recollections
OF
ITALY,
ENGLAND AND AMERICA,
WITH
iEggag* on Various Subjects,
IN
MORALS AND LITERATURE,
Ml *.
BY
F. A. DE CHATEAUBRIAND.
VOL. I.
* LONDON :
PRINTED FOR HENRY COLBURN,
PUBLIC LIBRARY, CONDUIT 8RTEET* HANOVER SQUARE.
1815.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
Recollections of Italy.
Page.
Rome and its Environs 1
Visit to Mount Vesuvius 34
Visit to Mont Blanc 56
Recollections of England.
On England and the English S3
English Literature. Young 106
Shakspeaue. . . . 127
. Beattie . ... . 169
Recollections of America.
On the Island of Gracioza, one of the Azores 1 73
A few words concerning the Cataract of
Canada
Visit to the Country of the Savages . . . 187
A Night among the Savages of America. . 196
Anecdote oj a Frenchman who dwelt among
the Savages 209
On Mackenzie's Travels in the Interior of
North America 213
ERRATA.
;e 34, lines 8 and 9, f° r lie aud kis read slie all< * ^ er ‘
jgg i j , for entiment read sentiment .
yj5 9 - $, the word that should be the first in this line,
and erased from the next.
213, