers 
 must have been, partly at least, the beauty of the 
 soul, which trouble enhances rather than impairs, 
 for at home the poverty was crueller than ever. 
 Things looked for a while a little brighter when 
 the eldest little girl, Elisa, got a presentation to 
 St. Cyr. But in 1782 "there was a new baby — 
 Caroline — to think of, and in 1784 another little 
 son — Jerome — and Charles sick unto death. 
 
 If the husband of her youth had not been the 
 support and refuge he might have been, womanlike, 
 Letizia had not loved him the less for that. He 
 died away from her at Montpellier, tenderly cared 
 for by friends, in the arms of his eldest, and with 
 the name of his greater son on his lips, and his 
 last thought for the wife he left to such dark 
 days. 
 
 " At thirty-two," Madame says simply in those 
 Souvenirs, H I was left a widow." She had neither 
 time nor wealth for the luxury of grief. Strong, 
 stern, and dutiful, she had at once to set to work 
 to educate her babies and economise a hundred 
 times more painfully than ever. It is said that 
 at this time she lost some of the soft and fragrant 
 charm which had marked her girlish loveliness. 
 
180 THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 
 
 What wonder ? She had to fight the world for 
 her children ; for them to be alert, keen, active, 
 shrewd. A French writer speaks of her expression 
 of " surprising intensity " in her picture which still 
 hangs in the white house at Ajaccio. That was 
 the portrait of a girl — comparatively untouched by 
 sorrow. It is of the Madame Mere of these early 
 days of widowhood that Napoleon speaks when he 
 says, " an excellent woman, an unequalled mother 
 — with a courage and strength of soul above 
 humanity." 
 
 He came back to her for a holiday in 1786, a 
 year after his father's death, sick in mind and 
 body, morose, despondent, bitter. They were all 
 so deadly poor ! What hope was there in the 
 world for all these helpless creatures, forgotten in 
 their barbarous island, and with the France which 
 had conquered them, itself going laughing to ruin ? 
 Madame took Napoleon to Millelli. There, in that 
 olive garden, under the shadow of the old oak 
 tree, she would sit with him, talk to him, cheer 
 him by the hour together. Times would not always 
 be bad. There was my uncle, the Archdiacre, who 
 would live with them and help them as far as in 
 him lay. The State, too, had remembered them in 
 the form of a very, very little pension. And over 
 all was the good God. 
 
 Letizia had no learning, but a great wisdom. She 
 was not prolific of caresses. Her love was in deeds, 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 181 
 
 not words. She won her boy back to health and 
 hope, made him face the world again, with that 
 splendid courage which was her own only armour 
 against fate, and inspired in him that passionate 
 reverence and affection for her character which 
 only died with his death. It was this episode in 
 his life which must have been before his mind 
 when, at St. Helena, having thanked the doctor 
 Antommarchi for his goodness to him, he added, 
 " ' But all that is not maternal solicitude. Ah ! 
 mam an Letizia ! ' Et il se couvrit la tete." 
 
 When in 1789 the firebrand of the Revolution 
 set France ablaze and the emigration began, Letizia 
 wrote to Napoleon to tell him to stay where he 
 was. She was the Spartan mother who, having 
 given her son his shield, bade him come back with 
 it or upon it. 
 
 She had need of him at home, too. In 1790 
 Pascal Paoli re-entered Corsica in triumph. By 
 1792 his designs to separate it from France and 
 join it to England were manifest. Letizia would 
 have none of them. When Napoleon did come 
 home for a brief while, she inspired him, Lucien 
 and Joseph — all boys in the early twenties — to de- 
 clare themselves for the French. Paoli had not 
 forgotten what manner of woman she had shown 
 herself in that old war of independence. He sent 
 her a message : " Madame, if you will write to the 
 general that you disapprove of the conduct of 
 
182 THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 
 
 your sons you shall immediately take possession of 
 your confiscated property." And she answered quietly, 
 " Tell Paoli I should have thought he would have 
 known me better. I have made myself a French- 
 woman, and a Frenchwoman I remain." 
 
 The fact that this reply made Paoli the Bonapartes' 
 implacable enemy, and caused him to order that they 
 should be brought to him alive or dead, did not make 
 Madame regret the course she had taken, nor deviate 
 from it by a hair's-breadth. 
 
 Her three boys were compelled to disguise them- 
 selves and fly — Joseph to Bastia, Napoleon to Calvi, 
 and Lucien to Marseilles. 
 
 Madame was left alone with her children in the white 
 house at Ajaccio. " You must only think of your 
 mother," she had said to her sons, " when you have 
 saved your country." She watched over the children 
 night and day. She sat up till morning came again, 
 and then lay down, dressed, to snatch a little rest. 
 Every sound in the dark night, the common noises of 
 the street in the long sunny day, must have made her 
 think that their hour had come and Paoli's people 
 were upon them. What was she to do ? Resistance 
 was impossible; submission, dishonour; and flight 
 almost certain death. All the while her strong heart 
 was torn with anxiety for the fate of the sons she 
 had given to France. 
 
 Joseph Fesch, her half brother, was the only re- 
 sponsible person she had with her, and he was younger 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 183 
 
 than herself, and not the man she was. Presently 
 an old relative consented to take charge of her two 
 youngest children, Caroline and Jerome. The mother 
 could very little have expected when she parted from 
 them to see them again in this world. She kept with 
 her Elisa, Pauline, and Louis. 
 
 The night comes when, waking up suddenly, she 
 sees her room full of armed men. She thinks they 
 are Paolists, and gets up, ready for fate. But they are 
 her friends. " Quick, Signora Letizia ! Paoli's people 
 are close behind us. There is not a moment to be 
 lost. We have come to save you or perish with you." 
 She throws a few clothes on to the children, and the 
 little party creep in silence with their guides through 
 the sleeping town. They hear sounds of their enemies 
 all about them as they pass through it. But their 
 special Providence has not forgotten them, and they 
 gain the mountains and the macquis in safety. Uncle 
 Fesch takes care of Elisa and Louis, and Madame has 
 little Pauline by the hand. The arbutus tears their 
 clothes and the hands and faces of the children, whose 
 cries break the ominous silence of the country. A 
 brief rest is permitted on the heights of Aspreto, and 
 the children lie down and sleep for a little. In the 
 midst of them Madame sits upright, with her hands 
 resting on her knees — thinking, thinking, thinking. 
 They hear the church clock in Ajaccio strike mid- 
 night. Another day has begun — and what a day ! 
 In the very early morning it is Madame who gives 
 
184 THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 
 
 the signal to start. They are hidden in the high, 
 thick macquis, while a Paolist band passes them, de- 
 ciding to pillage and destroy the house of Bona- 
 parte, and on the death of Cotte, one of Madame's 
 escort. When little Elisa cries, torn and footsore, 
 " Do as I do," says the mother ; " I suffer, and am 
 silent." During the day they see flames rising from 
 distant Ajaccio. "It is your house which burns, 
 Signora." " What does it matter ? " she answers ; 
 " we can rebuild it more beautiful. Vive la France ! " 
 And they push on as before. 
 
 They come to a torrent presently, and the chil- 
 dren, half asleep, are put on the back of the horse 
 they have been lucky enough to obtain, and Letizia 
 walks by their side. The guard are devoted to her. 
 Her heroism would shame any coward into courage, 
 and these are no cowards. One of them is justly 
 remembered hereafter in a great man's will, written 
 at St. Helena — " to Costa, of Bastelica, in Corsica, 
 cent mille francs." They arrive presently at the 
 country house of Millelli, but dare not stay. Does 
 Madame think as they pass it of the days she spent 
 there with baby Joseph, of the later days with a 
 moody and despondent Napoleon ? It may be. They 
 press forward again. 
 
 History does not tell if, when they at last arrived 
 at the seaport of Capitello, where Napoleon awaited 
 them, or if, when they finally reached Toulon in 
 safety, relief and joy robbed Madame for a moment 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 185 
 
 of the stoicism which danger and trouble had left 
 untouched. It has been well said of her by a bio- 
 grapher that she was " the woman destined to sup- 
 port, with the equality of her great character, all 
 the surprises of happiness, and all the catastrophes of 
 misfortune." Misfortune had not done with her yet. 
 They were in France, it is true, and together ; but they 
 had hardly any money, and no expectations of more. 
 
 They moved shortly to Marseilles. They accepted 
 there, only too thankfully, the pain de munition, 
 and the very little money doled out to refugee 
 patriots. Napoleon, officer of artillery, gave them 
 by far the largest part of his earnings. For their 
 cruel necessities his pride accepted from a comrade, 
 Demasis, 30,000 francs. When they arrived they 
 had only the clothes they stood up in. Madame did 
 the work of their little home with her own hands. 
 If she had had any friends, which she had not, she 
 would have been too poor and too busy to entertain 
 them. She had her portionless daughters, Elisa, 
 nearly eighteen now, Pauline, fifteen, and Caroline, 
 thirteen, to educate to the best of her simple ability. 
 While they sat at needlework — not a little in awe, 
 one fancies, of the beautiful, grave mother — she would 
 tell them legends of the country they had left, brave 
 stories of their dead father, and of the war in which 
 he Had fought. As she had no book-learning her- 
 self, she could not give them any; nor could she, 
 though she did her best, give to them the natural 
 
186 THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 
 
 soundness, justness, and clearness of her own mind, 
 and that steady good sense which is worth all the 
 learning in the world. It has been said that if she 
 had brought up her children better, they would have 
 been better in after life ; to which it may be answered 
 that she trained them for good oourgeois, and not for 
 the thrones of Europe. 
 
 The low growl of the Revolution had now become a 
 roar. Marseilles was declared a rebellious town, and 
 the Bonapartes left it for a while, to return there 
 in 1795. In '94 Joseph married Mademoiselle Clary, 
 the daughter of a rich negotiant, which a little helped 
 the family fortunes. Louis was aide-de-camp to 
 Napoleon, Lucien an avocat at St. Maximin. Junot 
 — nobody in those days — wanted to marry pretty 
 Pauline ; but as Napoleon very sensibly said, " Tu 
 n'as rien, elle n'a rien, quel est le total ? Rien," 
 and the marriage did not come off. 
 
 Another marriage, though, took place very shortly. 
 Madame Mere distrusted Josephine from the first. 
 Napoleon had not consulted her as to the step he 
 was taking. Perhaps if he had she would have 
 been chary of advice. She remembered the esprit de 
 principauU in a little Napoleon, and knew well enough 
 that the man would make his own fate, and, having 
 made, abide by it without complaint. When Jose- 
 phine became her daughter-in-law, Madame wrote her 
 a letter, defective in spelling, certainly, but not in 
 spirit, in good sense, and good feeling. Then Napo- 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 187 
 
 leon was appointed to the command of the armies 
 in Italy. The Bonaparte fortunes had risen with a 
 bound. When he came to Marseilles to bid her 
 good-bye, " Te voila grand general ! " said Madame. 
 Can't one hear the pride and tenderness of her strong 
 heart beating in the simple words ? 
 
 The victories in Italy made Madame of consequence 
 in Marseilles. The tide of fortune had turned indeed. 
 In 1796, through Napoleon, the English gave back 
 Corsica to France. That must have been a proud 
 day for Letizia. When she joined Napoleon at Monte- 
 bello, " I am to-day the happiest of mothers," she 
 said. She went back presently to Ajaccio with Elisa, 
 now married to M. Bacchiochi. It is not a little 
 characteristic that she worked so hard in setting 
 things to rights in the old white house (only narrowly 
 saved from burning) that she made herself quite 
 ill. The mother of the man whom Paris delighted 
 to honour, and who had just been invested with 
 the confidence of the Directory, wrote very simple 
 letters to a friend in France asking for white cotton 
 cords for curtains, and, if you can find them, eight 
 arm-chairs a la mode and in damask, with never a 
 word of that great son whose fame was already 
 European. Was the reticence prudence ? It may 
 have been. It is more likely that Madame thought 
 now, as ever, that the way to win the world lay 
 in each doing his duty to the best of his knowledge 
 — my business is with white cotton cords for curtains, 
 
188 THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 
 
 and yours with a kingdom. Let each of us see to 
 his own. It is a theory which all women who fancy 
 themselves to have Madame Bonaparte's strong- 
 mindedness, with souls above homely tasks, should 
 well consider. 
 
 In 1799 Madame came to Paris, and with that 
 coming began a new epoch in her life — the epoch 
 of glory. Napoleon was First Consul, and to be, 
 Emperor. Her other children were all married, or 
 marrying, and their marriage portions were the king- 
 doms of Europe. The policy of Napoleon and the 
 Creole instincts of Josephine made the Imperial Court 
 only second to the Royal Court of the old regime in 
 Mat and magnificence. Madame herself received a 
 million of revenue and the title of Altesse Imperiale, 
 and was made the first Lady of the Legion of 
 Honour. The Bonapartes had climbed to such a 
 summit as might well make strong heads giddy. 
 But one of them kept hers, and that was Madame 
 herself. 
 
 What a contrast her grave, tall figure, in its simple 
 dress, must have presented at the Imperial Court to 
 the supple southern grace of Josephine and the light 
 prettiness of Paulette ! Madame was now about five 
 and fifty years old. The snows of age had not 
 touched the black hair which she wore . curling on 
 her forehead, and she had still the dignified carriage 
 and the stately beauty of her youth. The daughters 
 and daughter-in-law were gorgeous in a thousand 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 189 
 
 colours, outvying each other in rnodistic follies. Per- 
 haps they were not too pleased when Mamma Letizia 
 did appear at Court. Those clever eyes of hers saw 
 so much — in fact, so much too much ! She was not 
 in the least afraid — was she ever afraid of anything? 
 - — of reproving their prodigal extravagance of expendi- 
 ture, or their mean little squabbles over precedence 
 and etiquette. At a family party one day, when 
 Napoleon offered her the Imperial hand to kiss, "die 
 le repoussa vivement." " Am I not your Emperor ? " 
 " And I," she replied, " ami not your mother ? " And 
 he kissed her hand in silence. 
 
 If it was beyond her power, as under the circum- 
 stances it might well have been beyond any human 
 power, to make her children good men and women, 
 she at least made them good sons and daughters. 
 
 She was glad enough to escape from those Court 
 functions to quiet Joseph, Avith whom she lived for 
 a while in the Rue du Rocher. She still spoke 
 French very little and very badly. Her Italian was 
 the Corsican-Italian of her girlhood. She retained a 
 hundred provincialisms of speech, and she would call 
 her great son, Nabulione. She was perfectly free from 
 self-consciousness, stately, simple, austere. She did 
 not much understand a joke, and she thought badin- 
 age frivolity. She managed to live for years beneath 
 the shadow of a throne, the honest life of a devout 
 bourgeoise, giving much to the poor, saying many 
 prayers, thinking of her children, and saving for that 
 
190 THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 
 
 time when they would need the money they flung 
 royally into the gutter to-day. 
 
 There was no stronger characteristic in Madame 
 Mere than her profound distrust of Empire. She was 
 not at the coronation of 1804. She always fore- 
 saw that day when vaulting ambition would o'erleap 
 itself, and the Bonaparte star would set in a great 
 gloom. 
 
 She remonstrated with her Emperor in very plain 
 terms where she thought remonstrance would do 
 good. But she was too wise to think that very 
 often. 
 
 It was she who united with Josephine, whom she 
 did not love, to implore from her son the life of the 
 Due d'Enghien. " You yourself will be the first to 
 fall into the pit you dig this day beneath the feet 
 of your family," she said to him in stern prophecy. 
 And she addressed to him passionate reproaches with 
 strong crying and tears. She should have moved him 
 if any one could in this world. She defied him, as 
 it were, when she took charge of the Due's dog and 
 other small possessions he left behind him, and her- 
 self gave them to his family. One must needs like 
 her spirit. It was always her part to defend the 
 weak against the strong, and of her children, to love 
 the best those who suffered most. There is but 
 one occasion on record when she would seem to have 
 been a time-server, and that was when, after having 
 for years defended Lucien's cause against Napoleon, 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 191 
 
 she did at last write to Lucien's wife and implore 
 her, for her own sake and the sake of her children, 
 to consent to that divorce on which the Emperor's 
 iron will was set. 
 
 In 1809 was consummated the divorce of Josephine. 
 To Madame it seemed an " aete necessaire." Had not 
 Josephine brought it largely upon herself? To a 
 woman of Letizia's character, a wife who had been 
 faithless to her husband when he was nobody, 
 and only true to him when he was a great man, 
 must have appeared peculiarly contemptible. To 
 her primitive simplicity, too, a wife who had no 
 children was but half a wife after all. France 
 demanded the sacrifice of Josephine — and what must 
 be, must be. 
 
 Madame was wrong, no doubt. But even when 
 she was wrong there was a dignity and steadiness 
 about her one half admires. Josephine's tears moved 
 her to tears too, but not to yielding. She was sorry 
 for the woman she disliked — and whom she had 
 always disliked — large-mindedly, as it were, and 
 without any petty spite. 
 
 But she signed the document in that illiterate 
 writing of hers, with a firm hand not the less. 
 
 For her, the new Empress, daughter of the Haps- 
 burgs, was not the descendant of many kings but 
 the wife of her husband. When Marie Louise gave 
 herself royal airs and tried to patronise Madame Mere, 
 Letizia paid her back, with perfect composure, in her 
 
192 THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 
 
 own coin. It is only necessary to look at the portraits 
 of the Empress and the Emperor's mother to know 
 who had the best of that battle. 
 
 In 1811 -Madame was one of the sponsors to her 
 grandson, the King of Rome. The Empire was at its 
 giddiest height of glory. The mother of the Emperor 
 might have aspired to the noblest position of state to 
 a kingdom. And she lived instead more retired than 
 ever — many quiet charities through the agency of 
 half-brother Fesch, very simple parties (doubtless 
 sometimes not a little dull), a frugal court which 
 consisted almost entirely of her own numerous re- 
 lations. When Joseph and Louis abdicated their 
 thrones, she had for them only the warmest sympathy 
 and affection. Her mistrust of Empire deepened 
 every day. " Nous autres Corses," she said — as she 
 might well say — " nous nous connaissons en revolu- 
 tions. All this will have an end, and what will 
 become of those children whose imprudent extrava- 
 gance looks neither to the future nor to the past ? 
 Then they shall find me." 
 
 After the campaign in Russia Napoleon accepted 
 from her a million for his most urgent expenses. 
 The little cloud of disaster, no bigger than a man's 
 hand, which had been growing steadily since the 
 divorce of Josephine, grew blacker and threatened to 
 cover the sky. No misfortunes took Madame by sur- 
 prise. When Fate smiled on her she saw the death's 
 head behind the grin, and when it frowned she made 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 193 
 
 herself ready for battle. Before the crashing fall of 
 the First Empire she said quietly to Cambaceres, 
 " I shall not complain in what manner it ends, 
 provided Napoleon comes out of it without any loss 
 of honour, for to fall is nothing when one ends 
 nobly, but to fall is everything when one ends 
 disgraced." 
 
 Madame was sixty-four when she visited the great 
 exile in Elba. She crossed from Leghorn in an 
 English brig under the command of Colonel Camp- 
 bell. She dined on deck every evening, and mounted 
 on a cannon with "great agility" to get the first 
 view of Napoleon's house. 
 
 Once on the island she would sit at work at her 
 tapestry with a little portrait of Napoleon on the table 
 before her. He had been dear to her in his glory, 
 but how much dearer he was in his trouble, all 
 mothers must guess. That she was entirely sad need 
 not be thought. That she was far happier now that 
 the blow had fallen than in those gorgeous years 
 when the shadow of the fall lay always upon her 
 heart, may well be imagined. Here Napoleon was 
 all hers — as he had hardly been since she nursed 
 him, a weakly child upon her breast. Paulette joined 
 them presently, proving that amid her lightness and 
 follies she had still the one great Bonaparte quality 
 — family affection. Letizia began presently to visit 
 the objects of interest in the island. From its rocky 
 shores she could see the Corsica of her youth — Bastia, 
 
 N 
 
194 THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 
 
 where a stern and girlish Madame Bonaparte had 
 reproved a too familiar father confessor, who was very 
 justly thereupon deprived of his cure. 
 
 She, for whom the Fates had already spun so many 
 surprises of disaster and glory, was not moved from 
 her usual steady composure, when one moonlit night, 
 the night of a ball, her son walking with her in the 
 garden said to her suddenly — 
 
 " Je vous previens que je pars cette nuit." 
 
 " Pour aller ou ? " 
 
 " A Paris, mais avant tout je vous demande votre 
 avis." 
 
 Her advice ! If she had thought of herself she 
 must have said, " Stay here. Fame brings happiness 
 to one man in a thousand, and to no woman. Here 
 at least we are in peace and together. Stay." 
 
 And she answered instead, " Go and fulfil your 
 destiny." 
 
 Madame followed her son to France, passing on 
 her way close by the shores of that little native 
 country she had so faithfully served. She was 
 present on the 7th June 1815, when Napoleon 
 received the oaths of the senators and deputies — 
 beautiful still with the beauty that time cannot hurt, 
 regular features, deep eyes, steady mouth, and that 
 air of nobleness that comes from the soul. 
 
 Exactly a fortnight later two women walked in 
 the garden of the Elysee dressed in mourning, and 
 in a sorrow which had no words. They were Madame 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 195 
 
 Mere and Hor tense, once Queen of Holland. Waterloo 
 was over. 
 
 The last four fatal days of his abdication the 
 mother spent at Malmaison with her son. What 
 memories the place must have brought to him : of 
 Josephine who always had his heart, and who, if she 
 had been herself faithful, might have had his fidelity 
 too ; of the days of a power greater than any king's 
 since time began — the power of a master-mind to 
 manage men. And for the mother ? " My mother 
 is worthy of all venerations," said Napoleon. She 
 put herself on one side. That had been her attitude 
 in prosperity — and hers the true greatness willing to 
 make itself of no account. She only remembered 
 now the needs of her son. She must be strong to 
 help him. It was the supreme crisis of life, and they 
 both must come through it "with honour." What 
 words of pious comfort from her own steadfast, simple 
 religion the mother uttered, history does not tell. 
 If she gave counsel for the future, or bade her son 
 look back for consolation on a past more glorious 
 than any other had achieved or would achieve, is not 
 known. When the day of farewell came, the few 
 faithful friends remaining to the Emperor said good- 
 bye, and left weeping. The mother and son were 
 alone. Two tears stole down Madame's beautiful old 
 face. "Adieu, mon fils." Happy he who does not 
 recognise from some experience of his own the 
 desolation in those three words ! 
 
196 THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 
 
 A few days later Madame wrote to the Cardinal 
 Consalvi, " I am indeed the mother of sorrows." On 
 the 15 th of July she arrived with faithful Joseph 
 Fesch in Rome. A little later she wrote and begged 
 the allied sovereigns to allow her to join her son in 
 St. Helena. The request was refused. The woman 
 accused of avarice offered the Emperor her whole 
 fortune. And when it was suggested to her that she 
 would be ruined, she looked up with a fine flash of 
 her brave old spirit and said, " What does it matter ? 
 When I have nothing I will take a staff and beg an 
 alms for the mother of Napoleon." 
 
 She wrote later again to the allied sovereigns to 
 implore her son's release from that death by slow 
 torture, St. Helena. They did not even reply. She 
 had to content herself in those long days with 
 recalling little traits of the childhood and infancy 
 of that dear Nabulionello. 
 
 She lived very quietly, seeing very few strangers, 
 the Pope sometimes, and her children constantly 
 when they were in Rome. When that fair-weather 
 wife Marie Louise offered to visit her mother-in-law, 
 " The woman of whom you speak," said Madame 
 Letizia, " cannot be my daughter. She is doubtless 
 some impostor who tricks herself out with our name, 
 and I do not receive impostors." Then the Emperor 
 of Austria, Marie Louise's father, sent his aide-de-camp 
 to Madame to announce that it was his royal pleasure 
 to wait on her. The misguided messenger began in 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 197 
 
 a loud voice, " His Majesty the Emperor of Austria, 
 my master — " On which old Madame, rising to 
 her full height, replied, " Go, sir, to the Emperor of 
 Austria your master, and tell him that he and the 
 mother of the Emperor Napoleon have nothing in 
 common." 
 
 Nor did she more easily forgive her own daughter 
 for Murat's treason to Napoleon, and never accepted 
 Caroline's excuses that she was not responsible for her 
 husband's actions. " Madame replied, like Clytem- 
 nestra, ' If you could not command him, you ought 
 to have fought him.' " Where is there another woman 
 with so dogged a courage of her opinions as Madame 
 Mere? 
 
 In 1821 he of whom an Englishman said that he 
 "had rendered past glory doubtful and future fame 
 impossible," knew that his hour had come. There is 
 a strange story of a ghostly visitant to the waiting 
 mother at Rome on the day and moment when the 
 great spirit left the body. It was not till two months 
 and a half after his death that the news of it reached 
 her. She remained long " without movement, without 
 voice, without tears." It was the final test of her 
 heroism. " My life," she said herself, " died with the 
 death of the Emperor. Then I renounced everything 
 for ever." When Dr. Antommarchi came to see her 
 with the news of those last days in St. Helena, her 
 emotion was so great he dared not tell her all. When 
 he came a second time, she was calmer. She inter- 
 
198 THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 
 
 rupted hini now and then with sobs. " I stopped. 
 She dried her tears and resumed her questions." On 
 his third visit she had regained that self-mastery 
 which had stood her in noble stead through almost 
 every vicissitude of human experience. 
 
 On the 15th of August 1821, she wrote to the 
 Marquis of Londonderry, the Minister of Foreign 
 Affairs for England, to beg the remains of her son. 
 " The mother of the Emperor Napoleon reclaims 
 from his enemies the body of her son. Fallen 
 from the summit of human greatness to the lowest 
 degree of misfortune, I do not seek to move the 
 British Ministry by the record of the sufferings of its 
 great victim. . . . Can the English Government 
 continue to extend its iron arm over the corpse of 
 a foe ? I demand the ashes of my son : no one has 
 a greater right to them than a mother. . . . He has 
 no further need of honours — his name is sufficient 
 for his glory — but I have need to embrace his dead 
 body. Far away from the tumult of the world I 
 have prepared a grave for him in a humble chapel. 
 In the name of justice and humanity, I implore 
 you not to refuse my prayer. ... I have given 
 Napoleon to France and to the world ; in the name 
 of God, in the name of all mothers, I come to 
 beg you, my Lord, that I may not be denied my 
 dead son." 
 
 If it be suggested that this was not the composition 
 of an unlettered hourgeoise, it may be answered that 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 199 
 
 there is no finer language than the passionate utter- 
 ance of the heart, and no better teacher of style than 
 a great emotion. 
 
 Madarae's request was refused. She did not live 
 to see that day when the ashes of Napoleon were 
 placed, as he had desired, on the banks of the Seine 
 and in the midst of the French people he had so 
 dearly loved. From the date of that refusal the 
 mother asked nothing. The sun had set, and the 
 shadows of the evening were about her path. For 
 her had come the time of resignation, of far thoughts, 
 of many memories, of many prayers. What a long 
 twilight it was to that gorgeous day ! " Paulette bien 
 aimee" died at Florence in 1825, and Saveria, the 
 gouvernante of the days in old Ajaccio, in the same 
 year. A very slight old figure always dressed in black 
 in the fashion of the Empire, and with dark eyes still 
 very bright and penetrating, became well known in 
 Rome, going daily to mass, or walking sometimes 
 among the ruins. She was living, too, in the ruins 
 of her own life. The King of Rome died in 1832. 
 Perhaps because Fate had already hit her so hard, that 
 blow seemed by comparison light. All she lived for 
 now was to do good. She was very fond of a young 
 granddaughter, Princess Charlotte. When she became 
 too blind and infirm to do much else, her faithful com- 
 panion, Mademoiselle Rose Mellini, would read to her by 
 the hour together. Oh, what thoughts must have lain 
 behind those sightless eyes as the old woman listened 
 
200 THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 
 
 to the history she had helped to make, to lives and 
 memoirs of that great man whose life and memory 
 she kept, like another mother, hidden in her heart ! 
 She dictated indeed some of her own Souvenirs — very 
 simple, very short, very homely — as if she would say, 
 " I am nothing, but for what I remember of the baby- 
 hood of the man I gave the world, hear me a little." 
 She recalled too a memory of Elba, and the fatal 
 news of the Emperor's death. That is all, almost. 
 She was old, but not yet to die. Heaven help her ! 
 when she said of herself, " My son died miserably 
 far from me : my other children are proscribed. 
 . . . My grandchildren, who promised best for the 
 future, all seem destined to disappear. I am old, 
 forsaken, without glory, without honour — and I 
 would not change places with the first queen in the 
 world." 
 
 There spoke, if there ever spoke, the spirit of a 
 great woman. 
 
 At last, on the 2nd of February 1836, at nearly 
 fourscore years and ten, having known France as con- 
 queror, enemy, friend, kingdom, chaos, republic, the 
 empire of her own son and Bourbon kingdom again, 
 and having experienced the extremes of poverty and 
 riches, of obscurity and glory, of flattery and contempt, 
 died Madame Mere. 
 
 By her bedside were his Eminence Cardinal Fesch, 
 whom a little Mademoiselle Ramolino had nursed as 
 a baby, and Jerome, her youngest born. She went 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 201 
 
 to death exactly as if she had gone to sleep. She 
 had worked so hard she must needs be glad to 
 rest at last. In the cameo by Coquille, taken 
 the day after, the serene and firm old face wears a 
 smile. 
 
 The Government of Italy, not to offend France, 
 commanded a very simple funeral. That was as 
 Madame had wished. It would not permit the Bona- 
 parte arms on the door of the mortuary chapel. But 
 on the pall beneath the spreading wings of the im- 
 perial eagle was inscribed-: — 
 
 L. R B. 
 
 Mater Napoleonis. 
 
 Not all the flattering lies on costly monuments, 
 nor the finest eulogies of court sycophants, could have 
 made a nobler epitaph. 
 
 What was this woman ? Her figure stands unique 
 in history. One knows of no other at once so clever 
 and so wise, so great and so willing to be little. This 
 was she who, in a position of power, neither managed 
 nor intrigued — who was so self-effacing that posterity 
 has effaced her too, and forgotten her pluck like a 
 man's, her strong courage to act where action would 
 do good, and her finer courage to sit still when action 
 was useless. Her iron will and dogged mind were 
 hardly womanly perhaps. This was not the gentle 
 angel of the domestic hearth with the tender virtues 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 
 
 to soothe and bless — but the heroine to fight the 
 world for her children, to die for them, if need be, 
 with her face to the foe, or — a harder thing — to work 
 for them all day long, to bring them up honestly 
 in bitter poverty, and decently, in that " universal 
 corruption of manners " which attained its height in 
 the Revolution. 
 
 Deep and stern in her affections — love is not what 
 you feel for your children but what you do for them 
 — Madame Mere was a better man than any of her 
 sons, save one ; yet never forgetting that her sex is 
 " an inferior part of the creation," she obeyed, as 
 her noblest duty, not only Charles, husband and 
 master, but her son Joseph as head of the family, 
 and Napoleon, born with the right divine to rule the 
 world. 
 
 As for the charges that have been brought against 
 her, they may well be admitted. 
 
 Penurious ? Yes. Madame had been through 
 such poverty as no one can experience and forget. 
 Mean even ? To herself, but to her children and the 
 poor most generous ; always saving, but always to give 
 away. Ignorant ? Absurdly ignorant : letters written 
 by some one else and signed with difficulty " Madre " ; 
 preposterously ignorant of everything but life and the 
 art of living rightly. Unpolished ? Rough. See Cor- 
 sica to-day, and it will be easy to understand that 
 the noble families of the Corsica of a century and a 
 half ago would be rough. Manners defective. No wit 
 
THE MOTHER OF NAPOLEON 203 
 
 herself and suspicious of wit in others. No small talk. 
 No gracious flatteries. 
 
 In short, Madame Mere was not a great lady but 
 a great woman. 
 
 As that, and the mother of a greater man, she may 
 be well content to go down the ages. 
 
MADAME DE SEVIGNE 
 
 When Napoleon said that reading Madame de 
 Sevigne was like eating snowballs, when Horace 
 Walpole worshipped at the shrine of such a grace, 
 softness, and delicacy, when old Mary Montagu 
 characterised the whole correspondence as " always 
 tittle-tattle," and Lord Chesterfield deigned to ad- 
 mire its " ease, freedom, and friendship," each critic 
 had no doubt a little right on his side, and the 
 truth lies somewhere between them all. 
 
 Marie de Rabutin Chantal, who is to this day a 
 religion among all Frenchmen, and was herself 
 French, not only by birth, but by every instinct 
 and quality of her character, was born on a certain 
 day in February 1626. Her father died when she 
 was a baby, her mother when she was only seven 
 years old, so that the little creature knew nothing in 
 her own childhood of the maternal affection which 
 she was to turn hereafter into a fine art, and which 
 was to make her a name for ever. 
 
 Her uncle, Abbe of Coulanges, brought her up in 
 the country quiet of his priory at Livry. What a 
 fresh breath of spring this gay, soft, quick, bright 
 little French girl must have brought into that 
 
fff //////// r <■//■ oy&i, 
 
 ///r <■//■ V c 1/-1 </■?}/' . 
 
 fy -/} 
 
MADAME DE SEVIGNE 205 
 
 studious atmosphere of mystic piety, and to the 
 grave Jansenist philosophers, my uncle's companions ! 
 She had Menage and Chapelain for her tutors. She 
 learned Latin, Spanish, Italian, and wore the weight 
 of learning now, as she wore it all her life, " lightly 
 like a flower." She was only sixteen, with the in- 
 nocence of that calm life still upon her, when she was 
 presented at the brilliant court of Anne of Austria 
 and received with a truly Gallic transport and 
 enthusiasm. She had those " yeux bleus qui revent 
 en regardant." She had " cette fleur printaniere de 
 teint." She had the sweetest brightness, naturalness, 
 charm. She was so fresh and so gay, so kind, happy, 
 and girlish. All her biographers are in love with her. 
 They would not be French if they could refuse to 
 adore such a divinity. It is only one of them who 
 suggests that she could have needed anything to 
 complete her perfection — and that the deepening 
 touch of sorrow. 
 
 It came to her — do not all the worst troubles of 
 life come this way ? — through herself. She was not 
 yet two years away from her priory when she fell 
 quite romantically and absorbingly in love. She had 
 a very pretty dot — but then she had such a pretty 
 wit and such a pretty face that she did not need 
 its superfluous attraction. M. de Sevigne was brave, 
 handsome, a soldier, and at the moment himself 
 delightfully in love. Did any one whisper to Marie 
 his character of amant volage ? Perhaps. Can't one 
 
206 MADAME DE SfiVIGNE 
 
 fancy the charming indignation with which she re- 
 pudiated such a calumny, and, if the convenances 
 permitted the lovers a little more intimacy than is 
 permitted French lovers nowadays, going to him 
 and telling him, and listening to him and loving 
 him and believing in him a thousand times more 
 than ever ? One may be quite sure that Marie's 
 passion was not the less blind because she was a 
 clever woman. Her uncle, too, approved of the 
 match. Everybody approved of it. The sun shone 
 on it with that cloudless brilliancy that comes before 
 the rain. And they were married. 
 
 For a year or two, perhaps, Madame — such a girlish 
 Madame — found, if not the complete realisation of 
 her dreams, at least, one hopes, that happiness which 
 is " the perpetual possession of being well deceived." 
 Monsieur introduced his wife into the Salon of 
 Madame de Rambouillet, and the young pair moved 
 in a world lit by such various stars as Bossuet, 
 Moliere, Pascal, Corneille, Fenelon, Boileau, Racine, 
 Rochefoucauld, and Bourdaloue. Marie, indeed, who 
 was familiar with the works of Ariosto and Tasso, had 
 tasted Virgil and Homer, and listened from a child 
 to Chrysostom " with his glorious mouth of gold," was 
 no unfit companion for the immortals. Her learning, 
 one may be quite sure, did not make her dull and 
 pedantic. She had the exquisite taste, the perfect 
 tact, the esprit and the spirituality which make a 
 cultivated Frenchwoman the most delightful woman 
 
MADAME DE SEVIGNfi 207 
 
 in the world. If the immortals did not yet recognise 
 a peer, they were all more or less in love with such 
 a charming personality. They wrote her sonnets and 
 worshipped her. They took the little, fair, kind hand 
 and kissed it, as it were. Her name was on all lips. 
 It was only the scandals of a scandalous age which 
 contained no mention of her ; for the girl- wife looked 
 over the brilliant world at her feet at the husband 
 of whom it was said, " II aimait partout," and still 
 loved and believed in him. 
 
 She was a little bit glad, perhaps, all the same, 
 when he left Paris — and temptation — and took her 
 to Les Kochers, his seat in Brittany. Madame had 
 a taste, most unfashionable, for country sights and 
 sounds. The sombre garden, with its long avenues 
 of old trees and dark hedges of holly and thorn, did 
 not seem dismal to her. She invested the solemn 
 house, with its long silent salons, with the charm 
 she brought everywhere, with gaiety even. Here at 
 least Monsieur was all her own. They were re- 
 trenching their expenses, which was just as well, 
 and showed how happy one could be modestly and 
 simply. A tender hope was dawning in her girlish 
 heart, which found realisation when a little son lay 
 on her breast. A year later, her daughter — " the 
 unique passion of my life," the child more beloved 
 than any child in all history — came to crown her 
 blessings. One likes to think of her thus — with her 
 husband faithful, or at least not known faithless, 
 
208 MADAME DE SEVIGNE 
 
 with the babies getting more and more wonderful and 
 intelligent every day, with the gardens blooming with 
 summer life, with the world lying fair before her. 
 Her happiness did not last very long. Is it in the 
 nature of such happiness to last ? One must be 
 thankful to have even sipped the cup. Monsieur 
 was called to his regiment by the war of the Fronde, 
 and Madame came back to Paris — to its brilliancy and 
 dangers, to its lightness, passions, temptations — just as 
 the boy Louis XIV. was entering it in triumph with 
 his mother and Mazarin. 
 
 It was in Paris that Madame met again Bussy 
 Rabutin, her cousin, and that Monsieur fell under 
 the spell — a spell all Madame's girlish charms could 
 not break — of Ninon de l'Enclos. Cousin Bussy had 
 made before this the finest protestation of love for 
 Marie, it seems, and had been laughed at a little, 
 so that it was not very wonderful that he now felt it 
 his duty to acquaint her with her husband's unlucky 
 infatuation. She received the news with not a little 
 dignity. If Bussy hoped she would now lend a more 
 ready ear to his own vows and fervours he must have 
 been very much disappointed. In an age when gallan- 
 try was the mode, this woman's character was always 
 in the pure air beyond suspicion. There is, indeed, 
 no higher tribute to it than Bussy's own malicious 
 account of his cousin in his Histoire Amoureuse des 
 Gaules. The defamer can find nothing to defame. 
 
 Madame took Monsieur's madness in silence. Did 
 
MADAME DE SEVIGNE 209 
 
 she suffer greatly ? Who knows ? She acted, at 
 least, with a judgment and sanity that not one 
 woman in a hundred would have displayed in her cir- 
 cumstances, and only left Monsieur presently through 
 the urgent advice of her more than father, the Abbe 
 de Coulanges. She took the children back to Les 
 Rochers, and was not, one hopes, all unhappy. As 
 she played with them in the summer gardens, ugly 
 rumours of her husband must, indeed, too often 
 have disturbed her peace. At length came the news 
 of another infatuation, of a duel, of a mortal wound ; 
 and Madame wrote to the man who had wronged her 
 that letter with a cry in it — that letter of " sorrow, 
 despair, and pardon" — and found herself a widow at 
 five-and-fewenty. 
 
 She spent the next three years in retirement with 
 her little son and daughter. They lived in the greatest 
 simplicity to repair the fortunes Monsieur had ruined. 
 The Abbe helped Madame a good deal, and she stayed 
 with him often. She administered the estates of 
 Bourbilly and Les Rochers with that shrewd and prac- 
 tical common-sense, which in Frenchwomen, and in 
 very few other women in the world, is compatible 
 with all the most unpractical of graces and charms. 
 And then she reappeared at Court. 
 
 It was an epoch. She was not yet thirty years 
 old. If she had lost something of the dewy fresh- 
 ness of the girl — only her biographers say that she 
 
 never lost it, but remained softly young for ever — 
 
 o 
 
210 MADAME DE SEVIGNE 
 
 she had gained in wit, in confidence, in sympathy. 
 She had further cultivated her mind in the long 
 solitudes at Les Rochers. She had suffered. She 
 had had much to forgive — and had forgiven. There 
 was no trace of bitterness in such a nature. She 
 still loved life and wanted to enjoy it. She was 
 ready to begin the world again with the happiest 
 zest. She took the newest naive delight in the 
 balls and parties. She knew everybody once more, 
 and everybody wanted to know her. De Retz, the 
 Due de Rohan, the Prince de Conde, Montrose (after- 
 wards the Martyr), Madame de la Fayette, were among 
 her friends. If the king for a while looked coldly 
 on her, those great spirits which made the king's 
 Court the most brilliant in Europe could not but 
 do homage to such a cultivated womanly intelligence. 
 Madame bewitched the grave bishops, very likely, 
 with the exquisite " drollery " which captivated staid 
 Fanny Burney more than a hundred years after. 
 She moved from one great light to another. She 
 always said the right thing, and said it perfectly. 
 She danced gracefully, one may be quite sure, as 
 she did everything. She was an amateur actress of 
 not a little ability. She made the acquaintance of 
 the Arnaulds, the great fathers of Jansenism. She 
 went to the fashionable sermons in the intervals of 
 the fashionable parties, and was moved to the softest 
 emotion by those burning discourses. Conti and the 
 great Fouquet (with a crowd of lesser lights long 
 
MADAME DE SEVIGNE 211 
 
 forgotten) were in love with her. Of her own feel- 
 ings to Fouquet it has been said that she was less 
 than lover and more than friend. She followed his 
 trial at least with a breathless anxiety. She came 
 to Paris before its close that she might hear the best, 
 or the worst, at once. " L'esperance m'a trop bien 
 servie," she wrote at the last minute almost, " pour 
 l'abandonner." Her gentle sanguineness lightened 
 indeed this trouble for her, as it lightened all the 
 other bitternesses of her life. If any man again 
 touched her heart, that man was Fouquet no doubt. 
 But he had a rival too powerful for him, a rival to 
 whom all Madame's gentle soul had been long given, 
 on whom every hope and desire of her life was fixed 
 — the little daughter growing to womanhood at her 
 side. 
 
 It must have been a pretty picture when Madame 
 presented la plus jolie fille de France at the French 
 Court. The mother had no thoughts but for the 
 child. Her own fascination and beauty were nothing 
 to her. She could not think of anything but of 
 Mademoiselle's loveliness, which was in point of fact 
 exquisitely regular and uninteresting. One cannot 
 find out, indeed, what there was in this girl, with 
 her tepid disposition, her dull, exact little mind, to 
 inspire an affection which in all the history of the 
 human heart has scarcely a parallel. "Au premier 
 moment," wrote Mademoiselle herself, with a delight- 
 ful naivete, " on me croit adorable et quand on me 
 
212 MADAME DE SEVIGNE 
 
 voit d'avantage on ne m'aime plus." There was, 
 indeed, no reason why one should have continued to 
 love her. But the maternal passion requires, it seems, 
 very little from its object. Perhaps Madame's heart 
 set itself so upon this child when the husband of her 
 youth betrayed her. It may have been so. The date 
 and reason of the origin of that supreme attach- 
 ment matter, after all, very little. It has become 
 immortal. 
 
 Can't one fancy how fondly and anxiously the mother 
 watched the daughter at those fine fetes and masque- 
 rades ? She was not a bit pleased when the great 
 people flocked about her. Perhaps some of her 
 admirers found out that the way to gain Madame 
 now (Madame was exquisitely human and had hitherto 
 liked flattery and admiration a little on her own ac- 
 count) was to admire her daughter. One does not 
 know when the mother first found out — or if she 
 ever found out — that Mademoiselle had judged herself 
 rightly, and that her dull beauty soon bored people 
 and that, though she attracted admiration, she could 
 not keep it. It was certainly not very long before 
 Madame was wondering over la bizarrerie du destin, 
 in the difficulty of marrying the prettiest girl in 
 France. Was it because the noble houses were afraid 
 of making an alliance with a family not in too good 
 favour with the omnipotent king (one must re- 
 member Madame's firm friendship with the disgraced 
 Fouquet); or because the mother's gentle sensibilities- 
 
MADAME DE SEVIGNE 213 
 
 had been too much attracted by the unpopular Jan- 
 senism ; or because only of the tMeur natitrelle 
 of Mademoiselle's disposition ? One may be quite 
 sure that the last was not the reason Madame 
 assigned for her disappointment. 
 
 The pair went into the country presently ; and 
 then were recalled to Paris by the gorgeous fetes 
 given to Madame de Montespan after the Peace of Aix- 
 la-Chapelle. The morality of the age was such that 
 the most careful of mothers would not have hesitated 
 to introduce the most innocent of daughters into 
 society which was not questionable, because of its 
 evil manner of life there was no question at all. 
 "When the king discovered Mademoiselle's beauty and 
 danced with her, could Madame help being nattered ? 
 The admiration was only a pretence, it turned out, 
 to cloak a real passion for the Montespan; and it 
 was not very long before the Court heard one morn- 
 ing that Mademoiselle was to be married to a Comte 
 de Grignan, who was rich, forty years old, and had 
 had two wives already. 
 
 It was not a love match, to be sure. Had Madame's 
 own experience of love matches been so happy that 
 she should wish her daughter to follow her example ? 
 Since one must marry, it seemed, or be buried alive 
 in a convent, the Comte was, everything considered, 
 as good a parti as Mademoiselle was likely to get. 
 Most of his relations had obligingly died, said Madame 
 gaily in a letter, which was really most good-natured 
 
214 MADAME DE SEVIGNE 
 
 of them. The Conite was well off. Mademoiselle was 
 quite passive and indifferent. And — and — Madame 
 had every reason to hope that her son-in-law might 
 obtain an influential post at Court, and that she might 
 keep her daughter with her in Paris. 
 
 It is to the death of that hope that one owes one 
 of the most famous series of letters ever written. 
 
 Madame had been a correspondent of some little 
 repute before this. Her letters to other persons have 
 at least traces of the carefulness which was character- 
 istic of an age when letter- writing was a fine art. But 
 in the letters which have made her celebrated for ever 
 she had no thought of celebrity. It was the mother 
 talking to the child. It was the intimacy of the fire- 
 side — of the most simple and domestic of all affections, 
 " Madame cause." 
 
 She wrote from " chez Monsieur Rochefoucauld," or 
 from Vichy, where she was taking the waters. She 
 wrote night and morning, that there might be no post 
 which did not bring a letter from her. Could Madame 
 de Grignan have been a hundredth part as eager to 
 hear from her mother as her mother was eager not to 
 miss a single chance of writing? She wrote to-day 
 in May-time from the garden of Uncle Coulanges at 
 Livry to the music of nightingales ; from the coin 
 du feu in winter at Les Rochers ; from her dearest 
 friend's, Madame de la Fayette. She went straight to 
 her escritoire (and the " ebony cabinet for pens and 
 paper," which Horace Walpole cherished long after as 
 
MADAME DE SEVIGNE 215 
 
 a memory of the most delightful woman in the world) 
 when she came home from a court ball, " at five 
 o'clock in the morning." She was never tired or too 
 dull to talk a little with that dear daughter. As her 
 easy pen ran over the paper, the distance between 
 them dwindled into nothing. The mother sat again 
 with her fond hand upon the child's — with her fond 
 eyes looking up into the girlish face — " Madame 
 cause." 
 
 She wrote about everything — and about nothing. 
 About the balls and the comedies at St. Germain ; 
 who had asked after Madame de Grignan, and had 
 praised her beauty and her disposition. Here was a 
 little criticism of a modish poet or painter, and half a 
 page about Madame de Grignan's health. " Votre 
 maigreur me tue," says the mother, and " Conservez- 
 vous, c'est ma ritournelle continuelle." She had a 
 charmiDg little Court scandal to tell her daughter the 
 next morning ; or an account to give her of La 
 Valliere at the Carmelites. She confessed to her 
 with a most bewitching humility her passion for 
 les vieux romans. She was folk de Corneille, she 
 said. She had been to hear a " delicious " sermon 
 (the adjective is perfectly characteristic) of Bour- 
 daloue's this morning, and to Court at night. She 
 had a little argument with her daughter about faith 
 and philosophy — the mother being all for faith, blind, 
 complete, devoted, and the daughter all for indepen- 
 dent and reasonable thought. Here she was writing 
 
216 MADAME DE SEVIGNE 
 
 of Madame de Maintenon's unique position, " II n'y en 
 a jamais eu et il n'y en aura jamais;" or reading St. 
 Augustine " with transport." Now she was laughing 
 softly over the peccadilloes of her scapegrace son ; or 
 describing the death-bed of the Princess de Conti. 
 The daughter wrote solemn maxims on hope and 
 patience and sent them to her mother, and the 
 mother, who to the end of her life was much the 
 younger of the two, wrote back to lightly chide the 
 daughter about neglecting her dress and appearance. 
 Of Rochefoucauld's maxims, said Madame, " II y en a 
 divines ; " and also wanted Madame de Grignan " to 
 put her nose a little into the Book of the Predestina- 
 tion of Saints." And then again she was talking just 
 as she must have talked in life, of nothing, nothings 
 nothing ; of trifles lighter than air ; of things that 
 were great then, or great to her, and are less than 
 trifles now, with an immortal name shining here, and 
 just once or twice a priceless glimpse of history — and 
 again nothing, nothing, nothing. " Madame cause." 
 
 It is this nothingness which made Napoleon say 
 with perfect truth that one is no further on when one 
 has read her. But it is also this nothingness which 
 has endeared her to many generations of French 
 people, and by which she still makes her appeal to 
 the heart. 
 
 Madame wrote, in fact, in the " little language " of 
 love. She spoke to her daughter about home and 
 children, the trifles of every-day life — and behold ! it 
 
MADAME DE SEVIGNE 217 
 
 is what the simplest mother among her readers might 
 say in substance, though not in form, to her own 
 child. Madame's fears for her daughter's health and 
 safety are only the echoes, after all, of anxieties 
 every human being has felt for some one dear to him. 
 In her partings, one relives one's own. The desola- 
 tion of those good-byes, the hopelessness of the long 
 outlook when they are said, the trembling anticipa- 
 tions of reunion (trembling, for fear Fate should be too 
 cruel, and one should meet no more), is there any one 
 so happy — or is it so miserable ? — that he has not 
 known these things as she knew them ? Did she 
 write of the narrowest coterie only ? Did she write 
 pages and pages of the " tittle-tattle " of " a fine lady " 
 or an " old nurse " ? Did she write a great deal too 
 fast (her pen had always le bride stir le cote, she 
 said), as well as much too often, and never re-read 
 what she had written ? If she had soared to the 
 finest flights of eloquence, if she had only told what 
 would be valuable to the historian and the biographer, 
 if she had omitted volumes almost of her tender feeling 
 for her child, and put in a fuller account of those 
 great spirits among whom she lived, she would have 
 been a much greater genius and much less beloved. 
 Her sensibilities could not but interfere a little with 
 her wit. A great attachment was not with her, any 
 more than with any other woman, a stimulus to great 
 enterprises. She rested in it and was content. 
 
 Her letters have been, indeed, well called the 
 
218 MADAME DE SEVIGNE 
 
 " Book of Repose." It is into the quiet place of the 
 most natural of all the affections that she leads one 
 through a vicious society and a vicious age, and in 
 the most charming, simple, easy manner imaginable. 
 It is the classic cles portcs fermees which she has 
 written ; the classic of that " home " for which the 
 Frenchman has no word and such an infinite devotion. 
 Does her soft delicacy bore one now and then ? Do 
 those pages of graceful trifles become occasionally a 
 little monotonous, and the easy writing almost irri- 
 tating in its dainty perfection ? It is to be supposed 
 that at times most readers have felt this. And there 
 come other times when that soft and limpid French, 
 when the charm of the writer's personality, her gentle 
 sprightliness, and, above all, her one long, fond, supreme 
 affection, make the book into a friend who lives. 
 
 How many years did Madame continue writing 
 those letters ? Monsieur de Grignan was made Vice- 
 Governor of Provence, and presently Madame had 
 little grandchildren to think about and to love. Her 
 son fell a victim to the charms of the same siren who 
 bewitched his father ; and Madame took his follies 
 with the softest gaiety and nonchalance. He only 
 " amused and interested " her in fact. She had not 
 room in her heart for a second great passion. She 
 was a little bit vexed with him when he cut down 
 the timber at Buron ; and, when he formed a fleeting 
 attachment for La Champmele, she spoke gaily of 
 the actress as ma helle-fille. She must have been still 
 
MADAME DE SEVIGNE 219 
 
 more softly amused when mon fils, having sown so 
 plentiful a crop of wild oats, settled down, married an 
 heiress, and became devot and austere extremely. 
 
 In her own later years Madame herself fell more 
 and more under the sway of the quiet fatalism of 
 the mystic Jansenist religion, to which she had 
 been first drawn as a girl. She formed a great 
 friendship with Corbinelli. When she was a cUvote, 
 he was a mystic. One can't imagine that her 
 devotion could ever prevent her being a charming 
 social power — bright, tactful, and sympathetic to 
 the last hour of her life. When did she find out 
 for certain, or had she been always sure, that she 
 was not exempt from the fate of almost all mothers 
 and had cared for her daughter a thousand times 
 more than her daughter had cared for her ? She 
 was seventy years old when she came to nurse 
 Madame de Grignan through an illness. One is 
 glad to think she was not eating her heart out 
 in a piteous anxiety hundreds of miles away; de- 
 pending on undependable posts, and waiting — with 
 that cold dread which such a waiting brings — for 
 the worst. Her tender nursing restored her daughter 
 to health. Then she herself caught a virulent small- 
 pox. Could she have chosen, if she might have 
 chosen, a better death than to die in the service 
 and by the side of the child she had so abundantly 
 loved ? 
 
 The passion for Madame de Sevigne is, at least 
 
220 MADAME DE SEVIGNE 
 
 among the French, a passion for the woman as 
 much as for her works. And indeed one knows no 
 more lovable person. 
 
 To think of Madame is to think of a fascination 
 beside which beauty leaves one cold. This was 
 the woman who always knew the happiest thing to 
 do, and did it delightfully. She had brilliancy which 
 never offended other people's dulness, and learning 
 which never made the stupid feel ignorant. She 
 would sympathise with one divinely over a lost toy 
 or a lost hope. She could not help laughing just 
 where she ought to have laughed; and dissolved 
 into the most bewitching and the most natural of 
 tears when dull persons read her their dull tragedies. 
 She was so human too — so exquisitely human — that 
 when the king danced a minuet with her she im- 
 mediately discovered him to be the best of monarchs 
 and of men. Wouldn't one like to have met her, 
 to have talked with her, to have looked up into 
 that soft sparkling face, to have been admitted to 
 that kind intimacy, to that impulsive, faithful friend- 
 ship ? There have been greater and better women, 
 no doubt, but in the whole world not one so 
 delightful. 
 
 Was Madame profound ? By no means. She was 
 light, says one of those biographers who loved her, 
 in all her emotions, save one. She took her religion 
 even — and she took a good deal of it — lightly. It 
 affected her sensibilities rather than her soul. She 
 
MADAME DE SEVIGNE* 221 
 
 found, as one has seen, the most awful denuncia- 
 tions of the old preachers cUlicieuses, life sometimes 
 rather desobligeante, death yet more ill-natured, and 
 ended, " Mais parlous d'autre chose." That was her 
 philosophy. 
 
 As for the vice of the times, through which her 
 own fair virtue passed unstained, she accepted its 
 existence with the same gracious tact as she accepted 
 the existence of other foolish fashions. Madame 
 only laughed a little at failings, even in her own son, 
 now considered more or less serious. If she was in 
 many respects superior to her age, she had no un- 
 comfortable airs of superiority. When the other 
 women of fashion flocked to see the loathsome end 
 of the poisoners, La Voisin and De Brinvilliers, 
 Madame went too ; blithely wrote an account of 
 the scene to her daughter, and felt, it seems, for 
 all those tender susceptibilities, scarcely a touch 
 of pity. 
 
 Neither are her writings the writings of the woman 
 who takes deep views of life. " L'exces de la negli- 
 gence etouffe la beaute," said she. " La grande amitie' 
 n'est jamais tranquille." " Les longues esperances usent 
 la joie comme les longues maladies usent les dou- 
 leurs." She has hardly a profounder saying. But 
 how many people, after all, have room in their 
 hearts for more than one great feeling at a time ? 
 Madame's was for her child. 
 
 To recall her after more than two hundred years 
 
222 MADAME DE SEVIGNE 
 
 is to recall the perfume of garden roses, or the 
 melody of the most delicious drawing-room music. 
 On every page of those old letters she has left the 
 scent of her robes and the magic of a sweet presence. 
 As to her genius, there may be many opinions ; but 
 as to the woman, French of the French, true daughter 
 of that delightful, bright, kind, witty, tactful and 
 light-hearted nation, there can be but one. 
 
MADAME VIGEE LE BRUN 
 
 Just a century and a half ago was born in old Paris 
 a little girl, who was to immortalise by her talent 
 not only herself, but almost all the crowned heads 
 of Europe. Her father was a painter ait pastel, and 
 of charming little pictures in the Watteau manner. 
 He was, too, very good company with a taste for 
 very bad ; and Madame Vigee his wife was charm- 
 ingly pretty, pious, and prudent. 
 
 Mademoiselle Elisabeth Louise was an artist at 
 six years old. She was born an artist, one should 
 rather say. At the convent school she drew in 
 her copy-books, on the walls — everywhere — to the 
 horror of the nuns, no doubt, and the delight of 
 that impulsive Bohemian, her father. She was about 
 seven when she sketched a la lampe a Man with a 
 Beard, and M. Vigee, looking at it cried, " transported 
 with joy," " Tu seras peintre ou jamais il n'en 
 sera ! " 
 
 Elisabeth was rather a plain little girl, with a 
 thin face and great deep eyes. " Later on, I be- 
 came pretty," she says with her adorable naivete! 
 One cannot fancy that her own beauty, or want of 
 it, was at any time of the first moment to her. 
 
224 MADAME VIGEE LE BRUN 
 
 It was other people's for which she was always 
 looking. 
 
 She was only about thirteen when that charming, 
 gay, easy-going father died, with some shadow of the 
 awful times that were coming upon his country, 
 falling across even his light heart. The child 
 mourned him tenderly. He had been more to her 
 than her mother was. Her little brother was three 
 years younger than herself. The household was a 
 very poor one. The girl artist turned to her easel 
 for her hope and happiness in life. Her talent 
 was, as any true talent must be, the best refuge 
 against all troubles, a work and an interest for 
 ever. She had a companion who painted with 
 her. One can fancy the little Elisabeth in the 
 white frock she always wore, fragrantly girlish, and 
 with that grace and sweetness which she put into 
 all her pictures, growing daily into her own face 
 and character. 
 
 Her talent began to be talked of, and brought her 
 presently the acquaintance of Vernet, who told her 
 to follow no school — only Nature, " the first of all 
 masters." She copied some of those exquisite tStes 
 de jeunes filles of Greuze. She painted one portrait, 
 and then another, and another. It was evident she 
 had had no master. She was always herself. She 
 had unspoiled her own great gift of seeing loveli- 
 ness fresh from the Divine Finger, through ridiculous 
 fashions of dress, and much more disfiguring fashions 
 
MADAME VIGEE LE BRUN 225 
 
 of thought and of conduct. She was soon earning 
 so much money that it seems hardly necessary for 
 her mother to have married a very rich and objec- 
 tionable person called Le Sevre, to retrieve the poor 
 little Le Vigee fortunes. The great ladies of the 
 Court and of the Faubourg St. Germain began to 
 call on the artist. She painted one of their number, 
 the Duchesse de Chartres. Kindly old Madame 
 Geoffrin was among her visitors. In a word, Made- 
 moiselle was the mode. 
 
 She was asked out soon into the very highest 
 society. She was not only a charming artist, she 
 was a charming girl. The old thinness that spoiled 
 her childish face had gone. She had the bloom and 
 the freshness of a flower, curling hair, sweet eyes, 
 tender mouth. She had the innocence of a life spent 
 entirely in devotion to one pure passion. She had 
 hardly any thoughts beyond it. She had never read 
 a novel She was very naive and gently gay, with 
 a kindly little sense of humour, and a blithe little 
 girlish heart. 
 
 She gave up going out to dinners presently. It 
 took up so much time and wasted precious day- 
 light ! Mademoiselle herself tells the story of how 
 one day when she was just ready to dine out, 
 in her very best blue satin frock, she ran back 
 to her studio to look at a portrait just begun — 
 and sat down on a chair in front of her easel on 
 
 her wet palette — "which made me resolve," says 
 
 P 
 
226 MADAME VIGEE LE BRUN 
 
 she, in her direct little manner, " de ne plus accepter 
 que les soupers." 
 
 She was hardly twenty years old when her mother 
 pointed out to her the advisability of her marrying a 
 certain Jean-Baptiste-Pierre Le Brun, painter. M. Le 
 Brun was very lively and good-natured, extravagant, a 
 gambler — and worse. Shall I marry him ? Marriage 
 might distract me from my beloved painting, which 
 would be unendurable ; but on the other hand it 
 would relieve me of the society of that villain beau- 
 pere. All the way to church the bride was asking 
 herself, " Shall I, or shall I not ? " She had a great 
 deal less knowledge of the world than an ordinary 
 capable modern child of twelve. The importance of 
 that " No " or that " Yes " which she was about to 
 utter, she certainly did not realise. But Fate whis- 
 pered in her pretty ear, and she said " Yes." 
 
 The marriage was kept secret for a time. The 
 newly-made Madame went on painting as usual. Then 
 the secret was revealed. M. Le Brun had discovered 
 what a profitable investment a talented wife could be. 
 Madame painted a host of portraits. She even began 
 to teach some girls. But the pupils' ignorance wearied 
 her, and their gaiety infected an instructress no older 
 than they were ; so that one day when she found them 
 swinging instead of applying themselves to art, she 
 gave them the gravest lecture on their naughtiness, 
 and then really must try the swing herself. 
 
 Her painting absorbed her thoughts more than ever. 
 
MADAME VIGEE LE BRUN 227 
 
 There would have been nothing made ready for her 
 little daughter on her entrance into this cold world if 
 it had not been for the timely help of a kindly and 
 practical friend of the girl-mother's. On the day 
 the child was born Madame was working at her 
 Venus Qui Lie les Ailes de l' Amour. 
 
 It was only when that little daughter lay in her 
 arms that she knew a better happiness than even 
 art could give her : and in that tenderest of all pic- 
 tures " Madame Vigee Le Brun and her daughter, 
 painted by herself," one sees how " her work was still 
 the better for her love." 
 
 In 1779 she first painted Marie Antoinette. She 
 had seen the queen before at Marly-le-Roi, walking 
 in the Park with her ladies, white-frocked, gay, and 
 laughing. She was now in the dazzling morning of 
 her beauty. Madame could find no colours in her 
 box to reproduce Vidat de son teint : no genius 
 in herself to give the world any adequate idea of 
 that stately carriage of the head at once sweet and 
 majestic, of that expression at once proud and tender, 
 of that exquisite skin which, says the artist, was so 
 transparent that it took no shadows. 
 
 After this she painted and repainted her royal 
 mistress. She was the most perfect of all models. 
 In 1788 Madame sent to the Salon that picture of 
 the queen, with Madame Royale by her side, the 
 Due de Normandie on her knee, and the first Dauphin 
 standing by the side of the empty cradle. The frame 
 
228 MADAME VIGEE LE BRUN 
 
 of the picture alone appeared in the Salon at first. 
 " Voila le deficit, disait on." And the name clung to 
 the queen, with what a fatal persistence history knows. 
 But the picture also inspired one of the very, very 
 few happy sayings ever attributed to poor, fat, weak, 
 irresolute, unlucky Louis. " I know nothing about 
 painting," said he to Madame Le Brun, " but you have 
 made me love it." 
 
 Madame sang to the queen while she sat to her. 
 She had the sweetest little voice in the world. When 
 she was doing the portrait of Monsieur, afterwards Louis 
 XVIIL, he sang to her — false. " How do you find that 
 I sing, Madame Le Brun ? " said he. " Like a prince, 
 Monseigneur," she answered with a very useful wit. 
 
 In turn, she painted almost all the Royal family. 
 She tried to make her models forego the monstrous 
 head-dress and formal robes which were the fashion. 
 For herself, she had always her white frock of muslin 
 and her own curly hair, unpowdered. She put a little 
 fichu over her head sometimes. She was an artist, 
 body as well as soul. No customs and modes drew 
 a film over her eyes, and made her think in time 
 that what was usual must be beautiful. She always 
 wished to draw the Marie Antoinette of Trianon in 
 her country gown, with a basket in her hand, laugh- 
 ing lips, fair curls — not a stately queen but a lovely 
 girl. And later on, in Russia, she wanted to repro- 
 duce the Grand Duchess Alexander as she first saw 
 her — a Psyche watering pinks at her casement, with 
 
MADAME VIGEE LE BRUN 229 
 
 her hair about her neck, and a ribbon enclosing the 
 roundest and supplest waist in the world. But Madame 
 had fortunately so far the touch of genius, that through 
 all fashion's hideousness she could draw out the 
 virgin sweetness of a Madame Elisabeth, and find in 
 the king's aunt, Louise-Marie-Adelaide de Bourbon, 
 the tenderest grace and charm. If it be said she 
 put into her portraits a beauty which the originals 
 never knew, it may be answered that the beauty is 
 there always in every human face, in every sunset 
 and sunrise, in a kitten at play, in the red fog on 
 the river, but that it needs the poet or the artist 
 to see it and reveal it to a grosser world. 
 
 Madame went to Holland with her husband : and 
 on her return to Paris was received into the Royal 
 Academy of Painting. In the early days of her 
 marriage she lived in the Rue de Clery, and received 
 there all the celebrities of art and literature and the 
 great people of the Court. The hostess never flattered 
 her gentle self that they came to see her. She gave 
 them the best music in Paris, and besides, said she, 
 they liked to talk with each other. But one may 
 well believe that the finest of fine company was not 
 proof against the charm of this artless artist, with her 
 girlish face and that sweet singing voice, ' with its 
 " silver tones " which Grety loved. After the parties 
 there was the simplest of little suppers ; and by twelve 
 the guests had left. Madame went out a little her- 
 self, but balls — even the prim balls of the time, where 
 
230 MADAME VIGEE LE BRUN 
 
 eight serious persons performed a contre-danse and 
 " one is not stifled as one is now " — did not please 
 her. She had acted a little too — and charmingly one 
 may be very sure — in comedies. She was still quite 
 a young woman when she went to stay with Madame 
 du Barry at Louveciennes, and found the poor, tawdry, 
 shameful favourite, not at all unkindly, a little mincing 
 and affected in manner, and very good to the poor at 
 her gates. She was again at Louveciennes in 1789. 
 Public opinion permitted in this age the association 
 of the guilty with the innocent with effects by no 
 means harmless. But in the case of a Vigee Le Brun, 
 as in that of a Lamballe or of a Madame Elisabeth, 
 it may be said that if evil company scorched her 
 garments it never seared her heart. 
 
 At the wild thunder-burst of the Revolution, Art, 
 with her hands at her eyes lest they should see horrors 
 which should blind them to beauty for ever, fled the 
 country. Madame was of the emigration. It does 
 not seem that she was unnecessarily courageous, this 
 little painter. She was woman to the tips of her 
 fingers. When the National Guard would have pre- 
 vented her leaving Paris, " As every one is to have his 
 freedom," said she, with her happy feminine wit, " I 
 am going to make use of mine." She took her 
 daughter with her. Her husband and brother accom- 
 panied them to Trone. Madame took very little 
 money. She had left nearly all she had made to 
 M. Le Brun, who spent it on himself. She was as un- 
 
MADAME VIGEE LE BRUN 231 
 
 mercenary as a bird, and far less capable of looking 
 after her own material interests. But she had a 
 fortune in her fingers — the best of all fortunes, 
 which necessitated work instead of exempting her 
 from it. 
 
 She went to Italy where, in Rome, she saw Angelica 
 Kaufmann; and could never bring herself to believe 
 that a Raphael who painted those exquisite heads of 
 Virgins could have been himself libertine and carnal. 
 
 At Florence she painted her own portrait by 
 request, and still looks out from it to-day, famous 
 for ever, with her palette in her hand, her canvas in 
 front of her, and her face with its parted lips, half- 
 gay, half thoughtful — a girl's face still. 
 
 At Vienna she stayed two and a half years. She 
 made a kind of triumphal progress about the country, 
 carrying her famous " Sybil " with her. She found a 
 kind world everywhere she went. She was continually 
 meeting the dearest of women and the noblest of men. 
 She recorded her impressions with a most charming 
 naivete. Her " Memoirs " were not filled with dull 
 things like dates and ages and explanation. She 
 wrote, as the linnet sings, because she must. She 
 had a delightful fund of anecdote, and no chronology 
 at all ; a gentle little vein of satire ; a very fine sense 
 of humour ; and an intuition, much more useful than 
 any solemn learning, which helped her to go straight 
 to the point — to find the essential and to leave the 
 superfluous. 
 
232 MADAME VIGEE LE BRUN 
 
 On 25th July 1795, Madame arrived in Petersburg. 
 She had not provided any suitable frock in which to 
 be presented to her Mightiness, Catherine II. The 
 Empress of all the Russias forgave the gentle painter 
 her white muslin, and loved her as every one loved 
 her, and could not help doing. Madame settled in 
 Petersburg. She had her blue-eyed daughter growing 
 up at her side. She had her art, which was more to 
 her than mother or sister, brother, lover, or friend. 
 The years passed her by with very swift wings. She 
 was always painting and never taking count of time. 
 Her portraits brought her in a more than sufficient 
 income. If they brought her nothing, this was the 
 artist who would rather have painted and starved than 
 have lived in a king's palace, lapped in fulness, with 
 her talent hidden in a napkin. She did not lay by 
 for the future. She was always a little unpractical, 
 and not at all far-seeing. When her daughter insisted 
 on marrying the unsuitable man of her choice, Madame 
 was grieved not a little, and turned to her art for 
 comfort. The grief even affected her health. She 
 had news from France of her mother's death; and 
 started, herself, on a journey to Moscow for change 
 and recovery. She went on to Potsdam and painted 
 the beautiful Queen of Prussia. She had been away 
 from France for twelve years when she returned to 
 her house in the Rue du Gros Chenet in Paris, which 
 M. Le Brun decorated to welcome her, entirely regard- 
 less of the expense entailed — upon her. She was 
 
MADAME VIGEE LE BRUN 233 
 
 received with enormous enthusiasm at a concert. 
 Greuze came to call upon her the day after her 
 arrival. She was asked to breakfast with the First 
 Consul. She saw all the wit, beauty, and fame of 
 Paris ; and all the wit, beauty, and fame came to see 
 her and her pictures. Paris, indeed, was not the Paris 
 she had left. This was the city shaken by the Terror, 
 and with that most curious and ominous of all inscrip- 
 tions still written on its walls, " Liberty, Fraternity — 
 or Death." But Paris of the Monarchy, Paris of the 
 Revolution, Paris of the" Consulate, could but love this 
 gentle painter of pictures, who was every one's friend, 
 and in her own person essentially lovable. 
 
 In 1802 Madame paid a visit to London. Mon 
 Dieu ! but how these English are triste and kind. 
 The visitor did not know a single word of their 
 language. Their Sunday — their deadly, heavy, foggy 
 London Sunday — especially weighed upon her gay 
 French heart. She was a visitor presently at the 
 most exclusive houses. The solemn magnificence of 
 the great country seats at once impressed and op- 
 pressed her. One can't help suspecting that the 
 latter feeling rather predominated. Your English- 
 men's castles, they are so comfortable and so slow ! 
 When the ladies left the dining-room at dessert, they 
 embroidered, says the guest, in a most beautiful 
 room, without uttering a word. Madame felt, per- 
 haps, as if it would be a relief to her feelings to get 
 up and scream. When the men came in from their 
 
234 MADAME YIGEE LE BRUN 
 
 wine and their politics, they buried themselves in 
 books. More silence. The lively visitor gathered 
 her courage in both hands, as it were, and proposed 
 a walk in the park by moonlight ! The brief, shocked 
 silence which followed this astounding suggestion may 
 be imagined but not described. My Lord Moira 
 replied that the windows and doors were shut for the 
 night, and, in short, that it would not do at all. My 
 Lad}^ Charlotte, the next morning, perhaps, took the 
 visitor out driving with her. But the hard little open 
 pony carts in which Englishwomen braved the winds 
 and rains of their impossible climate were not at all 
 to the taste of Madame of Paris. While she was in 
 England she painted the Prince Regent and other 
 celebrities. She stayed in the country three years ; 
 and left it with a warm French gratitude for all the 
 kindness she had received there, and no doubt a 
 little relief that she would soon be at home in her 
 France. 
 
 She was now getting an old woman. She had 
 indeed to the last day of her life a freshness and 
 spontaneity which kept her heart young for ever. 
 
 She painted Madame Murat. She travelled in 
 Switzerland. Her husband, her daughter, and her 
 brother preceded her through " those dark gates across 
 the wild that no man knows." She bought a country 
 house at Louveciennes. She enjoyed the sweetest of 
 all fruits — the fruits of her own labour. To her 
 had been given in full measure the crowning blessing 
 
MADAME VIGEE LE BRUN 235 
 
 of existence, " to be born with a bias to one 
 pursuit." 
 
 She had a niece with her to the end, who made her 
 know once more, she said, all the feelings of a mother. 
 And at last death touched gently her to whom even 
 life had been kind. 
 
 Madame Vigee le Brun steps out of those portraits 
 she has painted of herself and lives again for ever. 
 Is she in her straw hat, with her palette in her hand, 
 recently acquired by the National Gallery; or viva- 
 cious, with a turban on her head, painted by request, 
 for the city of Florence ? It does not matter which. 
 She is most charming as a mother, with her maternity 
 in her sweet eyes and the little daughter's arms round 
 her neck; but not most characteristic. This is not, 
 perhaps, the received type of the perfect woman, this 
 tender-hearted Bohemian who did not even know how 
 to sew. 
 
 " But a more ideal artist she than all." 
 
 THE END 
 
 Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co. 
 Edinburgh &■> London 
 
H Classtfieb Catalogue 
 
 OF WORKS IN 
 
 GENERAL LITERATURE 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO. 
 
 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON, E.C. 
 
 91 and 93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK, and 32 HORNBY ROAD, BOMBAY 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BADMINTON LIBRARY (THE). - 11 
 BIOGRAPHY, PERSONAL ME- 
 MOIRS, &c. 7 
 
 CHILDREN'S BOOKS - 26 
 CLASSICAL LITERATURE, TRANS- 
 LATIONS, ETC. - 19 
 COOKERY, DOMESTIC MANAGE- 
 MENT, &c. 29 
 
 EVOLUTION, ANTHROPOLOGY, 
 
 &c. 18 
 
 FICTION, HUMOUR, &c. - - - 21 
 FUR, FEATHER AND FIN SERIES 12 
 FINE ARTS (THE) AND MUSIC - 30 
 HISTORY, POLITICS, POLITY, 
 
 POLITICAL MEMOIRS, &c. - - 3 
 LANGUAGE, HISTORY AND 
 
 SCIENCE OF 17 
 
 LOGIC, RHETORIC, PSYCHOLOGY, 
 
 14 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MENTAL, MORAL, AND POLITICAL 
 
 PHILOSOPHY 14 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS AND CRITICAL 
 
 WORKS 31 
 
 POETRY AND THE DRAMA - - 20 
 
 POLITICAL ECONOMY AND ECO- 
 NOMICS 17 
 
 POPULAR SCIENCE - - - - 24 
 
 RELIGION, THE SCIENCE OF - 18 
 
 SILVER LIBRARY (THE) - - 27 
 
 SPORT AND PASTIME - 11 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL 
 
 STONYHURST 
 SERIES - 
 
 &c. 
 
 TRAVEL AND ADVENTURE, THE 
 COLONIES, &c. 
 
 WORKS OF REFERENCE - 
 
 16 
 
 9 
 25 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Page 
 
 OF 
 
 Abbott 'Evelyn) 
 
 (T. K.) - 
 
 (E. A.) - 
 
 Acland (A. H. D.) 
 Acton (Eliza) - 
 Adeane(J. H.) - 
 Adelborg (O.) - 
 iEschylus 
 Ainger (A. C.) - 
 Albemarle (Earl of) 
 Allen (Grant) - 
 Allgood (G.) - 
 Angwin (M. C.) 
 Anstey (F.) 
 Aristophanes - 
 Aristotle - 
 Arnold (Sir Edwin) 
 
 (Dr. T.) - 
 
 Ashbourne (Lord) 
 Ashby (H.) 
 Ashley (W. J.) - 
 Avebury (Lord) 
 Ayre (Rev. J.) - 
 
 3.19 
 
 14.15 : 
 
 15 I 
 
 4 
 
 8 
 26 j 
 19! 
 12 j 
 11 
 25 
 
 3 
 29 
 21 
 19 
 
 9. 20 
 
 3 
 
 3 
 
 29 
 
 3»i7 
 
 18 
 
 25 
 
 Balfour (A. J.) 
 
 Betty) 
 
 AUTHORS 
 
 Page) 
 
 Buckland (Jas.) 
 
 AND EDITORS. 
 
 Bacon - - 7. 14, 15 
 Baden-Powell (B. H.) 3 
 Bagehot (W.) 7, 17, 27, 31 
 Bagwell (R.) - - 3 
 Bailey (H. C.) - - 21 
 Baillie (A. F.) - 3 
 Bain (Alexander) - 15 
 Baker (l.H.) - - 31 
 (Sir S. W.) - 9 
 
 (Lady 
 
 Ball (John) 
 
 Banks (M. M.) - 21 
 
 Baring-Gould (Rev. 
 
 S.)- - - 18,27,31 
 Barnett (S. A. and H.) 17 
 Baynes (T. S.) - - 31 
 Beaconsfield (Earl of) 21 
 Beaufort (Duke of) 
 Becker (W. A.) 
 Beesly (A. H.) - 
 Bell (Mrs. Hugh) - 
 Bent (J. Theodore) - 
 Besant (Sir Walter)- 
 Bickerdyke (J.) - : 
 
 Bird (G.) - 
 Blackburne (J. H.) - 
 Bland (Mrs. Hubert) 
 Blount (Sir E.) 
 Boase (Rev. C. W.) - 
 Boedder (Rev. B.) - 
 Bowen (W. E.) 
 Brassey (Lady) 
 
 (Lord) 
 
 Bray (C.) - 
 Bright (Rev. J. F.) - 
 Broadfoot (Major W.) 
 Brown (A. F.) - 
 
 (J. Moray) 
 
 Bruce (R. I.) - 
 Bryce(J.)- 
 Buck (H. A.) - 
 
 11, 12 
 19 
 
 8 
 20 
 
 9 
 
 3 
 
 12,13 
 
 20 
 
 13 
 
 21 
 
 7 
 
 5 
 16 
 
 7 
 10 
 12 
 15 
 
 3 
 11 
 26 
 
 Buckle (H.T.)- 
 Bull (T.) - 
 Burke (U. R.) - 
 Burns (C. L ) - 
 Burrows (Montagu) 
 Butler (E. A.) - 
 
 Page 
 26 
 
 3 
 29 
 
 3 
 30 
 
 5 
 24 
 
 13 
 
 Cameron of Lochiel 
 Campbell(Rev. Lewis) 18,19 
 Camperdown (Earl of) 8 
 Cawthorne(Geo. Jas.) 13 
 Chesney (Sir G.) - 3 
 
 Childe-Pemberton(W.S.) 8 
 Cholmondeley-Pennell 
 
 (H.) - - - 11 
 Christie (R. C.) - 31 
 ChurchilK W. Spencer) 3, 21 
 Cicero 
 
 Clarke (Rev. R. F.) 
 Clodd (Edward) 
 Clutterbuck (W. J.) 
 Colenso (R.J.) 
 Conington (John) - 
 Conway (Sir W. M ) 
 Conybeare(Rev.W.J.) 
 
 & Howson (Dean) 
 Coolidge (W. A. B.) 
 Corbin (M.) - 
 Corbett (Julian S.) - 
 Coutts (W.) - 
 Coventry (A.) - 
 Cox (Harding) 
 
 19 
 
 16 
 
 18,25 
 
 •)i5, 
 
 Crake (Rev. A. D.) - 
 Crawford (J. H.) 
 
 (R.) - - - 
 
 Creed (S.) 
 
 Creiehton (Bishop) - 
 Crozier (J. B.) - 
 Custance (Col. H.) - 
 Cutts (Rev. E. L.) - 
 
 Dale (T. F.) - 
 Dallinger (F. W.) - 
 Dauglish (M. G.) 
 Davidson (W. L. 
 Davies (J. F.) 
 Dent (C. T.) ■ 
 De Salis (Mrs.) 
 De Tocqueville (A.) - 
 Devas (C. S.) - 
 Dickinson (G. L.) - 
 
 (W. H.) - - 
 
 Dougall (L.) - 
 Dowden (E.) - 
 Dovle (A. Conan) - 
 Du Bois(W. E. B.)- 
 Dufferin (Marquis of) 
 Dunbar (Mary F.) - 
 Dyson (E.) 
 
 26 i Ebrington (Viscount) 
 
 Page 
 
 26 
 
 21 
 
 10 
 
 21 
 
 4. 5, 8 
 
 8,15 
 
 13 
 
 5 
 
 12 
 
 5 
 
 8 
 
 17, 18 
 
 19 
 
 11 
 
 29 
 
 4 
 
 16, 17 
 
 4 
 
 31 
 
 21 
 
 32 
 
 21 
 
 5 
 
 Ellis (J. H.) 
 
 (R. L.) 
 
 Erasmus - 
 Evans (Sir John) 
 
INDEX 
 
 Falkiner (C. L.) 
 Farrar (Dean) - - i 
 Fitzgibbon (M.) 
 Fitzmaurice (Lord E.) 
 Folkard (H. C.) 
 Ford (H.) - 
 
 (W. J.) - - 
 
 Fountain (P.) - 
 Fowler (Edith H.) - 
 Francis (Francis) 
 Francis (M. E.) 
 Freeman (Edward A.) 
 Fremantle (T. F.) - 
 Fresnfield (D. W.) - 
 Frost (G.) 
 
 OF 
 
 Page, 
 4 
 
 - 17. 21 
 
 AUTHORS AND 
 
 Page I 
 
 Froude (James A.) 4,8,10,22 
 Fuller (F. W.) - - 4 
 
 Furneaux (W.) - 24 
 
 Gardiner (Samuel R.) 
 Gathorne-Hardy (Hon. 
 
 A. E.) 
 Geikie (Rev. Cunning- 
 ham) 
 
 Hunt (Rev. W.) 
 
 Hunter (Sir W.) - 5 
 
 Hutchinson (Horace G.) 
 
 11, 13.31 
 Ingelow (Jean) - 20 
 
 Ingram (T. D.) - 5 
 
 Jackson (A. W.) - 9 
 
 lames (W.) - - 15 ' 
 
 Jameson (Mrs. Anna) 30, 
 
 jefferies (Richard) - 31- 
 
 Jekyll (Gertrude) - 31 
 
 Jerome (Jerome K.) - 22 
 
 ohnson (J. & J. H.) 31 
 
 "ones (H. Bence) - 25 
 oyce (P. W.) - 5, 22, 31 
 
 ustinian - - - 15 
 
 Gibbons (J. S ) 
 Gibson (C. H.)- 
 
 Gleig (Rev. G. R.) - 9 
 
 Goethe - - - 20 
 
 Going (C. B.) - - 26 
 Gore-Booth (Sir H. W.) 12 
 
 Graham (A.) - - 4 
 
 (P- A.) - - 13 
 
 (G. F.) - - 17 
 
 Granby (Marquess of) 13 
 
 Grant (Sir A.) - - 14 
 
 Graves (R. P.) - - 8 
 
 Green (T. Hill) - 15 
 
 Greene (E. B.)- - 5 
 
 Greville (C. C. F.) - 4 
 
 Grose (T. H.) - - 15 
 Gross (C.) - -4,5 
 
 Grove (F. C.) - - 11 
 
 (Mrs. Lilly) - 11 
 
 Gurdon (Ladv Camilla) 22 
 
 Gurnhill (J.)' - - 15 
 
 Gwilt (J.) - - - 25 
 
 Haggard (H. Rider) 10,22,31 
 
 Hake (O.) - - - 12 
 
 Halliwell-PhillippsQ.) 9 
 
 Hamilton (Col. H. B.) 5 
 
 Hamlin (A. D. F.) - 30 
 
 Harding (S. B.) - 5 
 
 Harmsworth (A. C.) 12 
 
 Harte (Bret) - - 22 
 
 Harting(J.E.)- - 13 
 
 Hartwig (G.) - - 25 
 
 Hassall (A.) - - 7 
 Haweis (H. R.) - 8, 30 
 
 Head (Mrs.) - - 30 
 
 Heath (D. D.) - - 14 
 
 Heathcote (J. M.) - 12 
 
 (C. G.) - - 12 
 
 (N.) - - - 10 
 
 Helmholtz (Hermann 
 
 von) - - - 25 
 Henderson (Lieut- 
 Col. G. F. R.) - 8 
 Henry (W.) - - 12 
 Henty (G. A.) - - 26 
 Herbert (Col. Kenney) 13 
 Herod (Richard S.) - 13 
 Hiley (R. W.) - - 8 
 Hill (Mabel) - - 5 
 Hillier (G. Lacy) - n 
 Hime (H. W. L.) - 19 
 Hodgson (Shadworth)i5, 31 
 
 29.31 
 
 Hoenig (F.) 
 
 Hogan (J. F.) - 
 
 Holmes (R. R.) 
 
 Holroyd (M. J.) 
 
 Homer 
 
 Hope (Anthony) 
 
 Horace 
 
 Houston (D. F.) 
 
 Howard (Lady Mabel) 
 
 Howitt (W.) - 
 
 Hudson (W.H.) - 
 
 Huish (M. B.) - 
 
 Hullah (J.) 
 
 Hume (David) - 
 
 (M. A. S.) 
 
 Kant (I.) - 
 Kaye(Sir J. W.) - 
 Kelly (E.l- 
 Kent (C. B. R.) 
 Kerr (Rev. J.) - 
 Killick (Rev. A. H.) - 
 Kingsley (Rose G.) - 
 Kitchin (Dr. G. W.) 
 Knight (E. F.) - 
 K6stlin(J.) 
 Kristeller (P.) - 
 
 Ladd (G. T.) - 
 Lang (Andrew) 5, 11, 
 18, 20, 22, 23, 
 Lapsley (G. T.) 
 Lascelles (Hon. G.) 
 Laurie (S. S.) - 
 Lawley (Hon. F.) 
 Lawrence (F. W.) - 
 Lear (H. L. Sidney) - 
 Lecky (W. E. H.) 5, 16, 
 Lees (J. A.) 
 Leslie (T. E. Cliffe) 
 Levett-Yeats (S.) 
 Lillie (A.) - 
 Lindley(J.) 
 Loch (C. S.) - 
 Locock (C. D.) 
 Lodge (H. C.) - 
 Loftie (Rev. W. J.) 
 Longman (C. J.) 
 
 (F. W.) - 
 
 (G. H.) - 
 
 (Mrs. C.J.) 
 
 Lowell (A. L.) - 
 Lubbock (Sir John) 
 Lucan 
 
 Lutoslawski (W.) 
 Lvall (Edna) - 
 Lvnch (G.) 
 
 (H. F. B.)- 
 
 Lyttelton (Hon. R 
 
 (Hon. A.) - 
 
 Lytton (Earl of) 
 
 30 
 
 H.) 
 
 6, 20 
 
 31 
 
 Macaulay (Lord) - 6, 
 Macdonald (Dr. G.) - 
 Macfarren (Sir G. A.) 
 Mackail (J. W.) - 9, 
 Mackenzie (C. G.) - 
 Mackinnon (J.) 
 Macleod (H. D.) 
 Macpherson (Rev. 
 
 H. A.) - - 12, 
 Madden (D. H.) 
 Magnusson (E.) 
 Maher (Rev. M.) - 
 Malleson (Col. G. B.) 
 Marchment (A. W.) 
 Marshman (j.V.) - 
 Maryon (M.) - 
 Mason (A. E. W.) - 
 Maskelyne (J. N.) - 
 Matthews (B.) 
 Maunder (S.) - 
 Max Miiller (F.) 
 
 9, 16, 17, 18, 23, 
 May (Sir T. Erskine) 
 Meade (L. T.) - 
 Melville (G. J. Whyte) 
 Merivale (Dean) 
 Mernman 'H. S.) 
 Mill (John Stuart) - 16, 
 
 Millias (J. G.) - 
 
 Milner (G.) - - 32 
 
 Monck(W. H. S.) - 16 
 
 Montague (F. C.) - 6 
 
 Moon (G. W.)- - 20 
 
 Moore (T.) - - 25 
 
 (Rev. Edward) - 14 
 
 Morgan (C. Lloyd) - 17 
 
 Morris (Mowbray) - n 
 
 (W.) 19, 20, 23, 30, 32 
 
 Mulhall (M. G.) 
 Murrav (Hilda) 
 Myers'(F. W. H.) 
 
 EDJTORS- 
 
 Page 
 
 15 
 
 5 
 15 
 
 5 
 
 12 
 15 I 
 30 
 
 5 
 10, 12 
 
 Nansen (F.) 
 \ash(V.)- 
 Nesbit (E.) 
 Nettleship (R. L.) - 
 Newman (Cardinal) - 
 Nichols (F. M.) 
 
 Ogilvie (R.) - 
 Oldfield (Hon. Mrs.) 
 Oliphant (N.) - 
 Onslow (Earl of) 
 Osbourne (L.) - 
 Paget (Sir J.) - 
 Park (W.) 
 Parker (B.) 
 Passmore (T. H.) - 
 Payne-Gallwey (Sir 
 
 R.) - - - 12, 
 Pearson (C. H.) 
 Peek (Hedley) - 
 Pemberton (W. S. 
 
 Childe-) - - 8 
 
 Pembroke (Earl of) - 12 
 Pennant (C. D.) - 13 
 Penrose (Mrs.) - 26 
 
 Phillipps-Wolley(C) 11,23 
 Pitman (C. M.) - 12 
 
 Pleydell-Bouverie (E. O.) 12 
 
 Sheppard (E.) - 
 Sinclair (A.) 
 Skrine (F. H.) - 
 Smith (C. Fell) 
 
 (R. Bosworth) - 
 
 (T. C.) - - 
 
 (W. P. Haskett) 
 
 Somerville (E.) 
 Sophocles 
 
 Soulsby(LucyH.) - 
 17 Southev (R.) - 
 26 Spahr ("C. B.) - 
 32 Spedding(J.) - 
 Stanley (Bishop) 
 10 Stebbing (W.) - 
 b Steel (A. G.) - - 
 "* Stephen (Leslie) 
 5 Stephens (H. Morse) 
 *3 Sternberg (Count 
 3 Adalbert) - 
 
 iq Stevens (R. W.) 
 8 Stevenson (R. L.) 21 
 " Storr (F.) 
 
 ontinued. 
 
 Page 
 
 7 
 13 
 
 8 
 9 
 7 
 5 
 
 10 
 24 
 19 
 32 
 32 
 17 
 7- 14 
 25 
 9 
 11 
 10 
 7 
 
 7 
 
 3i 
 
 24,26 
 
 Pole (W.) 
 
 Pollock (W. H.) - 11, 
 
 Poole (W.H. and Mrs.) 
 
 Poore (G. V.) - 
 
 Pope (W. H.) - 
 
 Powell (E.) 
 
 Praeger (S. Rosamond) 
 
 Prevost (C.) 
 
 Pritchett (R. T.) 
 
 Proctor (R. A.) 14, 25, 28, 29 
 
 Raine (Rev. James) - 5 
 
 Randolph (C. F.) - 7 
 
 Rankin (R.) - - 7, 21 
 
 Ransome (Cvril) - 3, 7 
 
 Ravmond (W.) - 23 
 
 ReidlS.J.; - - 7 
 
 Rhoades (J.) - - 19 
 
 Rice (S. P.) - - 10 
 
 Rich (A.) - - - 19 
 
 Richardson (C.) - n, 13 
 
 Richmond (Ennis) - 16 
 
 Rickaby (Rev. John) 16 
 
 (Rev. Joseph) - 16 
 
 Ridley (Sir E.) - - 19 
 
 (Lady Alice) - 23 
 
 Riley (J. W.) - 21 
 Roget (Peter M.) 
 
 17. 25 
 
 7 | Romanes (G.J.) 9, 16, 18, 21 
 
 9 
 
 14 
 
 2 + 
 
 (Mrs. G. J.) 
 Ronalds (A.) - 
 Roosevelt (T.) - 
 Ross (Martin) - 
 Rossetti (Maria Fran 
 
 cesca) - - - 32 
 
 Rotheram (M. A.) - 29 
 
 Rowe (R. P. P.) - 12 
 
 Russell (Lady)- - 9 
 
 Saintsbury (G.) - 12 
 
 Sandars (T. C.) - 15 
 
 Sanders (E. K.) - 8 
 Savage- Armstrong(G.F.)2 1 
 
 Seebohm (F.) - 7, 9 
 
 Selous (F. C.) - - 11, 14 
 
 Senior (W.) - - 12,13 
 
 Sewell (Elizabeth M.) 23 
 
 Shakespeare - - 21 
 
 Shand (A I.) - - 13 
 
 Shaw (W. A.) - - 7, 31 
 
 Shearman (M.) - 11 
 
 12 Stuart-Wortley(A.J.) 12, 13 
 24 Stubbs (J. W.)- - 7 
 
 Suffolk & Berkshire 
 
 (Earl of) - - 11, 12 
 Sullivan (Sir E.) - 12 
 Sully (James) - - 16 
 Sutherland (A. and G.) 7 
 
 (Alex.) - - 16, 32 
 
 (G.) --- 32 
 
 Suttner (B. von) - 24 
 Swan (M.) - - 24 
 
 Swinburne (A. J.) - 16 
 Symes (J. E.) - - 17 
 
 Tallentyre (S. G.) - 9 
 
 Tappan (E. M.) - 26 
 Tavlor (Col. Meadows) 7 
 Tebbutt (C. G.) - 12 
 Terry (C. S.) - 8 
 
 Thomas (J. YV.) - 16 
 Thornhill (W. J.) - 19 
 Thornton (T. H.) - 9 
 
 Todd (A.) - - 7 
 
 Toynbee (A.) - - 17 
 Trevelyan (Sir G. O.) 6, 7, 8 
 
 (G. M.) - - 7 
 
 Trollope (Anthony)- 24 
 Turner (H. G.) - 32 
 
 Tynda'l (J.) - - 8, 10 
 Tyrrell (R. Y.) - - 19 
 Unwin (R.) 32 
 
 Upton(F.K.and Bertha) 27 
 30 
 19 
 Wagner (R.) - - 21 
 Wakeman (H. O.) - 7 
 
 Walford (L. B.) - 24 
 Wallas (Graham) - 9 
 
 (Mrs. Graham)- 26 
 
 Walpole (Sir Spencer) 7 
 Walrond (Col. H.) - 11 
 Walsingham (Lord)- 12 
 Ward (Mrs. W.) - 24 
 Warwick (Countess of) 32 
 Watson (A. E. T.) - 11,12 
 Weathers (J.) - - 32 
 Webb (Mr. and Mrs. 
 
 Sidney) - - 17 
 
 (T. E.) - - 16, 20 
 
 Weber (A.) - - 16 
 Weir (Capt. R.) - 12 
 Wellington (Duchess of) 30 
 West (B. R.) - - 24 
 Weyman (Stanley) - 24 
 Whately(Archbishop) 14,16 
 
 Van Dvke (J. C.) 
 Virgil 
 
 Whitelaw (R.) 
 Whittall(SirJ. W. )- 
 Wilkins (G.) - 
 
 (W.H.) - - 
 
 Willard (A. R.) 
 Willich (C. M.) 
 Witham (T. M.) 
 Wood (Rev. J. G.) - 
 Wood-Martin (W. G.) 
 Wyatt (A. J.) - 
 Wylie (J. H.) - 
 Zeller (E.) 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 History, Polities, Polity 
 
 Abbott. — A History of Greece. 
 By Evelyn Abbott, M.A., LL.D. 
 Part I. — From the Earliest Times to the j 
 
 Ionian Revolt. Crown 8vo., ios. 6d. 
 Part II. — 500-445 b.c. Crown 8vo., ios. 6d. j 
 Part III. — From the Peace of 445 b.c. to J 
 
 the Fall of the Thirty at Athens in 403 
 
 B.C. Crown 8vo., 105. 6d. 
 
 Acland and Ransome. — A Hand- 
 book in Outline of the Political His- 
 tory of England to 1896. Chronologically 
 Arranged. By the Right Hon. A. H. Dyke 
 Acland, and Cyril Ransome, M.A. Crown 
 8vo., 65. 
 
 Allgood. — China War, i860: 
 Letters and Journals. By Major- 
 General G. Allgood, C.B., formerly Lieut. | 
 G. Allgood, 1st Division China Field 1 
 Force. With Maps, Plans, and Illustra- 
 tions. Demy 4to. -125. 6d. net.' g^- 
 
 Annual Register (The). A Review 
 
 of Public Events at Home and Abroad, for | 
 the year 1900. 8vo., 185. 
 Volumes of the Annual Register for the j 
 years 1863-1899 can still be had. 185. each. 
 
 Arnold. — Introductory Lectures 
 on Modern History. By Thomas Ar- 
 nold, D.D., formerly Head Master of Rugby 
 School. 8vo., 75. 6d. 
 
 Ashbourne. — Pitt: Some Chapters 
 on His Life and Times. By the Right 
 Hon. Edward Gibson, Lord Ashbourne, 
 Lord Chancellor of Ireland. With n Por- 
 traits. 8vo., 215. 
 
 Ashley. — Surveys, Historic and 
 Economic : a Volume of Essays. By W. 
 J. Ashley, M.A. 8vo., 9s. net. 
 
 Baden-Powell. — The Indian 
 Village Community. Examined with 
 Reference to the Physical, Ethnographic, 
 and Historical Conditions of the Provinces; 
 chiefly on the Basis of the Revenue- 
 Settlement Records and District Manuals. 
 By B. H. Baden-Powell, M.A., CLE. 
 With Map. 8vo., 16s. 
 
 Bagwell. — Ireland under the 
 Tudors. By Richard Bagwell, LL.D. 
 (3 vols.) Vols. I. and II. From the first 
 invasion of the Northmen to the year 1578. 
 8vo., 325. Vol. III. 1578-1603. 8vo., 185. 
 
 Baillie. — The Oriental Club, and 
 Hanover Square. By Alexander F. 
 Baillie. With 6 Photogravure Portraits 
 and 8 Full-page Illustrations. Crown 4to., 
 255. net. 
 
 , Political Memoirs, &e. 
 
 Besant. — The History of London. 
 By Sir Walter Besant. With 74 Illus- 
 trations. Crown 8vo., is. gd. Or bound 
 as a School Prize Book, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Bright. — A History of England. 
 
 By the Rev. J. Franck Bright, D. D. 
 Period I. Medimval Monarchy: a.d. 
 
 449-1485. Crown 8vo., 4s. 6d. 
 Period II. Personal Monarchy. 1485- 
 
 1688. Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 Period III. Constitutional Monarchy. 
 
 1689-1837. Crown 8vo., 75. 6d. 
 Period IV. The Growth of Democracy- 
 
 1837-1880. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Bruce. — The Forward Policy and 
 its Results', or, Thirty-five Years' Work 
 amongst the Tribes on our North-Western 
 Frontier of India. By Richard Isaac 
 Bruce, CLE. With 28 Illustrations and 
 a Map. 8vo., 15s. net. 
 
 Buckle. — History of Civilisation 
 in England, France, Spain, and Scot- 
 land. By Henry Thomas Buckle. 3 vols. 
 Crown 8vo., 24s. 
 
 Burke. — A History of Spain, 
 From the Earliest Times to the 
 Death of Ferdinand the Catholic. 
 By Ulick Ralph Burke, M.A. Edited 
 by Martin A. S. Hume. With 6 Maps. 
 2 vols. Crown 8vo., 16s. net. 
 
 Caroline, Queen. — Caroline the 
 Illustrious, Q ueen-Consort of George 
 II. and sometime Queen Regent: a 
 Study of Her Life and Time. By W. H. 
 Wilkins, M.A., F.S.A., Author of ' The 
 Love of an Uncrowned Queen '. 2 vols., 
 8vo., 36s. 
 
 Chesney. — Indian Polity: a View of 
 
 the System of Administration in India. By 
 General Sir George Chesney, K.C.B. 
 With Map showing all the Administrative 
 Divisions of British India. 8vo., 21s. 
 
 Churchill (Winston Spencer, M.P.). 
 The River War : an Historical 
 Account of the Reconquest of the Soudan. 
 Edited by Colonel F. Rhodes, D.S.O. 
 With 34 Maps and Plans, and 51 Illustra- 
 tions from Drawings by Angus McNeill. 
 Also with 7 Photogravure Portraits of 
 Generals, etc. 2 vols. Medium 8vo., 36s. 
 
 The Story of the Mala hand 
 Field Force, 1897. With 6 Maps and 
 Plans. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 London toLadysmith viaPretoria . 
 
 Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Ian Hamilton's March. With 
 Portrait of Lieut. -General Ian Hamilton, 
 and 10 Maps and Plans. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 History, Polities, Polity, Political Memoirs, &e. 
 
 Corbett (Julian S.). 
 
 Drake and the Tudor Navy, 
 with a History of the Rise of England 
 as a Maritime Power. With Portraits, 
 Illustrations and Maps. 2 vols. Crown 
 8vo., 165. 
 
 The Successors of Drake. With 
 4 Portraits (2 Photogravures) and 12 
 Maps and Plans. 8vo., 215. 
 
 Creighton (M., D.D., Late Lord 
 
 Bishop of London). 
 
 A History of the Papacy from 
 the Great Schism to the Sack of 
 Rome, 1378- 1527. 6 vols. Cr. 8vo.,6s. each. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth. With Portrait. 
 
 Crown 8vo., 55. net. 
 
 De Tocqueville. — Democracy in 
 America. By Alexis de Tocqueville. 
 Translated by Henry Reeve, C.B., D.C.L. 
 2 vols. Crown 8vo., 16s. 
 
 Dickinson. — The Development of 
 I>arliamei\t during the Nineteenth 
 Oeatury. By G. Lowes Dickinson, M.A. 
 8vo., js. 6d. 
 
 Falkiner. — Studies in Irish His- 
 tory and Biography. By C. Litton 
 Falkiner. 
 
 Fitzgibbon. : — Arts under Arms: 
 
 an University Man in Khaki. By Maurice 
 Fitzgibbon, B.A., Trinity College, Dublin 
 University, late Trooper and Sergeant- 
 Major, 45th Company (Irish Hunt Con- 
 tingent) Imperial Yeomanry. With 6 Il- 
 lustrations. Crown 8vo., 55. net. 
 
 Fitzmaurice. — Charles William 
 Ferdinand, Duke of Brunswick: an 
 Historical Study. By Lord Edmund 
 Fitzmaurice. With Map and 2 Portraits. 
 8vo., 6s. net. 
 
 Froude (James A.). 
 
 The History of England, from the 
 
 Fall of Wolsey to the Defeat of the 
 
 Spanish Armada. 12 vols. Crown 8vo., 
 
 35. 6d. each. 
 
 The Divorce of Catherine of 
 
 Aragon. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 The Spanish Story of the Ar- 
 mada, and other Essays. Cr. 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 The English in Ireland in the 
 E ighteenth Cek tury. 3 vols. Cr. 8vo. , 
 10s. 6d. 
 English Seamen in the Sixteenth 
 Century. 
 
 Cabinet Edition. Crown 8vo., 65. 
 Illustrated Edition. With 5 Photo- 
 gravure Plates and 16 other Illustra- 
 tions. Large Crown 8vo., 6s. net. 
 'Silver Library' Edition. Crown 8vo., 
 35. 6d. 
 
 continued. 
 
 continued. 
 Trent. Crown 
 
 Froude (James A.)- 
 The Council of 
 
 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 Short Studies onGrea t Subjects. 
 
 4 vols. Cr. 8vo., 3s. 6d. each. 
 Cazsar : a Sketch. Cr. 8vo, 35. 6d. 
 Selections from the Writings of 
 
 James Anthony Froude. Edited by 
 
 P. S. Allen, M.A. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Fuller. — Egypt and the Hinter- 
 land. By Frederic W. Fuller. With 
 Frontispiece and Map of Egypt and the 
 Sudan. 8vo., 10s. 6d. net. 
 
 Gardiner (Samuel Rawson, D.C.L., 
 
 LL.D.). 
 
 History of England, from the Ac- 
 cession of James I. to the Outbreak of the 
 Civil War, 1603-1642. 10 vols. Crown 
 8vo., 5s. net each. 
 
 A History of the Great Civil 
 War, 1642-1649. 4 vols. Cr. 8vo., 5s. net 
 each. 
 
 A History of the Commonwealth 
 and the Protectorate. 1649-1660. 
 Vol.1. 1649-1651. With 14 Maps. 8vo.,2i5. 
 Vol. II. 1651-1654. With 7 Maps. 
 8vo., 21s. Vol. III. 1654-1656. With 6 
 Maps. 8vo., 21s. 
 
 The Student 's History of Eng- 
 land. With 378 Illustrations. Crown 
 8vo., 12s. 
 Also in Three Volumes, price 4s. each. 
 
 What Gunpowder Plot Was. 
 With 8 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Cromwell's Place in History. 
 Founded on Six Lectures delivered in the 
 Universitv of Oxford. Cr. 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Oliver Cromwell. With Frontis- 
 piece. Crown 8vo., 5s. net. 
 
 Graham. — Roman Africa : an Out- 
 line of the History of the Roman Occupa- 
 tion of North Africa, based chiefly upon 
 Inscriptions and Monumental Remains in 
 that Country. By Alexander Graham, 
 F.S.A., F.R.I. B.A. With 30 reproductions 
 of Original Drawings by the Author, and 
 2 Maps. 
 
 Greville. — A Journal of the Reigns 
 of King George IV., King William IV., 
 and Queen Victoria. By Charles C. F. 
 Greville, formerly Clerk of the Council. 
 8 vols. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. each. 
 
 Gross. — The Sources and Litera- 
 ture of English History, from the 
 Earliest Times to about 1485. By 
 Charles Gross, Ph.D. 8vo., 18s. net. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S. STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 History, Polities, Polity, Political Memoirs, &e. — continued. 
 
 Hamilton. — Historical Record of 
 the 14777 {King's) Hussars, from a.d. 1715 
 to a.d. igoo. By Colonel Henry Black- 
 burne Hamilton, M.A., Christ Church, 
 Oxford ; late Commanding the Regiment. 
 With 15 Coloured Plates, 35 Portraits, etc., 
 in Photogravure, and 10 Maps and Plans. 
 Crown 4to., gilt edges, 425. net. 
 
 HARYARD HISTORICAL STUDIES. 
 
 The Suppression of the African 
 Slave Trade to the United States of 
 America, 1638- 1870. By W. E. B. Du 
 Bois, Ph.D. 8vo., 75. 6d. 
 
 The Contest over the Ratificaton 
 of the Federal Constitution in Massa- 
 chusetts. By S. B. Harding, A.M. 8vo.,6s. 
 
 A Critical Study of Nullification- 
 in South Carolina. By D. F. Houston, 
 A.M. 8vo., 65. 
 
 Nominations for Elective Office 
 in the United States. By Frederick 
 W. Dallinger, A.M. 8vo., js. 6d. 
 
 A Bibliography of British Muni- 
 cipal History, including Gilds and 
 Parliamentary Representation. By 
 Charles Gross, Ph.D. 8vo., 125. 
 
 The Liberty and Free Soil Parties 
 in the North West. By Theodore C. 
 Smith, Ph.D. 8vo, 75. 6d. 
 
 The Provincial Governor in the 
 English Colonies of North America. 
 By Evarts Boutell Greene. 8vo., 75. 6d. 
 
 The County Pala tine of Durham: 
 a Study in Constitutional History. By Gail- 
 lard Thomas Lapsley, Ph.D. 8vo., 105. 6d. 
 
 HUL— Liberty Documents. With 
 
 Contemporary Exposition and Critical Com- 
 ments drawn from various Writers. Selected 
 and Prepared by Mabel Hill. Edited with 
 an Introduction by Albert Bushnell 
 Hart, Ph.D. Large Crown 8vo., js. 6d. 
 
 Historic Towns. — Edited by E. A. 
 
 Freeman, D.C.L.,and Rev. William Hunt, 
 M.A. With Maps and Plans. Crown 8vo., 
 35. €>d. each. 
 
 Bristol. By Rev W.Hunt. 
 
 Carlisle. By Mandell 
 Creighton, D.D. 
 
 Cinque Ports. By Mon- 
 tagu Burrows. 
 
 Colchester. By Rev. E. L. 
 Cutts. 
 
 Exeter. By E. A. Freeman. 
 
 London. By Rev. W. J. 
 Lottie. 
 
 Oxford. 
 
 Boase. 
 Winchester. 
 
 Kitchin, D.D, 
 York. By Rev, 
 
 Raine. 
 New York By Theodore 
 
 Roosevelt. 
 Boston (U.S.) By Henry 
 
 Cabot Lodge. 
 
 By Rev. C. W. 
 By G. W. 
 James 
 
 Hunter. — A History of British 
 
 India. By Sir William Wilson Hunter, 
 K.C.S.I., M.A., LL.D. Vol. I.— Introduc- 
 tory to the Overthrow of the English in the 
 Spice Archipelago, 1623. With 4 Maps. 
 8vo., 185. Vol. II.— To the Union of the 
 Old and New Companies under the Earl of 
 Godolphin's Award, 1708. 8vo., 165. 
 
 Ingram. — A Critical Examina- 
 tion of Irish History. From the Eliza- 
 bethan Conquest to the Legislative Union 
 of 1800. By T. Dunbar Ingram, LL.D. 
 2 vols. 8vo., 245. 
 
 Joyce. — A Short History of Ire- 
 land, from the Earliest Times to 1603. By 
 P. W. Joyce, LL.D. Crown 8vo., 10s. 6d. 
 
 Kaye and Malleson.— History of 
 
 the Indian Mutiny, 1857-1858. By Sir 
 John W. Kaye and Colonel G. B. Malle- 
 son. With Analytical Index and Maps and 
 Plans. 6 vols. Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. each. 
 
 Kent. — The English Radicals : an 
 
 Historical Sketch. By C. B. Roylance 
 Kent. Crown 8vo., js. 6d. 
 
 Lang. — The Mystery of Mary 
 Stuart. By Andrew Lang. With 6 
 Photogravure Plates (4 Portraits) and 15 
 other Illustrations. 8vo., 185. net. 
 
 L a u r i e. — His torical Sur vey of 
 Pre-Christian Education. By S. S. 
 Laurie, A.M., LL.D. Crown 8vo., js. 6d. 
 
 Lecky (The Rt. Hon. William E. H.) 
 History of England in the Eigh- 
 teea th ce.\ tury. 
 
 Library Edition. 8 vols. 8vo. Vols. I. 
 and II., 1700-1760, 365. ; Vols. III. and 
 • IV., 1760-1784, 36s. ; Vols. V. and VI., 
 1784-1793, 36s. ; Vols. VII. and VIIL, 
 1793-1800, 365. 
 Cabinet Edition. England. 7 vols. Crown 
 8vo., 55. net each. Ireland. 5 vols. 
 Crown 8vo., 5s. net each. 
 
 History of European Morals 
 from Augustus to Charlemagne. 2 
 vols. Crown 8vo., 10s. net. 
 
 History of the Rise and Influ- 
 ence of the Spirit of Rationalism in 
 Europe. 2 vols. Crown 8vo., 10s. net. 
 
 Democracy and Liberty. 
 
 Library Edition. 2 vols. 8vo., 365. 
 Cabinet Edition. 2 vols. Cr. 8vo., 10s. net. 
 
 Lowell. — Governments and Par- 
 ties in Coatineatal Europe. By A. 
 Lawrence Lowell. 2 vols. 8vo., 215. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 History, Polities, Polity, Political Memoirs, &e. — continued. 
 
 Lynch.— The War of the Civili- 
 sa tions : being a record of ' a foreign 
 Devil's' Experiences with the Allies 
 in China. By George Lynch. With 
 Portrait and 21 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 
 6s. net. 
 
 Lytton. — The History of Lord 
 Lytton's Indian Administration, from 
 1876-1880. Compiled from Letters and 
 Official Papers. Edited by Lady Betty 
 Balfour. With Portrait and Map. 8vo., 18s. 
 
 Macaulay (Lord). 
 
 The Life and Works of Lord 
 Macaulay. 
 'Edinburgh" Edition. 10 vols. 8vo.,6s.each. 
 
 Vols. I. -IV. History of England. 
 
 Vols. V.-VII. Essays, Biographies, 
 Indian Penal Code, Contributions 
 to Knight s -Quarterly Magazine'. 
 
 Vol. VIII. Speeches, Lays of Ancient 
 Rome, Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 Vols. IX. and X. The Life and 
 Letters of Lord Macaulay. By 
 Sir G. O. Trevelyan, Bart. 
 
 The Works. 
 
 'Albany' Edition. With 12 Portraits. 
 
 12 vols. Large Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. each. 
 Vols. I. -VI. History of England, 
 
 from the Accession of y ames the 
 
 Second. 
 
 Vols. VII. -X. ESSA YS AND BIOGRAPHIES. 
 
 Vols. XI. -XI I. Speeches, Lays of 
 
 Ancient Rome, etc., and Index. 
 Cabinet Edition. 16 vols. Post 8vo., 
 
 History of England from the 
 Accession of James the Second. 
 Popular Edition. 2 vols. Cr. 8vo., 55. 
 Student's Edition. 2 vols. Cr. 8vo., 12s. 
 People's Edition. 4 vols. Cr. 8vo., 16s. 
 'Albany' Edition. With 6 Portraits. 6 
 
 vols. Large Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. each. 
 Cabinet Edition. 8 vols. Post 8vo., 485. 
 ' Edinburgh' Edition. 4 vols. 8vo., 65. 
 
 each. 
 
 Critical and Historical Essays, 
 with Lays of Ancieat Rome, etc., in 1 
 volume. 
 
 Popular Edition. Crown 8vo., 2s. 6d. 
 Authorised Edition. Crown 8vo., 25. 6d., 
 
 or gilt edges, 3s. 6d. 
 ' Silver Library ' Edition. With Portrait 
 
 and 4 Illustrations to the ' Lays '. Cr. 
 
 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Macaulay (Lord) — continued. 
 Critical and Historical Essays. 
 Student's Edition. 1 vol. Cr. 8vo., 6s. 
 People's Edition. 2 vols. Cr. 8vo., 8s. 
 ' Trevelyan ' Edition. 2 vols. Cr. 8vo., gs. 
 Cabinet Edition. 4 vols. Post 8vo., 24s. 
 'Edinburgh' Edition. 3 vols. 8vo., 6s. 
 each. 
 Ess a ys, which may be had separately, 
 sewed, 6d. each ; cloth, is. each. 
 Addison and Walpole. Frederick the Great. 
 
 Croker's Boswell's Johnson. Ranke and Gladstone. 
 Hallam's Constitutional Lord Bacon. 
 
 History. Lord Clive. 
 
 Warren Hastings. Lord Byron, and The 
 
 The Earl of Chatham (Two Comic Dramatists of 
 Essays). the Restoration. 
 
 Miscellaneous Writings. 
 
 People's Edition. 1 vol. Cr. 8vo., 4s. 6d. 
 Miscellaneous Writings, 
 
 Speeches and Poems. 
 
 Popular Edition. Crown 8vo., 2s. 6d. 
 
 Cabinet Edition. 4 vols. Post 8vo., 24s. 
 
 Selections from the Writings of 
 Lord Macaulay. Edited, with Occa- 
 sional Notes, by the Right Hon. Sir G. O. 
 Trevelyan, Bart. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Mackinnon.— The History of 
 Edward the Third. By James Mac- 
 Kinnon, Ph.D. 8vo., 18s. 
 
 May. — The Constitutional His- 
 tory of England since the Accession 
 of George III. 1760-1870. By Sir Thomas 
 Erskine May, K.C.B. (Lord Farnborough). 
 3 vols. Cr. 8vo., 18s. 
 
 Merivale (Charles, D.D.). 
 
 History of the Romans under the 
 Empire. 8 vols. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. each. 
 
 The Fall of the Roman Republic: 
 a Short History of the Last Century of the 
 Commonwealth. i2mo., js. 6d. 
 
 General History of Rome, from 
 the Foundation of the City to the Fall of 
 Augustulus, B.C. 753-A.D. 476. With 5 
 Maps. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Montague. — The Elements of 
 English Constitutional History. By 
 F. C. Montague, M.A. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Nash. — The Great Famine and 
 its Causes. By Vaughan Nash. With 
 8 Illustrations from Photographs by the 
 Author, and a Map of India showing the 
 Famine Area. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Oliphant. — A Diary of the Siege 
 of the Legations in Peking during 
 the Summer of 1900. By Nigel Oli- 
 phant. With a Preface by Andrew Lang, 
 and a Map and Plans. Crown 8vo., 5s. net. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 History, Polities, Polity, Political Memoirs, &e. — continued. 
 
 Powell and Trevelyan. — The 
 
 Peasants' Rising and the Lollards : 
 a Collection of Unpublished Documents, 
 forming an Appendix to ' England in the 
 Age of Wycliffe '. Edited by Edgar Powell 
 and G. M. Trevelyan. 8vo., 65. net. 
 
 Randolph. — The Law and Policy 
 of Annexation, with Special Reference to 
 the Philippines ; together with Observations 
 on the Status of Cuba. By Carman F. 
 Randolph. 8vo., gs. net. 
 
 Rankin. — The Marquis d'Argen- 
 son : and Richard the Second. Two 
 Critical Essays. By Reginald Rankin, 
 M.A. 8vo., 105. 6d. net. 
 
 Ransome. — The Rise of Consti- 
 tutional Government in England. 
 By Cyril Ransome, M.A. Crown 8vo., 65. 
 
 Seebohm. — The English Village 
 Community Examined in its Relations to 
 the Manorial and Tribal Systems, etc. By 
 Frederic Seebohm, LL.D., F.S.A. With 
 13 Maps and Plates. 8vo., 165. 
 
 Shaw. — A History of the English 
 Church during the Civil Wars and 
 under the Commonwealth, 1640-1660. 
 By William A. Shaw, Litt.D. 2 vols. 
 8vo., 36s. 
 
 Sheppard. — The Old Royal Palace 
 of Whitehall. By Edgar Sheppard, 
 D.D., Sub-Dean of H.M. Chapels Royal. 
 With Full-page Plates and Illustrations in 
 the Text. Medium 8vo. 
 
 Smith. — Carthage and the Carth- 
 aginians. By R. Bos worth Smith, M.A., 
 With Maps, Plans, etc. Cr. 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Stephens. — A 
 
 Letters to His 
 
 War.) Crown 8vo., 
 
 Subaltern's (A) 
 
 Wife. (The Boer 
 35. 6d. net. 
 
 Sutherland. — The History of Aus- 
 tralia and New Zealaad, from 1606- 
 1890. By Alexander Sutherland, M. A., 
 and George Sutherland, M.A. Crown 
 8vo., 25. 6d. 
 
 Taylor. — A Student's Manual of 
 the History of India. By Colonel Mea- 
 dows Taylor, C.S.I., etc. Cr. 8vo., js. 6d. 
 
 Todd. — Parliamentary Govern- 
 ment in the British Colonies. By 
 Alpheus Todd, LL.D. 8vo., 30s. net. 
 
 Trevelyan. — The American Revo- 
 lution. Parti. 1766-1776. By the Rt. Hon. 
 Sir G. O. Trevelyan, Bart. 8vo., 165. 
 
 Trevelyan. — England in the Age 
 of Wycliffe. By George Macaulay 
 Trevelyan. 8vo., 15s. 
 
 Wakeman and Hassall. — Essays 
 Introductory to the Study of English 
 Constitutional History. Edited by 
 Henry Offley Wakeman, M.A., and 
 Arthur Hassall, M.A. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Walpole. — History of England 
 from the Conclusion of the Great 
 War in 1815 to 1858. By Sir Spencer 
 Walpole, K.C.B. 6 vols. Cr. 8vo., 65. each. 
 
 Wood-Martin. — Pagan Ireland : 
 an Archaeological Sketch. A Handbook 
 of Irish Pre-Christian Antiquities. By W. 
 G. Wood-Martin, M.R.I. A. With 512 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 15s. 
 
 Am R E volvt?o7°% H.'uZi Wylie (James Hamilton, M.A.)- 
 
 Stephens. 8vo. Vols. I. and II. 185. each. 
 Sternberg. — My Experiences of 
 
 the Boer War. By Adalbert Count 
 
 Sternberg. With Preface by Lieut. -Col. 
 
 G. F. R. Henderson. Crown 8vo., 55. net. 
 Stubbs. — History of the Univer- 
 sity of Dublin, from its Foundation to 
 
 the End of the Eighteenth Century. By J. 
 
 W. Stubbs. 8vo., 12s. 6d. 
 
 History of England under 
 Henry IV. 4 vols. Crown 8vo. Vol. 
 I., 1399-1404, 105. 6d. Vol. II., 1405- 
 1406, 15s. (out of print). Vol. III., 1407- 
 1411, 155. Vol. IV., 1411-1413, 215. 
 
 The Council of Constance to the 
 Death of John Hus: Being the Ford 
 Lectures delivered in the University of Ox- 
 ford in Lent Term, igoo. Cr. 8vo., 65. net. 
 
 Biography, Personal Memoirs, &e. 
 
 Bacon. — The Letters and Life of Blount. — The Recollections of 
 
 Francis Bacon, including all his Oc- 
 casional Works. Edited by James Sped- 
 ding. 7 vols. 8vo., £4. 45. 
 
 Bagehot. — Biographical Studies. 
 By Walter Bagehot. Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Sir Edward Blount, 1815-1901. Jotted 
 down and arranged by Stuart J. Reid. 
 With Portraits. 8vo. 
 
 Bowen. — Edward E. Bo wen : a 
 
 Memoir. By the Rev. the Hon. W. E. 
 Bowen. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 Biography, Personal Memoirs, &e.— continued. 
 
 Hamilton. — Life of Sir William 
 Hamilton. By R. P. Graves. 8vo. 3 vols. 
 155. each. Addendum. 8vo., 6d. sewed. 
 
 Harrow School Register (The), 
 
 1801-1900. Second Edition, 1901. Edited 
 by M. G. Dauglish, Barrister-at-Law. 
 8vo. 15s. net. 
 
 Havelock. — Memoirs of Sir Henry 
 Havelock, K.C.B. By John Clark 
 Marshman. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Haweis. — My Musical Life. By the 
 Rev.H.R.HAWEis. With Portrait of Richard 
 Wagner and 3 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo., 65. net. 
 
 Hiley. — Memories of Half a 
 Century. By the Rev. R. W. Hiley, 
 D.D. With Portrait. 8vo., 155. 
 
 Holroyd (Maria Josepha). 
 
 The Girlhood of Maria Josepha 
 Holroyd (Lady Stanley of Alderley). 
 Recorded in Letters of a Hundred Years 
 Ago, from 1776-1796. Edited by J. H. 
 Adeane. With 6 Portraits. 8vo., 185. 
 
 The Early Married Life of 
 
 Carlyle.— Thomas Carlyle : A His- 
 tory of his Life. By James Anthony 
 Froude. 
 
 1795-1835. 2 vols. Crown 8vo., 75. 
 1834-1881. 2 vols. Crown 8vo., 75. 
 
 Crozier. — My Lnner Life : being a 
 Chapter in Personal Evolution and Auto- 
 biography. By John Beattie Crozier, 
 LL.D. 8vo., 145. 
 
 Dante. — The Life and Works of 
 Dante Allighieri : being an Introduction 
 to the Study of the ' Divina Commedia'. 
 By the Rev. J. F. Hogan, D.D. With 
 Portrait. 8vo., 125. 6d. 
 
 Danton. — Life of Danton. By A. 
 H. Beesly. With Portraits. Cr. 8vo., 65. 
 
 De Bode. — The Baroness de Bode, 
 1775-1803. By William S. Childe-Pem- 
 berton. With 4 Photogravure Portraits 
 and other Illustrations. 8vo., 12s. 6d. net. 
 
 Duncan. — Admiral Duncan. By 
 The Earl of Camperdown. With 3 Por- 
 traits. 8vo., 16s. 
 
 Erasmus. 
 
 Life and Letters of Erasmus. 
 By James Anthony Froude. Crown 
 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 The Epistles of Erasmus, from 
 his Earliest Letters to his Fifty-first Year, 
 arranged in Order of Time. English 
 Translations, with a Commentary. By 
 Francis Morgan Nichols. 8vo., 18s. net. 
 
 Faraday. — Ear ad ay as a Dis- 
 coverer. By John Tyndall. Crown 
 8vo, 35. 6d. 
 
 Fenelon : his Friends and his 
 Enemies, 1651-1715. By E. K. Sanders. 
 With Portrait. 8vo., 105. bd. 
 
 Foreign Courts and Foreign 
 
 Homes. By A. M. F. Crown 8vo., 65. 
 
 Fox. — The Early History of 
 Charles James Fox. By the Right Hon. 
 Sir G. O. Trevelyan, Bart. 
 
 Library Edition. 8vo., 185. 
 
 Cheap Edition. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Granville. — Some Records of the 
 Later Life of Harriet, Countess 
 Granville. By her Granddaughter, the 
 Hon. Mrs. Oldfield. With 17 Portraits. 
 8vo., 16s. net. 
 
 Grey. — Memoir of Sir George 
 Grey, Bart, G.C.B., 1799-1882. By 
 Mandell Creighton, D.D., late Lord 
 Bishop of London. With 3 Portraits. 
 Crown 8vo., 65. net. 
 
 Maria Josepha, Lady Stanley of 
 Alderley, from 1796. Edited by J. H. 
 Adeane. 10 Portraits, etc. 8vo., 185. 
 
 Hunter. — The Life of Sir William 
 Wilson Hunter, K.C.S.I., M.A., LL.D. 
 Author of ' A History of British India.' etc. 
 By Francis Henry Skrine, F.S.S. With 
 6 Portraits (2 Photogravures) and 4 other 
 Illustrations. 8vo., 165. net. 
 
 Jackson. — Stonewall Jackson and 
 the American Civil War. By Lieut.-Col. 
 G. F. R. Henderson. With 2 Portraits and 
 33 Maps and Plans. 2 vols. Cr. 8vo., 165. net. 
 
 Leslie. — The Life and Campaigns 
 of Alexander Leslie, First Earl of 
 Leven. By Charles Sanford Terry, 
 j M.A. With Maps and Plans. 8vo., 16s. 
 
 Luther. — Life of Luther. By 
 Julius Kostlin. With 62 Illustrations 
 and 4 Facsimilies of MSS. Cr. 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Macaulay. — The Life and Letters 
 of Lord Mac aula y. By the Right Hon. 
 Sir G. O. Trevelyan, Bart. 
 
 Papular Edition. 1 vol. Cr. 8vo., 2s. bd. 
 
 Student's Edition 1 vol. Cr. 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Cabinet Edition. 2 vols. Post 8vo., 12s. 
 
 1 Edinburgh ' Edition. 2 vols. 8vo.,6s. each. 
 
 Library Edition. 2 vols. 8vo., 36s. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 Biography, Personal Memoirs, etc 
 
 Martineau.— -James Ma r tinea u. A 
 
 Biography and Study. By A. W. Jackson, 
 A.M., of Concord, Massachusetts. With 2 
 Portraits. 8vo., 12s. 6d. 
 
 Max Muller (F.) 
 My Autobiography : a Fragment. 
 
 With 6 Portraits. 8vo., 12s. 6d. 
 Auld Lang Syne. Second Series. 
 8vo, 105. 6d. 
 
 Chips from a German Workshop. 
 Vol.II. Biographical Essays. Cr. 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Meade. — General Sir Richard 
 Meade and the Feudatory States of 
 Central and Southern India. By 
 Thomas Henry Thornton. With Portrait, 
 Map and Illustrations. 8vo., 105. 6d. net. 
 
 Morris. — The Life of William 
 Morris. By J. W. Mackail. With 6 Por^ 
 traits and 16 Illustrations by E. H. New. 
 etc. 2 vols. 8vo., 325. 
 
 On the Banks of the Seine. By 
 
 A. M. F., Authoress of ' Foreign Courts and 
 Foreign Homes'. Crown 8vo., 65. 
 
 Paget. — Memoirs and Letters of 
 Sir James Paget. Edited by Stephen 
 Paget, one of his sons. With 6 Portraits 
 (3 Photogravures) and 4 other Illustrations. 
 Svo., 12s. 6d. net. 
 
 Pearson. — Charles Henry Pear- 
 
 SOiV,Author of 'National Lite and Character'. 
 Memorials by Himself, his Wife, and his 
 Friends. Edited by William Stebbing. 
 With a Portrait. 8vo., 14s. 
 
 Place. — The Life of Francis Place, 
 1771-1854. By Graham Wallas, M.A. 
 With 2 Portraits. 8vo., 125. 
 
 , — continued. 
 Ramakr/sh/ia : His Life and 
 Sayings. By the Right Hon. F. Max 
 Muller. Crown 8vo., 55. 
 
 Rich. — Mary Rich, Countess of 
 
 Warwick (1625-1678) : Her Family and 
 Friends. By Charlotte Fell Smith. 
 With 7 Photogravure Portraits and 9 other 
 Illustrations. 8vo., 185. net. 
 
 Romanes. — The Life and Letters 
 of George John Romanes, M.A., LL.D 
 F.R.S. Written and Edited by his Wife. 
 With Portrait and 2 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo., 
 5s. net. 
 
 RuSSell. SlVALLOlVFIELD AND ITS 
 
 Owners. By Constance Lady Russell, 
 of Swallowfield Park. With 15 Photogravure 
 Portraits and 36 other Illustrations. 4to., 
 425. net. 
 
 Seebohm. — The Oxford Reformers 
 —John Colet, Erasmus, and Thomas 
 More : a History of their Fellow- Work. 
 By Frederic Seebohm. 8vo., 145. 
 
 Shakespeare. — Outlines of the 
 Life of Shakespeare. By J. O. Halli- 
 well-Phillipps. With Illustrations and 
 Fac-similes. 2 vols. Royal 8vo., 21s. 
 
 Tallentyre. — The Women of the 
 
 Salons, and other French Portraits. By 
 S. G. Tallentyre. With 11 Photogravure 
 Portraits. 8vo., 105. td. net. 
 
 Victoria, Queen, 1819-1901. By 
 
 Richard R. Holmes, M.V.O., F.S.A., Lib- 
 rarian to the Queen. New and Cheaper 
 Edition. With a Supplementary Chapter 
 bringing the narrative to the end of the 
 Queen's Reign. With Photogravure Por- 
 trait. Crown 8vo., 5s. net. 
 
 Wellington. — Life of the Duke 
 of Wellington. By the Rev. G. R. 
 Gleig, M.A. Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Travel and Adventu 
 
 Arnold.^-SEAs and Lands. By Sir 
 Edwin Arnold. With 71 Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Baker (Sir S. W.). 
 
 Tight Years in Ceylon. With 6 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 The Rifle and the Hound in 
 Ceylon. With 6 Illusts. Cr. 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Bent. — The Ruined Cities of Ma- 
 
 SHONALand : being a Record of Excavation 
 and Exploration in 1891. By J. Theodore 
 Bent. With 117 Illustrations. Crown 
 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 re, the Colonies, &e. 
 
 Ball (John). 
 The Alpine Guide. Reconstructed 
 and Revised on behalf of the Alpine Club, 
 by W. A. B. Coolidge. 
 Vol. I., The Western Alps : the Alpine 
 Region, South of the Rhone Valley, 
 from the Col de Tenda to the Simplon 
 Pass. With g New and Revised Maps. 
 Crown 8vo., 125. net. 
 Vol. II., The Central Alps, North of 
 the Rhone Valley, from the Sim- 
 plon Pass to the Adige Valley. 
 [In preparation. 
 
 Hints and Notes, Practical and 
 Scientific, for Travellers in the 
 Alps : being a Revision of the General 
 Introduction to the ' Alpine Guide '. 
 Crown 8vo., 35. net. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 Travel and Adventure, the Colonies, &e. — continued. 
 
 Brassey (the late Lady). 
 
 A VO YA GE IN THE ' SUNBEA Af'; O UR 
 
 Home on the Ocean for Eleven 
 
 Months. 
 
 Cabinet Edition. With Map and 66 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 75. 6d. 
 
 ' Silver Library ' Edition. With 66 Illus- 
 trations. Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Popular Edition. With 60 Illustrations. 
 4to., 6d. sewed, is. cloth. 
 
 School Edition. With 37 Illustrations. 
 Fcp., 2S. cloth, or 35. white parchment. 
 
 Sunshine and Storm in the East. 
 Cabinet Edition. With 2 Maps and 114 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 75. 6d. 
 Popular Edition. With 103 Illustrations. 
 4to., 6d. sewed, is. cloth. 
 In the Trades, the Tropics, and 
 the ' Roaring Forties '. 
 Cabinet Edition. With Map and 220 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 75. 6d. 
 
 Crawford. — South American 
 Sketches. By Robert Crawford, M.A. 
 Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Fountain.— The Great Deserts 
 and Forests of North America. By 
 Paul Fountain. With a Preface by W. 
 H. Hudson, Author of 'The Naturalist in 
 La Plata,' etc. 8vo., gs. 6d. net. 
 
 Froude (James A.). 
 
 Oceana : or England and her Col- 
 onies. With g Illustrations. Cr. 8vo.,3s. 6d. 
 
 The English in the West Indies : 
 or, the Bow of Ulysses. With g Illustra- 
 tions. Crown 8vo., 25. boards, 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 Haggard. — A Winter Pilgrimage : 
 Being an Account of Travels through 
 Palestine, Italy and the Island of Cyprus, 
 undertaken in the year igoo. By H. Rider 
 Haggard. With 31 Illustrations from 
 Photographs. Crown 8vo., 12s. 6d. net. 
 
 Heathcote.— St. Kilda. By Nor- 
 man Heathcote. With 80 Illustrations 
 from Sketches and Photographs of the 
 People, Scenery and Birds by the Author. 
 8vo., 10s. 6d. net. 
 
 Howitt. — Visits to Remarkable 
 Places. Old Halls, Battle-Fields, Scenes, 
 illustrative of Striking Passages in English 
 History and Poetry. By William Howitt. 
 With 80 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Knight (E. F.). 
 
 The Cruise of the ' Alerte ' : the 
 
 Narrative of a Search for Treasure on the 
 
 Desert Island of Trinidad. With 2 Maps 
 
 and 23 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Knight (E. F.) — continued. 
 
 Where Three Empires meet: a 
 Narrative of Recent Travel in Kashmir, 
 Western Tibet, Baltistan, Ladak, Gilgit, 
 and the adjoining Countries. With a 
 Map and 54 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 The 'Falcon' on the Baltic: a 
 Voyage from London to Copenhagen in 
 a Three-Tonner. With 10 Full-page 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6<Y. 
 
 Lees. — Peaks and Pines: another 
 Norway Book. By J. A. Lees. With 
 63 Illustrations and Photographs by the 
 Author. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Lees and Clutterbuck.— B.C. 1 887 : 
 
 A Ramble in British Columbia. By J. A. 
 Lees and W. J. Clutterbuck. With Map 
 and 75 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Lynch. — Armenia : Travels and 
 Studies. By H. F. B. Lynch. With igy 
 Illustrations (some in tints) reproduced 
 from Photographs and Sketches by the 
 Author, 16 Maps and Plans, a Bibliography, 
 and a Map of Armenia and adjacent 
 countries. 2 vols. Medium 8vo., 42s. net. 
 
 Nansen. — The First Crossing of 
 Greenland. By Fridtjof Nansen. With 
 143 Illustrations and a Map. Crown 8vo., 
 35. 6d. 
 
 Rice. — Occasional Essays on JVa- 
 tive South Ixdiax Life. By Stanley 
 P. Rice, Indian Civil Service. 8vo., 10s. 6d. 
 
 Smith- — Climbing in the British 
 Isles. By W. P. Haskett Smith. With 
 Illustrations by Ellis Carr, and Numerous 
 Plans. 
 
 Part I. England. i6mo., 3s. net. 
 Part II. (Vales and Ireland. i6mo., 
 35. net. 
 
 Stephen. — The Play-Ground of 
 Europe (The Alps). By Leslie Ste- 
 phen. With 4 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 
 3 s. 6rf. 
 
 Three in Norway. By Two of 
 
 Them. With a Map and 5g Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo., 2s. boards, 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 Tyndall.— (John). 
 
 The Glaciers of the Alps : being 
 a Narrative of Excursions and Ascents. 
 An Account of the Origin and Phenomena 
 of Glaciers, and an Exposition of the 
 Physical Principles to which they are re- 
 lated. With 61 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 
 6s. 6d. net. 
 
 Hours of Exercise in the Alps. 
 
 \\ ith 7 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo., 6s. 6d. net. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 Sport and Pastime. 
 
 THE BADMINTON LIBRARY. 
 
 Edited by HIS GRACE THE (EIGHTH) DUKE OF BEAUFORT, K.G., 
 and A. E. T. WATSON. 
 
 Complete in 29 Volumes. Crown 8vo., Cloth, Price 6s. net each Volume, or 9s. net 
 each, half-bound in Leather, with gilt top. 
 
 ARCHER Y. By C. J. Longman and 
 
 Col. H.Walrond. With Contributions by 
 Miss Legh, Viscount Dillon, etc. With 
 2 Maps, 23 Plates and 172 Illustrations in 
 the Text. 
 
 A THLE TICS. By Montague 
 Shearman. With Chapters on Athletics 
 at School by W. Beacher Thomas ; Ath- 
 letic Sports in America by C. H. Sherrill ; 
 a Contribution on Paper-chasing by W. Rye, 
 and an Introduction by Sir Richard Web- 
 ster, Q.C., M.P. With 12 Plates and 37 
 Illustrations in the Text. 
 
 BIG GAME SHOOTING. By 
 
 Clive Phillipps-Wolley. 
 
 Vol. I. AFRICA AND AMERICA. 
 With Contributions by Sir Samuel W. 
 Baker, W. C. Oswell, F. C. Selous, 
 etc. With 20 Plates and 57 Illustrations 
 in the Text. 
 
 Vol. II. EUROPE, ASIA, AND THE 
 ARCTIC REGIONS. With Contribu- 
 tions by Lieut. -Colonel R. Heber 
 Percy, Major Algernon C. Heber 
 Percy, etc. With 17 Plates and 56 Illus- 
 trations in the Text. 
 
 BIILIARDS. By Major W. Broad- 
 foot, R.E. With Contributions by A. H. 
 Boyd, Sydenham Dixon, W. J. Ford, etc. 
 With 11 Plates, 19 Illustrations in the Text, 
 and numerous Diagrams. 
 
 COURSING AND FAICONRY. 
 By Harding Cox, Charles Richardson, 
 and the Hon. Gerald Lascelles. With 
 20 Plates and 55 Illustrations in the Text. 
 
 CRICKET. By A. G. Steel and 
 the Hon. R. H. Lyttelton. With Con- 
 tributions by Andrew Lang, W. G. Grace, 
 F. Gale, etc. With 13 Plates and 52 Illus- 
 trations in the Text. 
 
 CYCLING. By the Earl of Albe- 
 marle and G. Lacy Hillier. With 19 
 Plates and 44 Illustrations in the Text. 
 
 DANCING. By Mrs. Lilly Grove, 
 F.R.G.S. With Contributions by Miss 
 Middleton, The Hon. Mrs. Armytage, 
 etc. With Musical Examples, and 38 Full- 
 page Plates and 93 Illustrations in the Text. 
 
 DRIVING. ByHisGracethe(Eighth) 
 Duke of Beaufort, K.G. With Contribu- 
 tions by A. E. T. Watson the Earl of 
 Onslow, etc. With 12 Plates and 54 Illus- 
 trations in the Text. 
 
 FENCING, BOXING, AND 
 WRESTLING.' By Walter H. Pollock, 
 F. C. Grove, C. Prevost, E. B. Mitchell, 
 and Walter Armstrong. With 18 Plates 
 and 24 Illustrations in the Text. 
 
 FISHING. By H. Cholmondeley- 
 
 Pennell. 
 
 Vol. I. SALMON AND TROUT. With 
 Contributions by H. R. Francis, Major 
 John P. Traherne, etc. W T ith 9 Plates 
 and numerous Illustrations of Tackle, etc. 
 
 Vol. II. PIKE AND OTHER COARSE 
 FISH. With Contributions by the 
 Marquis of Exeter, William Senior, 
 G. Christopher Davis, etc. With 
 7 Plates and numerous Illustrations of 
 Tackle, etc. 
 
 FOOTBALL. History, by Mon- 
 tague Shearman ; The Association 
 Game, by W. J. Oakley and G. O. Smith ; 
 The Rugby Union Game, by Frank 
 Mitchell. With other Contributions by 
 R. E. Macnaghten, M. C. Kemp, J. E. 
 Vincent, Walter Camp and A. Suther- 
 land. With 19 Plates and 35 Illustrations 
 in the Text. 
 
 GOLF. By Horace G. Hutchinson. 
 With Contributions by the Rt. Hon. A. J. 
 Balfour, M.P., Sir Walter Simpson, Bart., 
 Andrew Lang, etc. With 32 Plates and 57 
 Illustrations in the Text. 
 
 HUNTING. By His Grace the 
 (Eighth) Duke of Beaufort, K.G., and 
 Mowbray Morris. With Contributions by 
 the Earl of Suffolk and Berkshire, 
 Rev. E. W. L. Davies, G. H. Longman, 
 etc. With 5 Plates and 54 Illustrations in 
 the Text. 
 
 MOUNTAINEERING. By C. T. 
 Dent. With Contributions by the Right 
 Hon. J. Bryce, M.P., Sir Martin Conway, 
 D. W. Freshfield, C. E. Matthews, etc. 
 With 13 Plates and 91 Illustrations in the 
 Text. 
 
12 MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 Sport and Pastime— continued. 
 
 THE BADMINTON LIBRARY— continued. 
 
 Edited by HIS GRACE THE (EIGHTH) DUKE OF BEAUFORT K G 
 and A. E. T. WATSON. 
 
 Complete in 29 Volumes. Crown 8vo., Cloth, Price 6s. net each Volume, or 9s. net 
 each, half-bound in Leather, with gilt top. 
 
 POETRY OF SPORT (THE).— ' SKATING, CURLING, TOBOG- 
 
 Selected by Hedley Peek. With a 
 Chapter on Classical Allusions to Sport by 1 
 Andrew L<vng, and a Special Preface to 
 the BADMINTON LIBRARY by A. E. T. 
 Watson. With 32 Plates and 74 Illustra- 
 tions in the Text. 
 
 RACING AND STEEPLE-CHAS- 
 ING, By the Earl of Suffolk and 
 Berkshire, W. G. Craven, the Hon. F. ' 
 Lawley, Arthur Coventry, and A. E. T. 
 Watson. With Frontispiece and 56 Illus- 
 (rations in the Text. 
 
 RIDING AND POLO. By Captain 
 Robert Weir, J. Moray Brown, T. F. 
 Dale, The Late Duke of Beaufort, The j 
 Earl of Suffolk and Berkshire, etc. 
 With 18 Plates and 41 Illusts. in the Text. \ 
 
 ROWING. By R. P. P. Rowe and 
 C. M. Pitman. With Chapters on Steering j 
 by C. P. Serocold and F. C. Begg ; Met- ] 
 ropolitan Rowing by S. Le Blanc Smith ; i 
 and on PUNTING by P. W. Squire. With j 
 75 Illustrations. 
 
 SEA FISHING. By John Bicker- 
 dyke, Sir H. W. Gore-Booth, Alfred 
 C. Harmsworth, and W. Senior. With 22 
 Full-page Plates and 175 Illusts. in the Text. 
 
 SHOOTING. 
 Vol. I. FIELD AND COVERT. By Lord 
 Walsingham and Sir Ralph Payne- 
 Gallwey, Bart. With Contributions by 
 the Hon. Gerald Lascelles and A. J. 
 Stuart-Wortley. With n Plates and 
 95 Illustrations in the Text. 
 Vol. II. MOOR AND MARSH. By 
 Lord Walsingham and Sir Ralph Payne- 
 Gallwey, Bart. With Contributions by 
 Lord Lovat and Lord Charles Lennox 
 Kerr. With 8 Plates and 57 Illustrations 
 in the Text. 
 
 GANING. By J. M. Heathcote, C. G. 
 Tebbutt, T. Maxwell Witham, Rev. 
 John Kerr, Ormond Hake, Henry A. 
 Buck, etc. With 12 Plates and 272 Illus- 
 trations in the Text. 
 
 SWIMMING. By ARCHIBALD Sin- 
 clair and William Henry, Hon. Secs.of the 
 Life-Saving Society. With 13 Plates and 1 12 
 Illustrations in the Text. 
 
 TENNIS, LA WN TENNIS, 
 RACKETS AND FIVES. By J. M. and 
 C. G. Heathcote, E. O. Pleydell-Bou- 
 VERiE,andA. C. Ainger. With Contributions 
 by the Hon. A. Lyttelton, W. C. Mar- 
 shall, Miss L. Dod, etc. With 12 Plates and 
 67 Illustrations in the Text. 
 
 YACHTING. 
 
 Vol. I. CRUISING, CONSTRUCTION 
 OF YACHTS, YACHT RACING 
 RULES, FITTING-OUT, etc. By Sir 
 Edward Sullivan, Bart., The Earl of 
 Pembroke, Lord Brassey, K.C.B., C. 
 E. Seth-Smith, C.B., G. L. Watson, R. 
 T. Pritchett, E. F. Knight, etc. With 
 21 Plates and 93 Illustrations in the 
 Text. 
 
 Vol. II. YACHT CLUBS, YACHT- 
 ING IN AMERICA AND THE 
 COLONIES, YACHT RACING, etc. 
 By R. T. Pritchett, The Marquis of 
 Dufferin and Ava, K.P., The Earl of 
 Onslow, James McFerran, etc. With 
 35 Plates and 160 Illustrations in the 
 Text. 
 
 FUR, FEATHER, AND FIN SERIES. 
 
 Edited by A. E. T. Watson. 
 Crown 8vo., price 55. each Volume, cloth. 
 The Volumes are also issued half-bound in Leather, with gilt top, price js. 6d. net each. 
 
 THE PARTRIDGE. Natural His- 
 tory, by the Rev. H. A. Macpherson ; 
 Shooting, by A. J. Stuart-Wortley ; 
 Cookery, by George Saintsbury. With 
 11 Illustrations and various Diagrams in 
 the Text. Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 THE GROUSE. Natural History, by 
 the Rev*. H. A. Macpherson ; Shooting, 
 by A. J. Stuart-Wortley; Cookery, by 
 George Saintsbury. With 13 Illustrations 
 and various Diagrams in the Text. Crown 
 8vo., 55. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 13 
 
 Sport and Pastime — continued. 
 FUR, FEATHER, AND FIN SERIES— continued. 
 
 THE PHEASANT. Natural History, 
 by the Rev. H. A. Macpherson ; Shooting, 
 by A. J. Stuart-Wortley ; Cookery, by 
 Alexander Innes Shand. With 10 Illus- 
 trations and various Diagrams. Crown 
 8vo., 5s. 
 
 THE HARE. Natural History, by 
 the Rev. H. A. Macpherson ; Shooting, 
 by the Hon. Gerald Lascelles ; Coursing, 
 by Charles Richardson ; Hunting, by J. 
 S. Gibbons and G. H. Longman ; Cookery, 
 by Col. Kenney Herbert. With 9 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 5s. 
 
 RED DEER.—^2X\iy&\ History, by 
 the Rev. H. A. Macpherson ; Deer Stalk- 
 ing, by Cameron of Lociiiel ; Stag 
 Hunting, by Viscount Ebrington ; 
 Cookery, by Alexander Innes Shand. 
 With 10 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 55. 
 
 THE SALMON. By the Hon. A. E. 
 Gathorne-Hardy. With Chapters on the 
 Law of Salmon Fishing by Claud Douglas 
 Pennant; Cookery, by Alexander Innes 
 Shand. With 8 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo., 5s. 
 
 THE TROUT. By the Marquess 
 
 of Granby. With Chapters on the Breed- 
 ing of Trout by Col. H. Custance ; and 
 Cookery, by Alexander Innes Shand. 
 With 12 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. , 5s. 
 
 THE RABBIT. By James Edmund 
 Harting. Cookery, by Alexander Innes 
 Shand. With 10 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo., 55. 
 
 PIKE AND PERCH. By William 
 Senior (' Redspinner,' Editor of the 
 ' Field '). With Chapters by John Bicker- 
 dyke and W. H. Pope ; Cookery, by 
 Alexander Innes Shand. With 12 Il- 
 lustrations. Crown 8vo., 55. 
 
 Bickerdyke. — Da ys of My Iife on 
 
 Water, Fresh and Salt; and other 
 Papers. By John Bickerdyke. With 
 Photo-etching Frontispiece and 8 Full-page 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 65. 
 
 Blackburne. — Mr. Blackburne s 
 Games at Chess. Selected, Annotated 
 and Arranged by Himself. Edited, with a 
 Biographical Sketch and a brief History of 
 Blindfold Chess, by P. Anderson Graham. 
 With Portrait of Mr. Blackburne. 8vo., 
 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 Cawthorne and Herod.— Royal 
 
 Ascot: its History and its Associations. 
 By George James Cawthorne and Rich- 
 ard S. Herod. With 32 Plates and 106 
 Illustrations in the Text. Demy 4to., 
 £1 115. 6d. net. 
 
 Dead Shot (The) : or, Sportsman's 
 Complete Guide. Being a Treatise on the Use 
 of the Gun, with Rudimentary and Finishing 
 Lessons in the Art of Shooting Game of all 
 kinds. Also Game-driving, Wildfowl and 
 Pigeon-shooting, Dog-breaking, etc. By 
 Marksman. With numerous Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo., 105. 6d. 
 
 Ellis. — Chess Spar ks ; or, Short and 
 Bright Games of Chess. Collected and 
 Arranged by J. H. Ellis, M. A. 8vo.,4S. 6d. 
 
 Folkard. — The Wild-Fowler : A 
 
 Treatise on Fowling, Ancient and Modern, 
 descriptive also of Decoys and Flight-ponds, 
 Wild-fowl Shooting, Gunning-punts, Shoot- 
 ing-yachts, etc. Also Fowling in the Fens 
 and in Foreign Countries, Rock-fowling, 
 etc., etc., by H. C. Folkard. With 13 En- 
 gravings on Steel, and several Woodcuts. 
 8vo., 12s. 6d. 
 
 Ford. — Middlesex County Cricket 
 
 Club, 1864-1899. Written and Compiled 
 by W. J. Ford (at the request of the Com- 
 mittee of the County C.C.). With Frontis- 
 piece Portrait of Mr. V. E. Walker. 8vo., 
 105. net. 
 
 Ford. — The Theory and Practice 
 of Archery. By Horace Ford. New 
 Edition, thoroughly Revised and Re-written 
 by W. Butt, M.A. With a Preface by C. 
 J. Longman, M.A. 8vo., 14s. 
 
 Francis. — A Book on Angling : or, 
 
 Treatise on the Art ot Fishing in every 
 Branch ; including full Illustrated List of Sal- 
 mon Flies. By Francis Francis. With Por- 
 trait and Coloured Plates. Crown 8vo., 155. 
 
 Fremantle. — The Book of the 
 Rifle. By the Hon. T. F. Fremantle, 
 V.D., Major, 1st Bucks V.R.C. With 54 
 Plates and 107 Diagrams in the Text. 8vo., 
 125. 6d. net. 
 
 Gathorne - Hardy. — Autumns in 
 
 Argyleshire with Rod and Gun. By 
 the Hon. A. E. Gathorne-Hardy. With 
 8 Photogravure Illustrations by Archibald 
 Thorburn. 8vo., 105. 6d. net. 
 
 Graham. — Country Pastimes for 
 Boys. By P. Anderson Graham. With 
 252 Illustrations from Drawings and 
 Photographs. Cr. 8vo., gilt edges, 35. net. 
 
 Hutchinson. — The Book of Golf 
 and Golfers. By Horace G. Hutchin- 
 son. With Contributions bv Miss Amy 
 Pascoe, H. H. Hilton, J. H." Taylor, H. 
 J. Whigham, and Messrs. Sutton & Sons. 
 With 71 Portraits from Photographs. Large 
 crown 8vo., 75. 6d. net. 
 
r 4 
 
 MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 Sport and Pastime — continued. 
 
 Lang. — Angling Sketches. By 
 
 Andrew Lang. With 20 Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo., 35. bd. 
 
 Lillie (Arthur). 
 
 Croquet: its History, Rules and 
 Secrets. With 4 Full-page Illustrations, 
 15 Illustrations in the Text, and 27 Dia- 
 grams. Crown 8vo., 65. 
 
 Croquet up to Date. Contain- 
 ing the Ideas and Teachings of the 
 Leading Players and Champions. With 
 Contributions by Lieut. -Col. the Hon. H. 
 Needham, C. D. Locock, etc. With 19 
 Illustrations (15 Portraits), and numerous 
 Diagrams. 8vo., 10s. 6d. net. 
 
 Locock. — Side and Screw: being 
 Notes on the Theory and Practice of the 
 Game of Billiards. By C. D. Locock. 
 With Diagrams. Crown 8vo., 5s. net. 
 
 Longman. — Chess Openings. By 
 Frederick W. Longman. Fcp. 8vo., 25. 6d. 
 
 Mackenzie. — Notes for Hunting 
 
 Men. By Captain Cortlandt Gordon 
 Mackenzie. Crown 8vo., 2s. 6d. net. 
 
 Madden. — The Diary of Master 
 William Silence : a Study of Shakespeare 
 and of Elizabethan Sport. By the Right 
 Hon. D. H. Madden, Vice-Chancellor of the 
 University of Dublin. 8vo., 165. 
 
 Maskelyne. — Sharps and Flats : a 
 Complete Revelation of the Secrets of 
 Cheating at Games of Chance and Skill. By 
 John Nevil Maskelyne, of the Egyptian 
 Hall. With 62 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 65. 
 
 M i 1 1 a i s. — The Wildfoyvler in 
 Scotland. By John Guille Millais, 
 F.Z.S., etc. With a Frontispiece in Photo- 
 gravure by Sir J. E. Millais, Bart., P.R.A., 
 8 Photogravure Plates, 2 Coloured Plates and 
 50 Illustrations from the Author's Drawings 
 and from Photographs. Royal 4to., 30s. net. 
 
 Modern Bridge.— By 'Slam'. With 
 
 a Reprint of the Laws of Bridge, as adopted 
 by the Portland and Turf Clubs. i8mo., 
 35. bd. 
 
 Park. — The Game of Golf. By 
 William Park, Jun., Champion Golfer, 
 1887-89. With 17 Plates and 26 Illustra- 
 tions in the Text. Crown 8vo., 75. 6d. 
 
 Payne-Gallwey (Sir Ralph, Bart.). 
 
 Letters to Young Shooters (First 
 Series). On the Choice and use of a Gun. 
 With 41 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 75. 6d. 
 
 Letters to Young SHOOTERs(Second 
 Series). On the Production, Preservation, 
 and Killing of Game. With Directions 
 in Shooting Wood-Pigeons and Breaking- 
 in Retrievers. With Portrait and 103 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 125. 6d. 
 
 Letters to Young Shooters. 
 (Third Series.) Comprising a Short 
 Natural History of the Wildfowl that 
 are Rare or Common to the British 
 Islands, with complete directions in 
 Shooting Wildfowl on the Coast and 
 Inland. With 200 Illustrations. Crown 
 8vo., 18s. 
 
 Pole. — The Theory of the Modern 
 Scientific Game of Whist. By William 
 Pole, F.R.S. Fcp. 8vo., is. net. 
 
 Proctor. — How to Play Whist: 
 with the Laws and Etiquette of 
 Whist. By Richard A. Proctor. Crown 
 8vo., 35. net. 
 
 Ronalds. — The Fly-Fisher s Ento- 
 mology. By Alfred Ronalds. With 20 
 coloured Plates. 8vo., 145. 
 
 Selous. — Sport and Travel, East 
 and West. By Frederick Courteney 
 Selous. With 18 Plates and 35 Illustra- 
 tions in the Text. Medium 8vo., 12s. 6d. net. 
 
 Mental, Moral, and Political Philosophy. 
 
 LOGIC, RHETORIC, PSYCHOLOGY, &C. 
 
 Abbott. — The Elements of Logic. 
 By T. K. Abbott B.D. 121110., 35. 
 
 Aristotle. 
 
 The Ethics: Greek Text, Illustrated 
 with Essay and Notes. By Sir Alexan- 
 der Grant, Bart. 2 vols. 8vo., 325. 
 
 An Lntroduction to Aristotle's 
 Ethics. Books I. -IV. (Book X. c.vi.-ix. 
 in an Appendix). With a continuous 
 Analysis and Notes. By the Rev. E. 
 Moore, D.D. Crown 8vo. 105. 6d. 
 
 Bacon (Francis). 
 Complete Works. Edited by R. L. 
 
 Ellis, James Spedding and D. D. 
 
 Heath. 7 vols. 8vo., ^3 13s. 6d. 
 Letters and Life, including all his 
 
 occasional Works. Edited by James 
 
 Spedding. 7 vols. 8vo., ,£4 45. 
 The Essays: with Annotations. By 
 
 Richard Whately, D.D. 8vo., 105. 6d. 
 The Essays: with Notes. By F. 
 
 Storr and C. H. Gibson. Cr. 8vo, 35. 6d. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 *5 
 
 Mental, Moral and Political Philosophy — continued. 
 
 LOGIC, RHETORIC, 
 Bacon (Francis) — continued. 
 
 The Essays: with Introduction, 
 Notes, and Index. By E. A. Abbott, D.D. 
 2 Vols. Fcp. 8vo.,6s. The Text and Index 
 only, without Introduction and Notes, in 
 One Volume. Fcp. 8vo., 25. 6d. 
 
 Bain (Alexander). 
 
 Dissertations on Leading Philo- 
 sophical Topics : being Articles reprinted 
 from " Mind ". [In the press. 
 
 Mental and Moral Science : a 
 Compendium of Psychology and Ethics. 
 Crown 8vo., 105. 6d. 
 
 Or separately, 
 Part I. Psychology and History of 
 
 Philosophy. Crown 8vo., 6s. 6d. 
 Par 1 1 1 . Theor yofE thics a nd E thica l 
 Systems. Crown 8vo., 45. 6d. 
 
 Logic. Parti. Deduction. Cr. 8vo., 
 45. Part II. Induction. Cr.8vo.,6s.6d. 
 
 Senses and theIntellect. 8vo.,i5s. 
 
 Emotions and the Will. 8vo., 155. 
 
 Practical Essays. Cr. 8vo., 2s. 
 
 Bray. — The Philosophy of Neces- 
 sity: or, Law in Mind as in Matter. By 
 Charles Bray. Crown 8vo.. 5s. 
 
 Crozier (John Beattie). 
 
 Civilisation and Progress : being 
 the Outlines of a New System of Political, 
 Religious and Social Philosophy. 8vo.,i4s. 
 
 History of Intellectual Devel- 
 OPMENT: on theLines of Modern Evolution. 
 Vol. I. 8vo., 14s. 
 Vol.11. (In preparation.) 
 Vol. III. 8vo., 105. 6d. 
 
 Davidson. — The Logic of Defini- 
 tion, Explained and Applied. By William 
 L. Davidson, M.A. Crown 8vo., 65. 
 
 Green (Thomas Hill). — The Works 
 of. Edited by R. L. Nettleship. 
 
 Vols. I. and II. Philosophical Works. 8vo., 
 165. each. 
 
 Vol. III. Miscellanies. With Index to the 
 three Volumes, and Memoir. 8vo., 215. 
 
 Lectures on the Principles of 
 Political Obligation. With Preface 
 by Bernard Bosanquet. 8vo., 55. 
 
 Gurnhill. — The Morals of Suicide. 
 
 By the Rev. J. Gurnhill, B.A. Crown 
 8vo., 6s. 
 
 PSYCHOLOGY, &>C. 
 
 Hodgson (Shadworth H.) 
 Time and Space: A Metaphysical 
 
 Essay. 8vo., 165. 
 The Theory of Practice: an 
 Ethical Inquiry. 2 vols. 8vo., 24s. 
 
 The Philosophy of Reflection. 
 
 2 VOls. 8vO., 215. 
 
 The Met a physic of Experience. 
 Book I. General Analysis of Experience ; 
 Book II. Positive Science; Book III. 
 Analysis of Conscious Action ; Book IV. 
 The Real Universe. 4 vols. 8vo., 365. net. 
 
 Hume. — The Philosophical Works 
 of David Hume. Edited by T. H. Green 
 and T. H. Grose. 4 vols. 8vo., 285. Or 
 separately, Essays. 2 vols. 145. Treatise 
 of Human Nature. 2 vols. 145. 
 
 James. — The Will to Believe, and 
 Other Essays in Popular Philosophy. By 
 William James, M.D., LL.D., etc. Crown 
 8vo., 75. 6d. 
 
 Justinian. — The Institutes of 
 Justinian : Latin Text, chiefly that of 
 Huschke, with English Introduction, Trans- 
 lation, Notes, and Summary. By Thomas 
 C. Sandars, M.A. 8vo., 185. 
 
 Kant (Immanuel). 
 
 Critique of Practical Reason, 
 and Other Works on the Theory of 
 Ethics. Translated by T. K. Abbott, 
 B.D. With Memoir. 8vo., 125. 6d. 
 
 EUND A MENTAL PRINCIPLES OF THE 
 Metaphysic of Ethics. Translated by 
 T. K. Abbott, B.D. Crown bvo, 35. 
 
 Introduction to Logic, and his 
 Essay on the Mistaken Subtilty of 
 the Four Figures.. Translated by T. 
 K. Abbott. 8vo., 65 
 
 Kelly. — Government or Human 
 Evolution. By Edmond Kelly, M.A., 
 F.G.S. Vol. I. Justice. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. 
 net. Vol. II. Collectivism and Individualism. 
 Crown 8vo., 105. 6d. net. 
 
 Killick. — Handbook to Mill's 
 System of Logic. By Rev. A. H. 
 Killick, M.A. Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Ladd (George Trumbull). 
 Elements of Physiological Psy- 
 chology. 8vO., 215. 
 
 Outlines of Descriptive Psycho- 
 logy: a Text-Book of Mental Science for 
 Colleges and Normal Schools. 8vo., 12s. 
 
 Outlines of Physiological Psy- 
 chology. 8vo., I2S. 
 
 Primer of Psychology. Cr. 8vo., 
 5 s. 6d. 
 
16 
 
 MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 Mental, Moral, and Political Philosophy — continued. 
 
 Lecky. — The Map of Life: Con- I Sully (James) — continued. 
 
 Thought. 8vo. 
 
 duct and Character. By William Edward 
 Hartpole Lecky. Library Edition, 8vo., | 
 ios. 6d. Cabinet Edition, Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 net. 
 
 Lutoslawski. — The Origin and 
 Growth of Plato's Logic. With an 
 Account of Plato's Style and of the Chrono- 
 logy of his Writings. By Wincenty 
 Lutoslawski. 8vo., 215. 
 
 Max Miiller (F.). 
 The Science of 
 
 215. 
 
 The Six Systems of Indian Phil- 
 osophy. 8vo., 185. 
 
 Three Lectures on the Vedanta 
 Philosophy. Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Mill (John Stuart). 
 A System of Logic. Cr. 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 On Liberty. Crown 8vo., 15. \d. 
 Considerations on Representa- 
 tive Governme.\t. Crown 8vo.. 25. 
 Utilitarianism. 8vo., is. 6d. 
 Examination of Sir William 
 
 Hamilton's Philosophy. 8vo., 16s. 
 Nature, the Utility of Religion, 
 and Theism. Three Essays. 8vo., 55. 
 Mo nek. — An Introduction to 
 Logic. I>y William Henry S. Monck, 
 M.A. Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Richmond. — The Mind of a Child. 
 
 By Ennis Richmond, Author of ' Boyhood,' 
 and 'Through Boyhood to Manhood'. 
 Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 Romanes. — Mind and Motion and 
 Monism. By George John Romanes, 
 LL.D., E.R.S. Cr. 8vo., 45. 6d. 
 
 Sully (James). 
 
 The Human Mind : a Text-book of 
 Psychology. 2 vols. 8vo., 215. 
 
 Outlines of Psychology. Crown 
 8vo., 95. 
 
 The Teacher's Handbook Of Psy- 
 chology. Crown 8vo., 6s. 6d. 
 
 Studies of Childhood. 8vo., 
 10s. 6d. 
 
 Children's Ways: being Selections 
 from the Author's ' Studies of Childhood '. 
 With 25 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 45. bd. 
 
 Sutherland. — The Origin and 
 Growth of the Moral Instinct. By 
 Alexander Sutherland, M.A. 2 vols. 
 8vo, 285. 
 
 Swinburne. — Picture Logic : an 
 
 Attempt to Popularise the Science of 
 Reasoning. By Alfred James Swinburne, 
 M.A. With 23 Woodcuts. Cr. 8vo., 25. 6d. 
 
 Thomas. — Intuitive Suggestion. 
 
 By J. W. Thomas, Author of Spiritual Law 
 
 in the Natural World,' etc. Crown 8vo., 
 
 35. 6d. net. 
 Webb. — The Veil of Is is : a Series 
 
 of Essays on Idealism. By Thomas E. 
 
 Webb, LL.D., Q.C. 8vo., 105. 6d. 
 Weber. — History of Philosophy. 
 
 By Alfred Weber, Professor in the Uni- 
 versity of Strasburg. Translated by Frank 
 Thilly, Ph.D. 8vo., 16s. 
 
 Whately (Archbishop). 
 Bacon's Essays. With Annotations. 
 
 8vo., 105. 6d. 
 Elements of Logic. Cr. 8vo., 4s. 6d. 
 Elements of Rhe tor ic. C r . 8vo . > 
 
 45. 6d. 
 
 Zeller (Dr. Edward). 
 
 The Stoics, Epicureans, 
 Sceptics. Translated by the Rev 
 
 AND 
 0. J. 
 
 Crown 8vo., 155. 
 
 Reichel, M.A. 
 
 Outlines of the History of 
 Greer Philosophy. Translated by 
 Sarah F. Alleyne and Evelyn Abbott, 
 M.A., LL.D. Crown 8vo., 105. 6d. 
 
 Plato and the Older Academy. 
 -Translated by Sarah F. Alleyne and 
 Alfred Goodwin, B.A. Crown 8vo., 185. 
 
 Socrates and the Soc ratio 
 Schools. Translated by the Rev. 0. 
 J. Reichel, M.A. Crown 8vo., 105. 6d. 
 
 Aristotle and the Earlier Peri- 
 patetics. Translated by B. F. C. Cos- 
 telloe, M.A., and J. H. Muirhead, 
 M.A. 2 vols. Crown 8vo., 245. 
 
 STONYHURST PHILOSOPHICAL SERIES. 
 
 A Manual of Political Economy. 
 
 By C. S. Devas, M.A. Crown 8vo., 7s. 6d. 
 Eirst Principles of Knowledge. 
 
 By John Rickaby, S.J. Crown 8vo., 55. 
 General Metaphysics. By John 
 
 Rickaby, S.J. Crown 8vo., 55. 
 Logic. By Richard F. Clarke, S.J. 
 
 Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Moral Philosophy {Ethics and 
 Na tural La w). By Joseph Rickaby, S.J. 
 Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Natural Theology. By Bernard 
 
 Boedder, S.J. Crown 8vo., 6s. 6d. 
 
 Psychology. By Michael Maher, 
 S.J., D.Litt., M.A. (Lond.). Cr. 8vo., 6s. 6d. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 '7 
 
 History and Science of Language, &c, 
 
 Davidson. —Leading and Import- 
 ant English Words: Explained and Ex- 
 emplified. By William L. Davidson, 
 M.A. Fcp. 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Farrar. — Language and Languages. 
 
 By F. W. Farrar, D.D., Dean of Canter- 
 bury. Crown 8vo., 65. 
 
 Graham. — English Synonyms, 
 
 Classified and Explained : with Practical 
 Exercises. By G. F. Graham. Fcp. 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Max Muller (F.). 
 
 The Science of Language. 2 v o 1 s . 
 
 Crown 8vo.. 105. 
 
 Max Muller (F .) — continued. 
 
 Biographies of Words, and the 
 Home of the Aryas. Crown 8vo., 55. 
 
 Chips from a German Workshop. 
 Vol. III. Essays on Language and 
 Literature. Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Last Essays. First Series. Essays 
 on Language, Folklore and other Sub- 
 jects. Crown 8vo., 55. 
 
 R o g e t . — Thesa ur us of Engl ish 
 Words and Phrases. Classified and 
 Arranged so as to Facilitate the Expression 
 of Ideas and assist in Literary Composition. 
 By Peter Mark Roget, M.D., F.R.S. 
 W T ith full Index. Crown 8vo., gs. net. 
 
 Political Economy and Economies, 
 
 Ashley (W. J.). 
 
 English Economic History 
 Theory. Crown 8vo., Part L, 5s. 
 
 AND 
 Part 
 
 II., 105. 6d. 
 
 Surveys, Historic 
 Crown 8vo, 95. net. 
 
 and Economic. 
 
 Bagehot. — Economic Studies. By 
 
 Walter Bagehot. Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Barnett. — Practicable Socialism : 
 
 Essays on Social Reform. By Samuel A. 
 and Henrietta Barnett. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Devas. — A Manual of Political 
 Economy. By C. S. Devas, M.A. Cr. 8vo., 
 75. 6d. (Stony hurst Philosophical Series.) 
 
 Lawrence. — Local Variations in 
 Wages. By F. W. Lawrence, M.A. With 
 Index and 18 Maps and Diagrams. 4to.,8s.6<f. 
 
 Leslie. — Essays on Political Eco- 
 nomy. By T. E. Cliffe Leslie, Hon. 
 LL.D., Dubl. 8vo., 105. 6d. 
 
 Macleod (Henry Dunning). 
 Economics for Beginners. Crown 
 
 8vO., 25. 
 
 The Elements of Economics. 2 | 
 
 vols. Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. each. 
 Bimetalism. 8vo., 55. net. 
 The Elements of Banking. Cr. ' 
 
 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 The Theory and Practice of ' 
 Banking. Vol. L 8vo., 125. Vol. II. 145. 
 
 Macleod (Henry Dunning) — contd. 
 
 The Theory of Credit. 8vo. 
 In 1 Vol., 305. net; or separately, Vol. 
 I., 105. net. Vol. II., Part L, 10s. net. 
 Vol II., Part II. 105. net. 
 
 Indian Currency. 8vo., 2s.6d. net. 
 
 Mill. — Political Economy. By 
 John Stuart Mill. Popular Edition. Cr. 
 8vo.,3$.6rf. Library Edition. 2 vols. 8vo.,30S. 
 
 Mulhall. — Industries and Wealth 
 of Nations. By Michael G. Mulhall, 
 F.S.S. With 32 Diagrams. Cr. 8vo., 8s. 6d. 
 
 Spahr. — America's WorkingPeople. 
 
 By Charles B. Spahr. Crown 8vo., 55. net. 
 
 Symes. — Political Economy : a 
 Short Text-book of Political Economy. 
 With Problems for Solution, Hints for 
 Supplementary Reading, and a Supple- 
 mentary Chapter on Socialism. By J. E. 
 Symes, M.A. Crown 8vo., is. 6d. 
 
 Toynbee. — Lectures on the In- 
 dustrial Revolution of the 18th Cen- 
 tury in England. By Arnold Toynbee. 
 8vo., 10s. 6d. 
 
 Webb (Sidney and Beatrice). 
 
 The History of Trade Unionism. 
 With Map and Bibliography. 8vo., 18s. 
 
 Industrial Democracy : a Study 
 in Trade Unionism. 2 vols. 8vo., 255. net. 
 
 Problems of Modern Industry : 
 Essays. 8vo., 75. 6d. 
 
18 MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 Clodd (Edward). 
 
 Evolution, Anthropology, &c. 
 
 Romanes (George John). 
 
 Ess a vs. Edited by C. LloyD' 
 Morgan. Crown 8vo., 55. net. 
 
 The Story of Creation: a Plain 
 Account of Evolution. With 77 Illustra- 
 tions. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 A Primer of Evolution : being a 
 Popular Abridged Edition of ' The Story 
 of Creation '. With Illustrations. Fcp. 
 8vo., 15. 6d. 
 
 Lubbock. — The Origin of Civilisa- 
 tion, and the Primitive Condition of Man. 
 By Sir J. Lubbock, Bart., M.P. (Lord 
 Avebury). With 5 Plates and 20 Illustra- 
 tions. 8vo., 185. 
 
 Darwin, and after Darwin: an 
 Exposition of the Darwinian Theory, and a 
 Discussion on Post-Darwinian Questions. 
 Part I. The Darwinian Theory. With 
 
 Portrait of Darwin and 125 Illustrations. 
 
 Crown 8vo., 105. 6d. 
 Part II. Post-Darwinian Questions: 
 
 Heredity and Utility. With Portrait of 
 
 the Author and 5 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo., 
 
 105. 6d. 
 Part III. Post-Darwinian Questions : 
 
 Isolation and Physiological Selection. 
 
 Crown 8vo., 55. 
 
 An Examination of Weismann- 
 ism. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 The Science of 
 
 Balfour. — The Foundations of\ 
 Belief : being Notes Introductory to the 
 Study of Theology. By the Right Hon. j 
 Arthur James Balfour. Eighth and 
 Cheaper Edition, Revised, with a New 
 Introduction and Summary. Crown 8vo., 
 6s. net. 
 
 Baring-Gould. — The Origin and I 
 Development of Religious Belief. ! 
 By the Rev. S. Baring-Gould. 2 vols. 
 Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. each. 
 
 Campbell. — Religion in Greek Li- 
 terature. By the Rev. Lewis Campbell, 
 M.A., LL.D., Emeritus Professor of Greek, 
 University of St. Andrews. 8vo., 15s. 
 
 Davidson. — Theism, as Grounded in 
 Human Nature, Historically and Critically 
 Handled. Being the Burnett Lectures 
 for 1892 and 1893, delivered at Aberdeen. 
 By W. L. Davidson, M.A., LL.D. 8vo., 15s. ' 
 
 Lang (Andrew). 
 
 Magic and Religion. 8vo. 105. 6d. 
 
 Custom and Myth: Studies of 
 Early Usage and Belief. With 15 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Myth, Ritual, and Religion. 2 
 vols. Crown 8vo., 7s. 
 
 Modern Mythology : a Reply to 
 Professor Max Miiller. 8vo., gs. 
 
 The Ma king of Rel igion. C r. 8 vo . , 
 5s. net. 
 
 Religion, &e. 
 
 Max Miiller (The Right Hon. F.). 
 
 Chips from a German Workshop. 
 Vol. IV. Essays on Mythology and Folk. 
 Lore. Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 The Sly Systems of Indian 
 Philosophy. 8vo., 18s. 
 
 Contributions to the Science of 
 Mythology. 2 vols. 8vo., 32s. 
 
 The Origin and Growth of Reli- 
 gion, as illustrated by the Religions of 
 India. The Hibbert Lectures, delivered 
 at the Chapter House, Westminster 
 Abbey, in 1878. Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Introduction to the Science of 
 Religion : Four Lectures delivered at the 
 Royal Institution. Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Natural Religion. The Gifford 
 Lectures, delivered before the University 
 of Glasgow in 1888. Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Physical Religion. The Gifford 
 Lectures, delivered before the University 
 of Glasgow in 1890. Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Anthropological Religion. The 
 Gifford Lectures, delivered before the Uni- 
 versity of Glasgow in 1891. Cr. 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Theosophy, or Psychological Re- 
 ligion. The Gifford Lectures, delivered 
 before the University of Glasgow in 1892. 
 Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Three Lectures on the Vedanta 
 Philosophy, delivered at the Royal 
 Institution in March, 1894. Cr. Svo., 5s. 
 
 Last Essays. Second Series — 
 Essays on the Science of Religion. 
 Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 19 
 
 Classical Literature, Translations, &c. 
 
 Lucan. — The Pharsalia of Luc an. 
 
 Translated into Blank Verse. By Sir 
 145. 
 
 Abbott.— Hellenic a. A Collection 
 of Essays on Greek Poetry, Philosophy, 
 History, and Religion. Edited by Evelyn 
 Abbott, M.A., LL.D. Crown 8vo., 75. 6d. 
 
 ^Eschylus. — Eumenides of sEschy- 
 
 LUS. With Metrical English Translation. 
 By J. F. Davies. 8vo., 75. 
 
 Aristophanes. — The Acharnians 
 
 of Aristophanes, translated into English 
 Verse. By R. Y. Tyrrell. Crown 8vo., 15. 
 
 Becker (W. A.), Translated by the 
 Rev. F. Metcalfe, B.D. 
 
 Gallus : or, Roman Scenes in the 
 Time of Augustus. With Notes and Ex- 
 cursuses. With 26 Illustrations. Crown 
 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Charicles : or, Illustrations of the 
 Private Life of the Ancient Greeks. 
 With Notes and Excursuses. With 26 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Campbell. — Religion in Greer' Li- 
 terature. By the Rev. Lewis Campbell, 
 M.A., LL.D., Emeritus Professor of Greek, 
 University of St. Andrews. 8vo., 15s. 
 
 Cicero. — Cicero's Correspondence. 
 By R. Y. Tyrrell. Vols. I., II., III., 8vo., 
 each 12s. Vol. IV., 155. Vol. V., 145. 
 Vol. VI., 125. Vol. VII. Index, 7 s. 6d. 
 
 Harvard Studies in Classical 
 
 Philology. Edited by a Committee of the 
 Classical Instructors of Harvard University. 
 Vols. XL and XII. 1900 and 1901. 8vo., 
 6s. 6d. net each. 
 
 Hi me. — Zucian, the Syrian Sa- 
 tirist. By Lieut. -Col. Henry W. L. Hime, 
 (late) Royal Artillerv. Svo., 55. net. 
 
 Homer. 
 
 The Iliad of Homer. Freely 
 rendered into English Prose for the use of 
 those who cannot read the original. By 
 Samuel Butler. Crown Svo., 75. 6d. 
 
 The Odyssey. Rendered into Eng- 
 lish Prose for the use of those who cannot 
 read the original. By Samuel Butler. 
 
 Edward Ridley. 8vo. 
 
 With 4 Maps and 7 
 75. 6d. 
 
 The Odyssey of 
 ; nto English Verse. 
 ris. Crown 8vo., 65. 
 
 Illustrations. 8vo., 
 
 Homer. Done 
 By William Mor- 
 
 Horace.— The Works of Horace, 
 
 RENDERED INTO ENGLISH PROSE. With 
 
 Life, Introduction and Notes. By William 
 Coutts, M.A. Crown 8vo., 5s. net. 
 
 Mackail. — Select Epigrams from 
 the Greek Anthology. By J. W. Mac- 
 kail. Edited with a Revised Text, Intro- 
 duction, Translation, and Notes. 8vo., 165. 
 
 Ogilvie. — Horae Latinae : Studies 
 
 in Synonyms and Syntax. By the late 
 Robert Ogilvie, M. A., LL.D., H.M. Chiei 
 Inspector of Schools for Scotland. Edited 
 by Alexander Souter, M.A. With a 
 Memoir by Joseph Ogilvie, M.A., LL.D. 
 Svo., 1 2s. 6d. net. 
 
 Rich. — A Dictionary of Roman and 
 Greek Antiquities. By A. Rich, B.A. 
 With 2000 Woodcuts. Crown 8vo., 65. net. 
 
 Sophocles. — Translated into English 
 Verse. By Robert Whitelaw, M.A., 
 Assistant Master in Rugby School. Cr. 8vo., 
 8s. 6d. 
 
 Tyrrell. — Dublin Translations 
 into Greek and Latin Verse. Edited 
 by R. Y. Tyrrell. 8vo., 65. 
 
 Virgil. 
 
 The Poems of Virgil. Translated 
 into English Prose by John Conington. 
 Crown 8vo., 65. 
 
 The sEneid of Virgil. Translated 
 into English Verse by John Conington. 
 Crown 8vo., 65. 
 
 The yENEiDS of Virgil. Done into 
 English Verse. By William Morris. 
 Crown 8vo., 65. 
 
 The /Eneid of Virgil, freely trans- 
 lated into English Blank Verse. By 
 W. J. Thornhill. Crown 8vo., 6s. net. 
 
 The /Eneid of Virgil. Translated 
 into English Verse by James Rhoades. 
 Books I. -VI. Crown 8vo., 55. 
 Books VII. -XII. Crown 8vo., 55. 
 
 The Eclogues and Georgics of 
 Virgil. Translated into English Prose 
 by J. W. Mackail, Fellow of Balliol 
 College, Oxford. i6mo., 5s. 
 
 Wilkins. — The Growth of the 
 Homeric Poems. By G. Wilkins. 8vo.,6s„ 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 Poetry and the Drama. 
 
 Arnold. — The Light of the World: 
 or, The Great Consummation. By Sir 
 Edwin Arnold. With 14 Illustrations 
 after Holm an Hunt. Crown 8vo., 5s. net. 
 
 Bell (Mrs. Hugh). 
 
 Chamber Comedies : a Collection 
 of Plays and Monologues for the Drawing 
 Room. Crown 8vo., 55. net. 
 
 Fairy Tale Plays, and How to 
 Act Them. With 91 Diagrams and 52 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 35. net. 
 
 Rumpelstjltzkin : a Fairy Play in 
 Five Scenes (Characters, 7 Male; 1 Fe- 
 male). From 'Fairy Tale Plays and 
 How to Act Them '. With Illustrations, 
 Diagrams and Music. Cr. 8vo., sewed, 6d. 
 
 Bird. — Ronalds Farewell, and 
 other Verses. By George Bird, M.A., 
 Vicar of Bradwell, Derbyshire. Fcp. 8vo., 
 45. 6d. net. 
 
 Goethe. — The First Fart of the 
 Tragedy of Faust in English. By 
 Thos. E. Webb, LL.D.. sometime Fellow 
 of Trinity College ; Professor of Moral 
 Philosophy in the University of Dublin, 
 etc. New and Cheaper Edition, with The 
 Death of Faust, from the Second Part. 
 Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Ingelow (Jean). 
 
 Poetical Works. Complete in 
 One Volume. Crown 8vo., 65. net. 
 
 Lyrical and other Poems. Selec- 
 ted from the Writings of Jean Ingelow. 
 Fcp. 8vo., 25. 6d. cloth plain, 3s. cloth gilt. 
 
 Lang (Andrew). 
 
 Grass of Parnassus. Fcp : Svo., 
 25. 6d. net. 
 
 The Blue Poetry Book. Edited 
 by Andrew Lang. W 7 ith 100 Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo., 65. 
 
 Lecky. — Poems. By the Right Hon. 
 W. E. H. Lecky. Fcp. 8vo., 55. 
 
 Lytton (The Earl of), (Owen 
 Meredith). 
 
 The Wanderer. Cr. 8vo., 105. 6d. 
 Lucile. Crown 8vo., 105. 6d. 
 Selected Poems. Cr. 8vo., 105. 6d. 
 
 Macaulay. — La ys of Ancient Pome,, 
 with ' Ivry' amd ' The Armada '. By 
 Lord Macaulay. 
 
 Illustrated by G. Scharf. Fcp. 4to., 105. 6d. 
 Bijou Edition. 
 
 i8mo., 25. 6d. gilt top. 
 Popular Edition. 
 
 Fcp. 4to., 6d. sewed, 15. cloth. 
 Illustrated by J. R. Weguelin. Crown 
 
 8vo., 35. net. 
 Annotated Edition. Fcp. 8vo., 15. sewed, 
 
 15. 6d. cloth. 
 
 Mac Donald. — A Book of Strife, in 
 the form of the Diary of an Oll> 
 Soul : Poems. By George MacDonald, 
 LL.D. i8mo., 6s. 
 
 Moon. — Poems of Love and Home. 
 By George Washington Moon, Hon. 
 F.R.S.L. With Portrait. i6mo., 25. 6d. 
 
 Morris (William). 
 
 POETICAL WORKS -Library Edition. 
 Complete in 11 volumes. Crown 8vo., 
 price 55. net each. 
 
 The Earthly Paradise. 4 vols. 
 
 Crown 8vo., 55. net each. 
 The Life and Death of Jason. 
 
 Crown 8vo., 55. net. 
 
 The Defence of Guenevere, and 
 other Poems. Crown 8vo., 55. net. 
 
 The Story of Sigurd the Volsung,. 
 and The Fall of the Niblungs. Cr. 
 8vo., 5s. net. 
 
 Poems by the Way, and Love is 
 Enough. Crown 8vo., 55. net. 
 
 The Odyssey of Homer. Done 
 into English Verse. Crown 8vo., 55. net. 
 
 The sFne/ds of Virgil. Done 
 
 into English Verse. Crown 8vo., 55. net. 
 The Tale of Beowulf, sometime 
 
 King of the Folk of the Wedergea ts. 
 
 Translated by William Morris and A. 
 
 J. Wyatt. Crown 8vo., 55. net. 
 Certain of the Poetical Works may also be 
 
 had in the following Editions : — 
 
 The Earthly Paradise. 
 
 Popular Edition. 5 vols. i2mo., 255. \ 
 
 or 55. each, sold separately. 
 The same in Ten Parts, 255.; or 25. 6d. 
 
 each, sold separately. 
 Cheap Edition, in 1 vol. Crown 8vo., 
 
 65. net. 
 
 Poems by the Way. Square crown 
 
 8vo., 65. 
 %* For Mr. William Morris's other 
 Works, see pp. 23, 30 and 32. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 21 
 
 Poetry and the Drama — continued. 
 
 Morte Arthur: an Alliterative Poem Shakespeare. 
 
 of the Fourteenth Century. Edited from 
 the Thornton MS., with Introduction, 
 Notes and Glossary. By Mary Macleod 
 Banks. Fcp. Svo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Nesbit. — La ys and Legends. By E. 
 Nesbit (Mrs. Hubert Bland). First 
 Series. Crown Svo. , 3s. 6d. Second Series. 
 With Portrait. Crown 8vo , 5s. 
 
 Riley. — Old Fashioned Roses : 
 Poems. By James Whitcomb Riley. 
 i2mo., 5s. 
 
 Romanes. — A Selection from the 
 Poems of George John Romanes, J/. A., 
 LL.D., F.R.S. With an Introduction by 
 T. Herbert Warren, President of Mag- 
 dalen College, Oxford. Crown 8vo., 45. 6d. 
 
 Boivdler's Family Shakespeare. 
 
 With 36 Woodcuts. 1 vol. 8vo., 145. 
 
 Or in 6 vols. Fcp. 8vo., 215. 
 The Sha kespea re Bir thda y Book. 
 
 By Mary F. Dunbar. 321110., 15. 6d. 
 
 Savage-Armstrong. —Balla ns of 
 
 Down. By G. F. Savage-Armstrong, 
 M.A., D.Litt. Crown 8vo., 75. 6d. 
 
 Stevenson. — A Child's Garden of 
 Verses. By Robert Louis. Stevenson. 
 Fcp. 8vo., 55. 
 
 Wagner. — The Nibelungen Ring. 
 
 Done into English Verse by Reginald 
 Rankin, B.A. of the Inner Temple, Barris- 
 ter- at -Law. 
 Vol. I. Rhine Gold, The Valkyrie. Fcp. 
 
 8vo., 45. 6d. 
 Vol. II. Siegfried, The Twilight of the 
 
 Gods. Fcp. 8vo., 45. 6d. 
 
 Fiction, Humour, &e. 
 
 Anstey (F.). 
 
 Voces Populi. (Reprinted from 
 'Punch'.) 
 First Series. With 20 Illustrations by J. 
 
 Bernard Partridge. Cr. 8vo., 3s. net. 
 Second Series. With 25 Illustrations by J. 
 
 Bernard Partridge. Cr. 8vo., 35. net. 
 
 The Man from Blankley's, and 
 other Sketches. (Reprinted from ' Punch '.) 
 With 25 Illustrations by J. Bernard 
 Partridge. Crown 8vo., 35. net. 
 
 Bailey. — My Lady of Orange : a 
 
 Romance of the Netherlands in the Days of 
 Alva. By H. C. Bailey. With 8 Illustra- 
 tions. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Beaconsfield (The Earl of). 
 Novels and Tales. Complete 
 in 11 vols. Crown Svo., is. 6d. each, or 
 in sets at 5s. net. 
 
 Vivian Grey. 
 The Young Duke, etc. 
 Alroy, Ixion, etc. 
 Contarini Fleming, 
 
 etc. 
 Tancred. 
 
 Sybil. 
 
 Henrietta Temple. 
 
 Venetia. 
 
 Coningsby. 
 
 Lothair. 
 
 Endymion. 
 
 Novels and Tales. The -Hugh- 
 ENDEN Edition. With 2 Portraits and 
 11 Vignettes. 11 Vols. Crown 8vo., 42s. 
 
 Churchill. — Savrola : a Tale of the 
 
 Revolution in Laurania. By Winston 
 Spencer Churchill, M.P. Cr. 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Crawford. — The Autobiography of 
 a Tramp, By J. H. Crawford. With a 
 Photogravure Frontispiece ' The Vagrants,' 
 by Fred. Walker, and 8 other Illustra- 
 tions. Crown 8vo., 5s. net. 
 
 Creed. — The Vicar of St. Luke's. 
 By Sibyl Creed. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Dougall. — Beggars All. By L. 
 Dougall. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Doyle (A. Conan). 
 
 Micah Clarke: A Tale of Mon- 
 mouth's Rebellion. With io Illustra- 
 tions. Cr. 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 The Refugees : A Tale of the 
 Huguenots. With 25 Illustrations. Cr. 
 8vo., 3s. bd. 
 
 The Stark Munro Letters. Cr. 
 8vo, 3s. 6d. 
 
 The Captain of the PoLESTAR y 
 and other Tales. Cr. 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Dyson. — The Gold-Stealers : a 
 
 Story of Waddy. By Edward Dyson. 
 Author of 'Rhymes from the Mines,' etc. 
 Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Farrar (F. W., Dean of Canter- 
 bury). 
 
 Darkness and Dawn: or, Scenes 
 in the Days of Nero. An Historic Tale. 
 Cr. 8vo., 6s. net. 
 
 Gathering Clouds : a Tale of the 
 Days of St. Chrysostom. Cr. 8vo., 6s. net. 
 
22 MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 Fiction, Humour, ho.— continued. 
 
 Haggard (H. Rider) — continued. 
 
 Meesons 
 
 Fowler (Edith H.). 
 
 The Young Pretenders. A btory , 
 of Child Life. With 12 Illustrations by 
 Sir Philip Burne-Jones, Bart. Crown 
 8vo., 6s. 
 
 The Professor's Children. With 
 24 Illustrations by Ethel Kate Burgess. 
 Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Francis (M. E.). 
 
 Fianders Widow. Cr. Svo., 6s. 
 Yeoman Fleetwood. Cr. 8vo., 6s. 
 Pastorals of Dorset. With 8- 
 
 Illustrations. Crown Svo., 6s. 
 
 Froude.— The Two Chiefs of Dun- 
 boy: an Irish Romance of the Last Century. 
 By James A. Froude. Cr. 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Gur don.— Memories and Fancies: 
 
 Suffolk Tales and other Stories: Fairy 
 Legends; Poems; Miscellaneous Articles. 
 By the late Lady Camilla Gurdon. Cr. 
 8vo., =,s. 
 
 16 
 
 Haggard (H. Rider). 
 
 Allan Quatermain. With 31 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Allan's Wife. With 34 Illustra- 
 tions. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Beatrice. With Frontispiece and 
 Vignette. Cr. 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Black Heart and White Heart, 
 and other Stories. With 33 Illustra- 
 tions. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Cleopatra. With 29 Illustrations. 
 
 Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Colonel Quaritch, V.C. With 
 Frontispiece and Vignette. Cr. 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Dawn. With 16 Illustrations. Cr. 
 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Dr. Therne. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Eric Brighteyes. With 51 Illus- 
 trations. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Heart of the World. With 15 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Joan Haste. With 20 Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Maiwa's Revenge. Cr. 8vo., is. 6d. 
 Lysbeth. With 26 Illustrations. 
 
 Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Montezuma's Daughter. With 24 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Mr. Meesons Will. With 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Nada the Lily. With 23 Illustra- 
 tions. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 She. With 32 Illustrations. Crown 
 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Swallow : a Tale of the Great Trek. 
 With 8 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 The People of the Mist. With 
 16 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 The Witch's Head. With 16 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Haggard and Lang.— The World's 
 
 Desire By H. Rider Haggard and 
 Andrkw Lang. With 27 Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 H ar te.— In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 By Bret Harte. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 pj ope> _7>/^ Heart of Princess 
 Osra. By Anthony Hope. With 9 Illus- 
 trations. Crown 8vo., 3s, 
 
 (,d. 
 
 Howard (Lady Mabel). 
 
 The Undoing of John Brewster. 
 
 Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 The Failure of Success. 
 
 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Crown 
 
 Jerome.— Sketches in Lavender: 
 Blue and Green. By Jerome K. Jerome, 
 Author of 'Three Men in a Boat, etc. 
 Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 j ovce —Old Celtic Romances. 
 
 Twelve of the most beautiful of the Ancient 
 Irish Romantic Tales. Translated from the 
 Gaelic. By P. W. Joyce, LL.D. Crown 
 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Lang —A Monk of Fife ; a Story 
 of the Days of Joan of Arc. By Andrew 
 Lang. With 13 Illustrations by Selwyn 
 Image. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Levett- Yeats (S.). 
 
 The Chevalier D'Auriac. Crown 
 
 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 The Traitor's Way. Cr. 8vo., 65. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 il 
 
 Fiction, Humour, &e. — continued. 
 
 Lyall (Edna). 
 The Autobiography of a Slander. 
 Fcp. 8vo., is., sewed. 
 Presentation Edition. With 20 Illustra- 
 tions by Lancelot Speed. Crown 
 8vo., 25. 6d. net. 
 
 The Autobiography of a Truth. 
 Fcp. 8vo., 15., sewed; 15. 6d., cloth. 
 
 Doreen. The Story of a Singer. 
 
 Crown 8vo., 65. 
 Wa yfa r ing Men. Crown 8 vo . , 45s . 
 
 Hope the Hermit : a Romance of 
 Borrowdale. Crown 8vo., 65. 
 
 Marcbmont. — In the Name of a 
 
 Woman: a Romance. By Arthur W. 
 Marchmont. With 8 Illustrations. Crown 
 8vo., 65. 
 
 Mason and Lang.— Parson Kelly. 
 
 By A. E. W. Mason and Andrew Lang. 
 Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Max Muller. — Deutsche Liebe 
 {German Love) : Fragments from the 
 Papers of an Alien. Collected by F. Max 
 Muller. Translated from the German by 
 G. A. M. Crown 8vo. , 55. 
 
 Melville (G. J. Whyte). 
 
 The Gladiators. 
 The Interpreter. 
 Good for Nothing. 
 The Queen's Maries 
 Crown 8vo. , 
 
 Holmby House. 
 Kate Coventry. 
 Digby Grand. 
 General Bounce. 
 15. 6d. each. 
 
 Morris (William) — continued. 
 
 The Roots of the Mountains,. 
 wherein is told somewhat of the Lives of" 
 the Men of Burgdale, their Friends, their 
 Neighbours, their Foemen, and their 
 Fellows-in-Arms. Written in Prose and 
 Verse. Sqjuare crown 8vo., 85. 
 
 A Tale of the House of the 
 Wolfings, and all the Kindreds of the 
 Mark. Written in Prose and Verse. 
 Square crown 8vo., 65. 
 
 A Dream of Joi.n Ball, and a 
 King's Lesson. i2mo., is. 6d. 
 
 News from Nowhere ; or, An 
 Epoch of Rest. Being some Chapters 
 from an Utopian Romance. Post 8vo., 
 15. 6d. 
 
 The Story of Grettir the Strong.. 
 
 Translated from the Icelandic by Eirikr 
 Magnusson and William Morris. Cr. 
 8vo., 5s. net. 
 
 Three Northern Love Stories,, 
 and Other Tales. Translated from the 
 Icelandic by Eirikr Magnusson and 
 William Morris. Crown 8vo., 65. net.. 
 
 %* For Mr. William Morris's other 
 Works, see pp. 20, 30 and 32. 
 
 Newman (Cardinal). 
 Loss and Gain: The Story of a 
 Convert. Crown 8vo. Cabinet Edition, 
 6s. j Popular Edition, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Callista : A Tale of the Third 
 Century. Crown 8vo. Cabinet Edition, 
 65. ; Popular Edition, 35. 6d. 
 
 Merriman. — Flotsam.- A Story of Phillipps-Wolley. — Snap: a Legend 
 
 the Indian Mutiny. By Henry Seton of the Lone Mountain. By C. Phillipps- 
 
 Merriman. With Frontispiece and Vig- Wolley. With 13 Illustrations. Crown 
 
 nette by H. G. Masse y. Cr. 8vo., 35. 6d. 8vo. , 35. 6d. 
 
 Morris (William). 
 The Sundering Flood. Cr. 8vo., 
 
 75. 6d. 
 
 The Water of the Wondrous 
 Isles. Crown 8vo., 75. 6d. 
 
 The Well a t the World's End. 
 2 vols. 8vo., 285. 
 
 The Wood Beyond the World. 
 
 Crown 8vo, 65. net. 
 
 The Story of the Glittering 
 Plain, which has been also called The 
 Land of the Living Men, or The Acre of 
 the Undying. Square post 8vo., 55. net. 
 
 Raymond. — Two Men o' Mendip.. 
 
 By Walter Raymond. Crown 8vo., 65. 
 
 Ridley. — -Anne Ma in war inc. By 
 Alice Ridley, Author of ' The Story of 
 Aline'. Crown 8vo., 65. 
 
 Sewell (Elizabeth M.). 
 A Glimpse of the World, Amy Herbert 
 Laneton Parsonage. Cleve Hall. 
 
 Margaret Percival. Gertrude. 
 
 Katharine Ashton. Home Life. 
 
 The Earl's Daughter. After Life. 
 
 The Experience of Life Ursula. Ivors, 
 Cr. 8vo., 15. 6d. each cloth plain. 25. 6d.. 
 each cloth extra, gilt edges. 
 
24 
 
 MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 Fiction, Humour, 
 (E. CE.) and Ross 
 
 &C. — continued. 
 
 Somerville 
 
 (Martin). 
 
 Some Experiences of an Irish 
 
 R.M. With 31 Illustrations by E. CE. 
 Somerville. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 The Real Charlotte. 
 
 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 The Silver Fox. Cr. 8vo. 
 
 Crown 
 
 Stevenson (Robert Louis). 
 
 The Strange Case ofDr.Jekyll 
 and MR. Hyde. Fcp. 8vo., is. sewed, 
 is. 6d. cloth. 
 
 The Strange Case of Dr. 
 Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; with other 
 Fables. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 More New Arabian Nights — The 
 Dynamiter. By Robert Louis Steven- 
 son and Fanny van de Grift Steven- 
 son. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 The Wrong Bon. By Robert 
 Louis Stevenson and Lloyd Osbourne. 
 Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Suttner.— Lay Down Your Arms 
 
 (Die Waff en Nieder) : The Autobiography 
 of Martha von Tilling. By Bertha von 
 Suttner. Translated by T. Holmes. 
 Cr. 8vo., is. 6d. 
 Swan.— Ballast. By Myra Swan. 
 
 Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Trollope (Anthony). 
 
 The Warden. Cr. 8vo., 15. bd. 
 Barchester Towers. Cr.8vo.,is.6d. 
 
 Walford (L. B.). 
 
 One of Ourselves. Cr. 8vo., 05. 
 
 The Intruders. Crown 8vo., is. bd. 
 
 Leddy Marget. Crown 8vo. , is. bd. 
 
 Iva Kildare: a Matrimonial Pro- 
 blem. Crown 8vo., 2s. 6 d. 
 
 Mr. Smith: a Part of his Life. 
 Crown 8vo., 2s. 6d. 
 
 Walford (L. B.)— continued. 
 
 The Baby's Grandmother. 
 
 8vo., 2s. 6d. 
 Cousins. Crown 8vo., 2s. 6d. 
 Tr o ublesome Da ugh ters. 
 
 8vo., 25. 6d. 
 Pauline. Crown 8vo., 25. 6d. 
 Dick Netherby. Cr. 8vo., is 
 The History of a Week. 
 
 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 A Stiff-necked Genera tion. 
 
 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 Nan, and other Stories. Cr. svo., 
 
 25. 6d. 
 
 The Mischief of Monica. Cr. 
 
 8vo., 25. 6d. 
 The One Good Guest. Cr. 8vo. 
 
 25. 6d. 
 1 Ploughed,' and 
 
 Crown 8vo., 2s. 6rf. 
 The Ma tch maker. 
 
 Cr. 
 
 Cr. 
 
 6d. 
 Cr. 
 
 Cr. 
 
 other Stories. 
 Cr. 8vo., is. 6d. 
 
 Ward.— One Poor Scruple. By 
 
 Mrs. Wilfrid Ward. Crown Svo., 6s. 
 
 West — Edmund Fulleston : or, 
 The Family Evil Genius. By B. B. West, 
 Author of ' Half Hours with the Million- 
 aires,' etc. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Weyman (Stanley). 
 
 The House of the Wolf. With 
 
 Frontispiece and Vignette. Crown 8vo., 
 3s. 6d. r . 
 
 A Gentleman of France. With 
 Frontispiece and Vignette. Cr. 8vo., 6s. 
 
 The Red Cockade. With Frontis- 
 piece and Vignette. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Shrewsbury. With 24 Illustra- 
 tions by Claude A. Shepperson. Cr. 
 8vo., 6s. . 
 
 Sophia. With Frontispiece. Crown 
 
 8vo.. 6s, 
 
 Popular Science (Natural History, &c). 
 
 Furneaux (W .)— continued. 
 
 Butler. — Our Household Insects. 
 An Account of the Insect-Pests found in 
 Dwelling-Houses. By Edward A. Butler, 
 B.A., B.Sc. (Lond.). With 113 Illustra- 
 tions. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 Furneaux (W.). 
 The Outdoor World; or lhe 
 
 Young Collector's Handbook. With 18 
 Plates (16 of which are coloured), and 549 
 Illustrations in the Text. Crown 8vo., 
 gilt edges, 6s. net. 
 
 Butterflies and Moths (British). 
 With 12 coloured Plates and 241 Illus- 
 trations in the Text. Crown 8vo., gilt 
 edges, 6s. net. 
 
 Fife in Ponds and Streams. 
 With 8 coloured Plates and 331 Illustra- 
 tions in the Text. Crown 8vo., gilt 
 edges, 6s. net. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS 
 
 Popular Science (Natural History, &c.) — continued. 
 Hartwig (George). 
 The Sea and its Living Wonders. 
 
 With 12 Plates and 303 Woodcuts. Svo., 
 
 gilt edges, js. net. 
 The Tropical World. With 8 
 
 Plates and 172 Woodcuts. 8vo., gilt 
 
 edges, js. net. 
 The Polar World. With 3 Maps, 
 
 8 Plates and 85 Woodcuts. 8vo., gilt 
 
 edges, js. net. 
 The Subterranean World. With 
 
 3 Maps and 80 Woodcuts. 8vo., gilt 
 
 edges, js. net. 
 
 Helmholtz. — Popular Lectures on 
 Scientific Subjects. By Hermann von 
 Helmholtz. With 68 Woodcuts 
 Cr. 8vo., 35. 6d. each. 
 
 Hudson (W. H.). 
 
 Birds and Man. Large crown 
 8vo., 65. net. 
 
 Nature in Downland. With 12 
 
 Plates and 14 Illustrations in the Text by 
 
 A. D. McCormick. 8vo., 10s. 6d. net. 
 British Birds. With a Chapter 
 
 on Structure and Classification by Frank 
 
 E. Beddard, F.R.S. With 16 Plates (8 
 
 of which are Coloured), and over 100 Illus- 
 trations in the Text. Crown 8vo., gilt 
 
 edges, 65. net. 
 Birds in London. With 17 Plates 
 
 and 15 Illustrations in the Text, by Bryan 
 
 Hook, A. D. McCormick, and from 
 
 Photographs from Nature, by R. B. 
 
 Lodge. 8vo., 12s. 
 
 Proctor (Richard A.). 
 Light Science for Leisure Hours 
 Familiar Essays on Scientific Subjects. 
 Vol. I. Crown 8vo., 35. bd. 
 
 25. 
 
 Proctor (Richard A.) — continued. 
 Bo ugh Wa ys ma de Smoo th. Fam i - 
 
 liar Essays on Scientific Subjects. Crown 
 
 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 Pleasant Wa vs in Science. Crown 
 
 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Nature Studies. By R. A. Proc- 
 tor, Grant Allen, A. Wilson, T. 
 Foster and E. Clodd. Cr. 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Leisure Pea dings. By R. A. Proc- 
 tor, E. Clodd, A. Wilson, T. Foster 
 and A. C. Ranyard. Cr. Svo. , 3s. 6d. 
 
 * # * For Mr. Proctor's other books see pp. 14 
 and 28, and Messrs. Longmans & Co.'s 
 Catalogue of Scientific Works. 
 
 2 vols! Stanley. —A Familiar History of 
 Birds. By E. Stanley, D.D., formerly 
 Bishop of Norwich. With 160 Illustrations. 
 Cr. 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Wood (Rev. J. G.). 
 Homes without Hands: A Descrip- 
 tion of the Habitations of Animals, classed 
 according to the Principle of Construc- 
 tion. With 140 Illustrations. 8vo., gilt 
 edges, js. net. 
 
 Insects at Home : A Popular Ac- 
 count of British Insects, their Structure, 
 Habits and Transformations. With 700 
 Illustrations. 8vo. , gilt edges, 75. net. 
 
 Out of Doors; a Selection of 
 Original Articles on Practical Natural 
 History. With n Illustrations. Cr. 8vo., 
 gilt edges, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Strange Dwellings : a Description 
 of the Habitations of Animals, abridged 
 from ' Homes without Hands'. With 60 
 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo., gilt edges, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Petland Revisited. With 33 
 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo., gilt edges, 35. 6d. 
 
 Works of Reference. 
 
 Gwilt. — An Encyclopaedia of Ar- Maunder (Samuel) 
 
 chitecture. By Joseph Gwilt, F.S.A. 
 With 1700 Engravings. Revised (1888), 
 with Alterations and Considerable Addi- 
 tions by Wyatt Papworth. 8vo., 21s. net. 
 
 Maunder (Samuel). 
 Biographical Treasury. With 
 Supplement brought down to i88g. By 
 Rev. James Wood. Fcp. 8vo., 65. 
 Treasury of Geography, Physical, 
 
 Historical, Descriptive, and Political. 
 With 7 Maps and 16 Plates. Fcp. 8vo., 65. 
 
 The Treasury of Bible Know- 
 ledge. By the Rev. J. Ayre, M.A. With 
 5 Maps, 15 Plates, and 300 Woodcuts. 
 Fcp. 8vo., 65. 
 
 Treasury of Knowledge and Lib- 
 rary of Reference. Fcp. 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Historical Treasury. Fcp.8vo. 65 
 
 continued. 
 The Treasury of Botaay. Edited 
 by J. Lindley, F.R.S. , and T. Moore, 
 F.L.S. With 274 Woodcuts and 20 Steel 
 Plates. 2 vols. Fcp. 8vo., 125. 
 
 Roget. — Thesa ur us of English 
 Words and Phrases. Classified and Ar- 
 ranged so as to Facilitate the Expression of 
 Ideas and assist in Literary Composition. 
 By Peter Mark Roget, M.D., F.R.S. 
 Recomposed throughout, enlarged and im- 
 proved, partly from the Author's Notes, and 
 with a full Index, by the Author's Son, 
 John Lewis Roget. Crown 8vo., gs. net. 
 
 Willich.-- Popular Tables for giving 
 information for ascertaining the value of 
 Lifehold, Leasehold, and Church Property, 
 the Public Funds, etc. By Charles M. 
 Willich. Edited by H. Bence Jones. 
 Crown 8vo., 10s. 6d. 
 
26 
 
 MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 Children's Books. 
 
 With no 
 Cr. 8vo., 65. 
 
 Adelborg. — Cl ea n Pe tee a nd the 
 
 Children of Grubby lea. By Ottilia 
 Adelborg. Translated from the Swedish 
 by Mrs. Graham Wallas. With 23 
 Coloured Plates. Oblong 4to., boards, j 
 35. 6d. net. 
 
 Brown. — The Book of Saints and 
 Friendly Beasts. By Abbie Farwell 
 Brown. With 8 Illustrations by Fanny V. 
 Cory. Crown 8yo., 4s. 6c/. net. 
 
 Buckland.— TwoLittleRunaways. 
 
 Adapted from the French of Louis Des- 
 noyers. By James Buckland 
 Illustrations by Cecil Aldin 
 
 Corbin and Going.— Urch 
 
 the Sea. By Marik Overton Corbin 
 and Charles Buxton Going. With Draw- 
 ings bY F. I. Bennett. Oblong 4to., 3s. 6<Y. 
 
 Crake (Rev. A. D.). 
 Edwy the Fair; or, The First 
 
 Chronicle of ^scendune. Cr. 8vo. , 2s. net. 
 Alegar the Dane; or, The Second 
 
 Chronicle of jEscendune. Cr. 8vo. 25. net. 
 The Rival Heirs : being the Third 
 
 and Last Chronicle of ^Escendune. Cr. 
 
 8vo., 2s. net. 
 
 The House of Walderne. A Tale 
 of the Cloister and the Forest in the Days 
 of the Barons' Wars. Crown 8vo., 2s. net. 
 
 Brian Fitz- Count. A Story of 
 Wallingford Castle and Dorchester 
 Abbey. Cr. 8vo., 2s. net. 
 
 Henty (G. A.).— Edited by. 
 
 Yule Logs : A Story-Book for Boys. 
 By Various Authors. With 61 Illus- 
 trations. Crown 8yo., gilt edges, 3s. net. 
 
 Yule Tide Yarns: a Story-Book 
 for Boys. By Various Authors. With 
 45 Illustrations. Cr. 8yo., gilt edges, 35. 
 net. 
 
 Lang (Andrew). — Edited by. 
 
 The Violet Fairy Book. With 8 
 
 Coloured Plates and 54 other Illustrations. 
 
 Crown 8vo., gilt edges, 65. 
 The Bl ue Fa ir y Book. With 1 3 8 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., gilt edges, 65. 
 The Red Fairy Book. With 100 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., gilt edges, 6s. 
 The Green Fa ir y Book. With 99 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., gilt edges, 65. 
 The Grey Fairy Book. With 65 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., gilt edges, 65. 
 
 Lang (Andrew) — Edited by— cont. 
 The Yellow Fairy Book. With 
 104 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo., gilt edges, 6s. 
 
 The Pink Fairy Book. With 67 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., gilt edges, 6s. 
 The Bl ue Poetr y Book. With 1 00 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., gilt edges, 6s. 
 The True Story Book. With 66 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., gilt edges, 6s. 
 The Red Tr ue Stor y Book. With 
 
 100 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo., gilt edges, 6s. 
 The Animal Story Book. With 
 
 67 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo., gilt edges, 6s. 
 The Red Book of Animal Stories. 
 
 With 65 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., gilt 
 edges, 6s. 
 
 The Arabian Nights Entertain- 
 ments. With 66 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo., 
 gilt edges, 6s. 
 
 Meade (L. T.). 
 Daddy's Boy. With 8 Illustrations. 
 
 Crown 8vo., 3s. net. 
 
 Deb and the Duchess. With 7 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 3s. net. 
 The Beresford Prize. With 7 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 3s. net. 
 The House of Surprises. With 6 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 3s. net. 
 
 Murray. — Flower Legends for 
 Children. By Hilda Murray (the Hon. 
 Mrs. Murray of Elibank). Pictured by J. 
 S. Eland. With numerous Coloured and 
 other Illustrations. Oblong 4to., 6s. 
 
 Penrose. — Chubby : a Nuisance. 
 By Mrs. Penrose. With Illustrations. 
 
 Praeger (Rosamond). 
 
 The Adventures of the Three 
 Bold Babes: Hector, Honor i a and 
 Alisander. A Story in Pictures. With 
 24 Coloured Plates and 24 Outline Pic- 
 tures. Oblong 4to., 3s. 6ci. 
 The Further Doings of the Three 
 Bold Babies. With 24 Coloured Pictures 
 and 24 Outline Pictures. Oblong 4to., 35.6^7. 
 
 Stevenson.— A Child's Garden of 
 Verses. By Robert Louis Stevenson. 
 Fcp. 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Tappan. — Old Ballads in Prose. 
 Eva March Tappan. With 4 Illus- 
 
 By 
 
 trations by Fanny Y. 
 
 4s. 6d. net. 
 
 Cory. Crown 8yo., 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 27 
 
 Children's Books — continued. 
 
 Upton (Florence K. and Bertha). 
 
 The Adventures of Two Dutch 
 Dolls and a ' Golliwogg'. With 31 
 Coloured Plates and numerous Illustra- 
 tions in the Text. Oblong 4to., 65. 
 
 The Golliwogg' s Bicycle Club. 
 With 31 Coloured Plates and numerous 
 Illustrations in the Text. Oblong 4to., 6s. 
 
 The Golliwogg at the Seaside. 
 With 31 Coloured Plates and numerous 
 Illustrations in the Text. Oblong 4to. , 6s. 
 
 Upton (Florence K. and Bertha)- 
 
 — continued. 
 
 The Golliwogg in War. With 31 
 Coloured Plates. Oblong 4to., 6s. 
 
 The Golliwogg' s Polar Adven- 
 tures. With 31 Coloured Plates. Ob- 
 long 4to., 6s. 
 
 The Golliwogg 's Auto-go-cart.. 
 
 With 31 Coloured Plates and numerous. 
 Illustrations in the Text. Oblong 4to., 6s. 
 
 The Vege- Men's Revenge. With. 
 31 Coloured Plates and numerous Illus 
 trations in the Text. Oblong 410., 6s. 
 
 The Silver Library. 
 
 Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Arnold's (Sir Edwin) Seas and Lands. With 
 71 Illustrations. 35. 6d. 
 
 Bagehot's (W.) Biographical Studies. y. 6d. j 
 
 Bagehot's (W.) Economic Studies. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Bagehot's (W.) Literary Studies. With Portrait. 
 3 vols, 3s. 6d. each. 
 
 Baker's (Sir S. W.) Eight Years in Ceylon. 
 
 With 6 Illustrations. 35. 6d. 
 
 Baker's (Sir S. W.) Rifle and Hound in Ceylon. 
 
 With 6 Illustrations, y. 6d. 
 
 Baring-Gould's (Rev. S. 1 Curious Myths of the 
 Middle Ages. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Baring-Gould's (Rev. S.) Origin and Develop- 
 ment of Religious Belief. 2 vols. 3s. 6d. each. 
 
 Becker's (W. A.) Gallus : or, Roman Scenes in the 
 Time of Augustus. With 26 Illus. y. 6d. 
 
 Becker's (W. A.) Charicles: or, Illustrations of 
 the Private Life of the Ancient Greeks. 
 With 26 Illustrations. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Bent's (J. T.) The Ruined Cities of Mashona- 
 land. With 117 Illustrations. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Brassey's (Lady) A Voyage in the ' Sunbeam '. 
 
 With 66 Illustrations, y. 6d. 
 
 Churchill's (W. Spencer) The Story of the 
 Malakand Field Force, 1897. With 6 Maps 
 and Plans. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Clodd's (E.) Story of Creation: a Plain Account 
 of Evolution. With 77 Illustrations. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Conybeare (Rev. W. J.) and Howson's (Very 
 Rev. J. S.) Life and Epistles of St. Paul. 
 
 With 46 Illustrations, y. 6d. 
 
 Dougall's (L.) Beggars All : a Novel. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Doyle's (A. Conan) Micah Clarke. A Tale of 
 Monmoutn's Rebellion. With 10 Illusts. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Doyle's (A. Conan) The Captain of the Polestar, 
 
 and other Tales. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Doyle's (A. Conan) The Refugees: A Tale of 
 the Huguenots. With 25 Illustrations. y6d. 
 
 each Volume. 
 
 Doyle's (A. Conan) The Stark Munro Letters. 
 
 y. 6d. 
 
 Froude's (J. A.) The History of England, from 
 
 the Fall of Wolsey to the Defeat of the 
 Spanish Armada. 12 vols. 3s. 6d, each. 
 
 Froude's (J. A.) The English in Ireland. 3 vols. 
 1 os. 6d. 
 
 Froude's (J. A.) The Divorce of Catherine of 
 Aragon. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Froude's (J. A.) The Spanish Story of the 
 
 Armada, and other Essays. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Froude's (J. A. ) English Seamen in the Sixteenth 
 Century. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Froude's (J. A.) Short Studies on Great Sub- 
 jects. 4 vols. 3s. 6d. each. 
 
 Froude's (J. A.) Oceana, or England and Her 
 Colonies. With 9 Illustrations. 3.9. 6d. 
 
 Froude's (J. A.) The Council of Trent, y. 6d. 
 
 Froude's (J. A.) The Life and Letters of 
 Erasmus. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Froude's (J. A.) Thomas Carlyle : a History of 
 his Life. 
 1795-1835. 2 vols. 7s. 1834-1881. 2 vols. 7s. 
 
 Froude's (J. A.) Caesar : a Sketch. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Froude's (J. A.) The Two Chiefs of Dunboy : an 
 
 Irish Romance of the Last Century. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Froude's (J. A.) Writings, Selections from. 
 3 s. 6d. 
 
 Gleig's (Rev. G. R.) Life of the Duke of 
 Wellington. With Portrait. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Greville's (C. C. F.) Journal of the Reigns of 
 King George IY., King William IV., and 
 Queen Victoria. 8 vols. , 3s. 6d. each. 
 
 Haggard's (H. R.) She : A History of Adventure. 
 With 32 Illustrations. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Haggard's (H. R.) Allan Quatermain With 
 20 Illustrations 3s. 6d. 
 
2S MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 The Silver Library — continued. 
 
 Haggard's (H. R.) Colonel Quaritch, V.C. : a 
 Tale of Country Life. With Frontispiece 
 and Vignette. y. 6d. 
 
 Haggard's (H. R.) Cleopatra. With 29 Illustra- 
 tions, y. 6d. 
 
 Haggard's (H. R.) Eric Brlghteyes. With 51 
 Illustrations. y. 6d. 
 
 Haggard's (H. R.) Beatrice. With Frontispiece 
 and Vignette. y. 6d. 
 
 Haggard's (H. R.) Allan's Wife. With 34 Illus- 
 trations, y. 6d. 
 
 Haggard (H. R.) Heart of the World. With 
 15 Illustrations. y. 6d. 
 
 Haggard's (H. R.) Montezuma's Daughter. With 
 
 25 Illustrations. y. 6d. 
 Haggard's (H. R.) Swallow : a Tale of the Great 
 
 Trek. With 8 Illustrations. 3*. 6d. 
 Haggard's (H. R.) The Witch's Head. With 
 
 16 Illustrations, y. 6d. 
 Haggard's (H. R.) Mr. Meeson's Will. With 
 
 16 Illustrations, y. 6d. 
 Haggard's (H. R.) Nada the Lily. With 23 
 
 Illustrations. y.6d. 
 Haggard's (H. R.) Dawn. With i6Illusts. y. 6d. 
 
 Haggard's (H. R.) The People of the Mist. With 
 
 16 Illustrations. 3*. 6d. 
 
 Haggard's (H. R.) Joan Haste. With 20 Illus- 
 trations, y. 6d. 
 
 Haggard (H. R.) and Lang's (A.) The World's 
 Desire. With 27 Illustrations, y. 6d. 
 
 Harte's (Bret) In the Carquinez Woods and 
 other Stories. 3.?. 6d. 
 
 Helmholtz's (Hermann von) Popular Lectures 
 on Scientific Subjects. With 68 Illustrations. I 
 2 vols. y. 6d. each. 
 
 Hope's (Anthony) The Heart of Princess Osra. 
 
 With 9 Illustrations. 3^. 6d. 
 Howitt's (W.) Visits to Remarkable Places. 
 
 With 80 Illustrations. 3^. 6d. 
 Jefferies' (R.) The Story of My Heart : My 
 
 Autobiography. With Portrait. 3*. 6d. 
 Jefferies' (R.) Field and Hedgerow. With 
 
 Portrait, y. 6d. 
 Jefferies' (R.) Red Deer. With 17 Illusts. y. 6d. 
 Jefferies' (R.) Wood Magic: a Fable. With 
 
 Frontispiece and Vignette by E. V. B. y. 6d. 
 Jefferies (R.) The Toilers of the Field. With 
 
 Portrait from the Bust in Salisbury Cathedral. 
 
 y. 6d. 
 Kaye (Sir J.) and Malleson's (Colonel) History 
 of the Indian Mutiny of 1857-8. 6 vols. 
 y. 6d. each. 
 Knight's (E. F.) The Cruise of the 'Alerte': 
 
 the Narrative of a Search for Treasure on 
 
 the Desert Island of Trinidad. With 2 
 
 Maps and 23 Illustrations, y. 6d. 
 Knight's (E. F.) Where Three Empires Meet: a 
 
 Narrative of Recent Travel in Kashmir, 
 
 Western Tibet, Baltistan, Gilgit. With a Map 
 
 and 54 Illustrations, y. 6d. 
 
 Knight's IE. F.) The 'Falcon' on the Baltic: a 
 Coasting Voyage from Hammersmith to 
 Copenhagen in a Three-Ton Yacht. With 
 Map and 11 Illustrations, y. 6d. 
 
 Kbstlin's (J.) Life of Luther. With 62 Illustra- 
 tions and 4 Facsimiles of MSS. 3^. 6d. 
 
 Lang's (A.) Angling Sketches. With 20 Illustra- 
 tions. 3^. 6d. 
 
 Lang's (A.) Custom and Myth : Studies of Early 
 Usage and Belief. y. 6d. 
 
 Lang's (A.) Cock Lane and Common-Sense. y.6d. 
 
 Lang's (A.) The Book of Dreams and Ghosts, 
 
 y. 6.7. 
 
 Lang's (A.) A Monk of Fife : a Story of the 
 Days of Joan of Arc. With 13 Illustrations. 
 3.V. 6d. 
 
 Lang s(A.) Myth, Ritual, and Religion. 2 vols. js. 
 
 Lees (J. A.) and Clutterbuck's (W. J.) B. C. 
 1887, A Ramble in British Columbia. With 
 Maps and 75 Illustrations, y. 6d 
 
 Levett-Yeats' (S.) The Chevalier D'Auriac. 
 
 3s. 6d. 
 
 Macaulay's (Lord) Complete Works. ' Albany ' 
 Edition. With 12 Portraits. 12 vols. y. 6d. 
 each. 
 
 Macaulay's (Lord) Essays and Lays of Ancient 
 Rome, etc. With Portrait and 4 Illustrations 
 to the ' Lays '. 3^. 6d. 
 
 Macleod's (H. D.) Elements of Banking. 35. 6d. 
 
 Marshman's (J. C.) Memoirs of Sir Henry 
 Havelock. y. 6d. 
 
 Merivale's (Dean) History of the Romans 
 under the Empire. 8 vols. y. 6d. each. 
 
 Merriman's (H. S.) Flotsam : A Tale of the 
 Indian Mutiny. 3^. 6d. 
 
 Mill's (J. S.) Political Economy, y. 6d. 
 
 Mill's (J. S.) System of Logic. 3*. 6d. 
 
 Milner's (Geo.) Country Pleasures : the Chroni- 
 cle of a Year chiefly in a Garden. 3^. 6d. 
 
 Nansen's (F.) The First Crossing of Greenland. 
 With 142 Illustrations and a Map. y. 6d. 
 
 Phillipps-Wolley's (C.) Snap: a Legend of the 
 Lone Mountain With 13 Illustrations, y, 6d. 
 
 Proctor's (R. A.) The Orbs Around Us. y. 6d. 
 
 Proctor's (R. A.) The Expanse of Heaven, y. 6d. 
 
 Proctor's (R. A.) Light Science for Leisure 
 Hours. First Series. 3^. 6d. 
 
 Proctor's (R. A.) The Moon. y. 6d. 
 
 Proctor's (R. A.) Other Worlds than Ours. 3^.6^. 
 
 Proctor's (R. A.) Our Place among Infinities : 
 a Series of Essays contrasting our Little 
 Abode in Space and Time with the Infinities 
 around us. 3-f. 6d. 
 
 Proctor's (R. A.) Other Suns than Ours. y. 6d. 
 
 Proctor's (R. A.) Rough Ways made Smooth. 
 3-f. 6d. 
 
 Proctor's(R. A-)PleasantWays in Science. y.6d. 
 
 Proctor's (R. A.) Myths and Marvels of As- 
 tronomy, y. 6d. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 29 
 
 The Silver Library — continued. 
 
 Proctor's (R. A.) Nature Studies. 3*. 6d. 
 
 Proctor's (R. A.) Leisure Readings. By R. A. 
 
 Proctor, Edward Clodd, Andrew 
 Wilson, Thomas Foster, and A. C. 
 Ranyard. With Illustrations. 3^. 6d. 
 
 Rossetti's (Maria F.) A Shadow of Dante, y. 6d. 
 
 Smith's (R. Bosworth) Carthage and the Cartha- 
 ginians. With Maps, Plans, etc. 3^. 6d. 
 
 Stanley's (Bishop) Familiar History of Birds. 
 
 With 160 Illustrations. 3.?. 6d. 
 
 Stephen's (L.) The Playground of Europe (The 
 Alps). With 4 Illustrations. y. 6d. 
 
 Stevenson's (R. L.) The Strange Case of Dr. 
 Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; with other Fables, y.bd. 
 
 Stevenson (R. L.) and Osbourne's (LI.) The 
 
 Wrong Box. 35. 6d. 
 Stevenson (Robert Louis) and Stevenson's 
 
 (Fanny van de Grift) More New Arabian 
 
 Nights. — The Dynamiter. 3^. 6d. 
 Trevelyan's (Sir G. 0.) The Early History of 
 
 Charles James Fox. y. 6d. 
 Weyman's (Stanley J.) The House of the 
 
 Wolf : a Romance. 3^. 6d. 
 Wood's (Rev. J. G.) Petland Revisited. With 
 
 33 Illustrations. 35. 6d. 
 Wood's (Rev. J. G.) Strange Dwellings. With 
 
 60 Illustrations. 3?. 6d. 
 Wood's (Rev. J. G.) Out of Doors. With 11 
 
 Illustrations. y. 6d. 
 
 Management, &e 
 
 Cookery, Domestic 
 
 Acton. — Modern Cookery. By De Salis (Mrs.).— continued 
 Eliza Acton. With 150 Woodcuts. Fcp. 
 8vo., 45. 6d. 
 
 Angwin. — Simple Hints on Choice 
 of Food, with Tested and Economical 
 Recipes. For Schools, Homes, and Classes 
 for Technical Instruction. By M. C. Angwin, 
 Diplomate (First Class) of the National 
 Union for the Technical Training of Women, 
 etc. Crown 8vo., is. 
 
 Ashby. — Health in the Nursery. 
 By Henry Ashby, M.D., F.R.C.P., Physi- 
 cian to the Manchester Children's Hospital. 
 With 25 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 3s. net. 
 
 Bull (Thomas, M.D.). 
 
 Hints to Mothers on the Man- 
 agemea t of their health during the 
 Period of Pregnancy. Fcp. 8vo., is. 6d. 
 
 The Maternal Management of 
 Children in Health and Disease. 
 Fcp. 8vo., is. 6d. 
 
 De Salis (Mrs.). 
 
 A la Mode Cookery. With 
 Coloured and other Illustrations. 
 
 Cakes and Confections a la 
 Mode. Fcp. 8vo., is. 6d. 
 
 Dogs: A Manual for Amateurs. 
 Fcp. 8vo., is. 6d. 
 
 Dressed Game and Poultry 2 la 
 Mode. Fcp. 8vo., 6d. 
 
 Dressed Vegetables a la Mode. 
 
 Fcp. 8vo., is 6d. 
 Drinks 2 la Mode Fcp.8vo., is.6d. 
 
 Entrees a la Mode. Fcp. 8vo., 
 is. 6d. 
 
 Floral Decorations. Fcp. 8vc, 
 is. 6d. 
 
 Gardening a la Mode. Fcp. 8vo. 
 Part I., Vegetables, is. 6d. Part II., 
 Fruits, is. 6d. 
 
 National Viands a la Mode. Fcp. 
 8vo., is. 6d. 
 
 New-laid Eggs. Fcp. 8vo., 15. 6d. 
 
 Oysters a la Mode. Fcp. 8vo., 
 is. 6d. 
 
 Puddings and Pastry a la Mode. 
 Fcp. 8vo., is. 6d. 
 
 Savouries a la Mode. Fcp. 8vo., 
 is.6d. 
 
 Soups and Dressed Pish a la 
 Mode. Fcp. 8vo., is. 6d. 
 
 Sweets and Supper Dishes a la 
 Mode. Fcp. 8vo., is. 6d. 
 
 Tempting Dishes for Small In- 
 comes. Fcp. 8vo., is. 6d. 
 
 Wrinkles and Notions for 
 E very Household. Crown 8vo. , is. 6d. 
 
 Lear. — Maigre Cookery. By H. L. 
 Sidney Lear. i6mo., 2s. 
 
 Poole. — Cookery for the Diabetic. 
 By W. H. and Mrs. Poole. With Preface 
 by Dr. Pavy. Fcp. 8vo., 2s. 6d. 
 
 Rotheram. — Household Cookery 
 Recipes. By M. A. Rotheram, First Class 
 Diplomee, National Training School of 
 Cookery, London ; Instructress to the Bed- 
 fordshire County Council. Crown 8vo, 2s. 
 
3o 
 
 MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 The Fine Arts and Music 
 
 Burns and Colenso.— Living Ana- 
 
 TOMY Bv Cecil L. Burns, R.B.A., and 
 Robert J. Colenso, M.A., M.D. 4 <> ™* L tes ' 
 nl bv 8| ins., each Plate containing 1 wo 
 Figures— («l A Natural Male or Female 
 Figure; (b) The same Figure Anatomatised. 
 In a Portfolio, 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 Hamlin.-^ Text-Book of the 
 
 History of Architecture. By A. D. t. 
 Hamlin, A.M. With 229 Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo., 7s. 6d. 
 
 Haweis (Rev. H. R.). 
 A/r.svc .-i,™ Morals. \\ ith Portrait 
 
 of the Author, and numerous Illustrations, 
 
 Facsimiles, and Diagrams. Cr. 8vo.,6s.net. 
 J/k Musical Life. With Portrait 
 
 of Richard Wagner and 3 Illustrations. 
 
 Crown 8vo., 65. net. 
 
 Huish, Head, and Longman.— 
 Samplers and Tapestry Embroideries. 
 By Marcus B. Huish, LL.B.; also rhe 
 Stitchery of the Same, 1 by Mrs. Head; 
 and 'Foreign Samplers,' by Mrs. C. J. 
 Longman. With 30 Reproductions in 
 Colour, and 40 Illustrations in Mono- 
 chrome. 4 to ' £ 2 2S - net - 
 
 Hullah.— The History of Modern 
 Music' By John Hullah. 8vo., 8s. 6d. 
 
 Jameson (Mrs. Anna). 
 Sacred and Legendary Art, con- 
 
 taining Legends of the Angels and Arch- 
 angels, the Evangelists, the Apostles the 
 Doctors of the Church, St. Mary Mag- 
 dalene, the Patron Saints, the Martyrs, 
 the Early Bishops, the Hermits, and the 
 Warrior-Saints of Christendom, as repre- 
 sented in the Fine Arts. With 19 Etchings 
 and 187 Woodcuts. 2 vols. 8vo., 20s. net. 
 
 Legends of the Monastic Orders, 
 
 as represented in the Fine Arts, com- 
 prising the Benedictines and Augustines, 
 and Orders derived from their Rules, the 
 Mendicant Orders, the Jesuits, and the 
 Order of the Visitation of St. Mary. With 
 11 Etchings and 88 Woodcuts. 1 vol. 
 8vo., 105. net. 
 
 Legends of the 
 
 Madonna, or 
 
 Blessed VirginMary. Devotional with 
 and without the Infant Jesus Historical 
 from the Annunciation to the Assumption, 
 as represented in Sacred and Legendary 
 Christian Art. With 27 Etchings and 
 165 Woodcuts. 1 vol. 8vo., 10s. net. 
 
 The History of Our Lord, as ex- 
 emplified in Works of Art, with that of 
 His Types, St. John the Baptist and 
 other persons of the Old and New Testa- 
 ment. Commenced by the late Mrs. 
 Jameson ; continued and completed by 
 Lady Eastlake. With 31 Etchings 
 and 281 Woodcuts. 2 vols. 8vo., 20s. net. 
 
 Kingsley.— A History of French 
 Art, i 100-1899. By Rose G. Kingsley. 
 8vo., 12s. 6d. net. 
 
 Kristeller. — Andrea Mantegna . 
 
 By Paul Kristeller. English* Edition by 
 s" Arthur Strong, M.A., Librarian to the 
 House of Lords, and at Chatsworth. With 
 26 Photogravure Plates and 162 Illustrations 
 in the Text. 4to., £3 io5 - net - 
 
 Macfarren. — Lectures on Har- 
 mony. By Sir George A. Macfarren. 
 8vo., 12s. 
 
 Morris (William). 
 Hopes and Fears for Art. bwe 
 
 Lectures delivered in Birmingham, Lon- 
 don, etc., in 1878-1881. Cr Svo., 45. 6rf. 
 An Address delivered at the 
 Distribution of Prizes to Students 
 of the Birmingham Municipal School 
 of Art on 21ST February, 1894. 8vo., 
 2S. 6d. net. 
 
 Art and the Beauty of the 
 
 Earth: a Lecture delivered at Burslem 
 Town Hall, on October 13, 1881. Svo., 
 2s. 6d. net. 
 Some Hints on Pattern-Design- 
 ing : a Lecture delivered at the Working 
 Men's College, London, on 10th Decem- 
 ber, 1 88 1. 8vo., 2s. 6d. net. 
 
 Arts and its Producers (1800) 
 and the Arts and Crafts of To-day 
 (1889). 8vo., 2s. 6d. net. 
 
 Architecture and History, and 
 Westminster Abbey. Two Papers 
 read before the Society for the Protection 
 of Ancient Buildings. 8vo., 2S. 6d. net. 
 
 Arts and Crafts Essays. .by 
 
 Members of the Arts and Crafts Exhibition 
 Society. With a Preface by William 
 Morris. Crown 8vo., 2s. 6d. net. 
 * * For Mr. William Morris's other 
 Works, see pp. 20, 23 and 32. 
 
 Van Dyke —A Text-Book on the 
 History of Painting. By John C. Van 
 Dyke. With no Illustrations. Cr. 8vo., <os. 
 
 Willard. — History of Modern 
 
 ITALIAN ART. By ASHTON ROLLINS 
 
 Willard. With Photogravure Frontis- 
 piece and 28 Full-page Illustrations. 8vo., 
 18s. net. 
 
 Wellington.—^ Descriptive and 
 Historical Catalogue of the Collec- 
 tions of Pictures and Sculptlre at 
 Apsley House, London. By Evelyn, 
 Duchess of Wellington. Illustrated by 52 
 Photo-Engravings, specially executed by 
 Braun, Clement, & Co., of Pans. 2 vols., 
 royal 4*0., £6 65. net. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDA 
 
 .rd Vnd 
 
 GENERAL WORKS. 
 
 3i 
 
 Miscellaneous and Critical Works. 
 
 Bagehot. — Literary Studies. By 
 Walter Bagehot. With Portrait. 3 vols. ! 
 Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. each. 
 
 Baker. — Education and Life : 
 Papers and Addresses. By James H. 
 Baker, M.A., LL.D. Crown 8vo., 45. 6d. 
 
 Baring- Gould.— Curious Myths of 
 the Middle Ages. By Rev. S. Baring- 
 Gould. Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Baynes. — Shakespeare Studies, 
 and other Essays. By the late Thomas 
 Spencer Baynes, LL.B., LL.D. With a 
 Biographical Preface by Professor Lewis 
 Campbell. Crown 8vo., 75. 6d. 
 
 Charities Register, The Annual, 
 
 and Digest: being a Classified Register 
 of Charities in or available in the Metropolis. 
 With an Introduction by C. S. Loch, Sec- 
 retary to the Council of the Charity Organi- 
 sation Society, London. 8vo., 4s. 
 
 Christie. — Selected Ess a ys. By 
 Richard Copley Christie, M.A., Oxon. 
 Hon. LL.D., Vict. Edited with a Memoir 
 by W. A. Shaw, Litt.D. With Portraits 
 and other Illustrations. 
 
 Dickinson. — King Arthur in Corn- 
 wall. By W. Howship Dickinson, M.D. 
 With 5 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 45. 6d. 
 
 Erasmus. — The Epistles of Eras- 
 mus, from his Earliest Letters to his Fifty- 
 second Year, arranged in Order of Time. 
 English Translations from the Correspon- 
 dence so arranged, with a Commentary con- 
 firming the Chronological arrangement and 
 supplying further Biographical Matter. By 
 Francis Morgan Nichols. 8vo., 185. net. 
 
 Essays in Paradox. By the Author 
 
 of ' Exploded Ideas ' and ' Times and 
 Days '. Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Evans. — The Ancient Stone Im- 
 plements, Weapons axd Ornaments of 
 Great Britain. By Sir John Evans, 
 K.C.B. With 537 Illustrations. 8vo., 285. 
 
 Exploded Ideas,^^/? Other Ess a ys. 
 
 By the Author of ' Times and Days'. Cr. 
 8vo., 55. 
 
 Frost. — A Medley Book. By 
 George Frost, Author of ' Whereis your 
 Husband, and other Brown Studies '. 
 Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 Geikie. — TheVicarand his Friends. 
 Reported by Cunningham Geikie, D.D., 
 LL.D., late Vicar of St. Mary's, Barnstaple. 
 Crown 8vo., 55. net. 
 
 Haggard. — A Farmer's Year : 
 
 being his Commonplace Book for i8g8. 
 By H. Rider Haggard. With 36 Illus- 
 trations by G. Leon Little and 3 others. 
 Crown 8vo., 75. 6d. net. 
 
 Hodgson. — Outcast Essays and 
 Verse Translations. By Shadworth 
 H. Hodgson, LL.D. Crown 8vo., 85. 6d. 
 
 Hoenig. — Lnquiries concerning 
 the Tactics of the Future. By Fritz 
 Hoenig. With 1 Sketch in the Text and 5 
 Maps. Translated by Captain H. M. Bower. 
 8vo., 15s. net. 
 
 Hutchinson. — Dreams and their 
 Meanings. By Horace G. Hutchinson. 
 With many Accounts of Experiences sent 
 by Correspondents, and Two Chapters 
 contributed mainly from the Journals of 
 the Psychical Research Society on Tele- 
 pathic and Premonitory Dreams. 8vo. , 
 95. 6d. net. 
 
 Jefferies (Richard). 
 
 Field and Hedgerow : With Por- 
 trait. Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 The Story of My Heart: my 
 Autobiography. With Portrait and New 
 Preface by C. J. Longman. Cr. 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Fed Deer. With 17 Illustrations 
 by J. Charlton and H. Tunaly. Crown 
 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 The Toilers of the Field. With 
 Portrait from the Bust in Salisbury 
 Cathedral. Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Wood Magic : a Fable. With Fron- 
 tispiece and Vignette by E. V. B. Crown 
 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Jekyll (Gertrude). 
 Home and Garden : Notes and 
 Thoughts, Practical and Critical, of a 
 Worker in both. With 53 Illustrations 
 from Photographs. 8vo., 105. 6d. net. 
 
 Wood and Garden: Notes and 
 
 Thoughts, Practical and Critical, of a 
 Working Amateur. With 71 Photographs. 
 8vo., 105. 6d. net. 
 
 Johnson (J. &J. H.). 
 
 The Patentee s Manual : a 
 Treatise on the Law and Practice of 
 Letters Patent. 8vo., 10s. 6d. 
 
 An Epitome of the Law and 
 Practice connected with Patents 
 for Inventions, with a reprint of the 
 Patents Acts of 1883, 1885, 1886 and 
 1888. Crown 8vo., 25. 6d. 
 
 Joyce. — The Origin and History 
 of Irish Names of Places. By P. W. 
 Joyce, LL.D. 2 vols. Crown 8vo., 55. each. 
 
MESSRS. LONGMANS & CO.'S STANDARD AND GENERALWORKS. 
 
 Fcp. 
 
 Lang (Andrew). 
 Letters to Dead Authors. 
 
 8vo., 25. bd. net. 
 Books and Bookmen. With 2 
 
 Coloured Plates and 17 Illustrations. 
 
 Fcp. 8vo., 2s. bd. net. 
 Old Friends. Fcp. 8vo., 25. bd. net. 
 Letters on Literature. Fcp. 
 
 8vo., 2s. 6d. net. 
 £.9^ i'5 in Little. With Portrait 
 of the Author. Crown 8vo., 2s. 6d. 
 
 Cock Lane and Common-Sense. 
 
 Crown 8vo., 35. bd. 
 
 The Book of Dreams and Ghosts. 
 
 Crown Svo., 35. bd. 
 
 Marvon —How the Garden Grew. 
 
 Bv Maud Marvon. With 4 Illustrations 
 by Gordon Bowne. Crown Svo.. 5s. net. 
 
 Matthews.— Notes ox Speech- 
 Making. By BRANDER Matthews, tcp. 
 8vo., 15. bd. net. 
 
 Max Miiller (The Right Hon. F.). 
 Chips from a German Workshop 
 
 Miscellaneous and Critical Works-continued. 
 
 Pollock.— Jane Austen: her Con- 
 temporaries and Herself. By Walter 
 Herries Pollock. Ct. 8vo., 35. bd. net. 
 
 Poore (George Vivian, M.D.). 
 Essays on Rural Hygiene. With 
 
 13 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 65. bd. 
 The Dwelling House. With 36 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 3s. bd. 
 
 Rossetti. - A Shadow of Dante: 
 
 being an Essay towards studying Himseli, 
 his World and his Pilgrimage. By Maria 
 Francesca Rossetti. Crown 8vo., 35. bd. 
 
 Soulsby (Lucy H. M.). 
 Stray Thoughts on Reading. 
 
 Fcp. 8vo., 25. bd. net. 
 Stra y Thoughts for Girls, ibmo., 
 15. bd. net. 
 
 Stra y Thoughts for Mothers and 
 Teachers. Fcp. 8vo., 25. bd. net. 
 
 Stray Thoughts for Lnvalids. 
 i6mo., 2s. net. 
 
 Stray Thoughts on Character. 
 
 Fcp. Svo., 25. bd. net. 
 
 Vol. 
 
 recent Essays and Addresses. S OUthey.-^ C »*«22££££ 
 
 T>„„T,T,r<:r>TT'rujTv with Caroline now les. 
 
 Crown 
 
 Crown 8vo., _ 
 Vol. II. Biographical Essays. 
 
 Vol. III. Essays on Language and Litera- 
 ture. Crown 8vo., 55. 
 Vol. IV. Essays on Mythology and tolk 
 Lore. Crown 8vo., y 
 Lndia: What can it Teach Us. 
 
 Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 Milner.— Country Pleasures: the 
 
 Chronicle of a Year chiefly in a Garden. 
 
 By George Milner. Crown 8vo., 3^ bd. 
 
 Morris.— Signs of Change Seven 
 
 Lectures delivered on various Occasions. 
 By William Morris. Post 8vo., 4*. bd. 
 Mvers —Human Personality, and 
 its Sur'vival of Bodily Death. By Frederic 
 \V. H. Myers, M.A. 2 vols. Svo. 
 
 Parker and Unwin.— The Art of 
 
 Booing a Home:.* Collector 1 of 
 Lectures and Illustrations. By Barry 
 Parker and Raymond Unwin. With 68 
 Full-page Plates. 8vo., 10s. bd. net. 
 
 Passmore.- Leisurable Studies. 
 
 By the Rev. T. H. Passmore, M.A. Cr. 
 
 ^Content's: The 'Religious Woman '- 
 PreXents-SUly Ritual-The Tymmy 
 
 of the Word-The Lectern-The Func 
 tions of Ceremonial-Homo Creator-Con- 
 cerning the Pun- Proverbia. 
 10,000/12/01. 
 
 RobertSoutheywithCarolineBowles. 
 Edited by Edward Dowden. 8vo., 14s. 
 
 Stevens —On the Stowage of Ships 
 a yd their Cargoes. With Information re- 
 garding Freights, Charter-Parties, etc. By 
 Robert White Stevens. 8vo., 215. 
 Sutherland.— Twentieth Century 
 Mentions: a Forecast By George 
 Sutherland, M.A. Crown 8vo., 4 s. bd. net. 
 
 Turner and Sutherland.—^* De- 
 velopment of Australian Literature 
 By Henry Gyles Turner and Alexander 
 Sutherland. With Portraits and Illustra- 
 tions. Crown 8vo., 55. 
 
 Warwick.— Progress in Women's 
 
 EDUCATIONINTHEBRJTISHEMPIRE.h^g 
 
 the Report of Conferences and a Congress 
 held in connection with the Educational 
 Section, Victorian Era Exhibition Edited 
 by the Countess of Warwick. Cr. Svo. 65. 
 Weathers— A Practical Guide to 
 
 i GARI EN PLANTS. By JOHN WEATHERS 
 
 F.R.H.S. With 159 Diagrams. Svo., zis. 
 
 net. 
 Whittall.— Frederick the Great 
 ZTk^cr^t, from the Original Manu- 
 
 President ll the British Chamber of Com- 
 
 merce of Turkey. 8vo., 7s. 
 
 bd. net. 
 
 LRBJe'28 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 I II iiiyiiiiiiiiiiii 
 
 030 260 843 A 
 
 *>.x. 
 
 
 B 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 mm 
 
 m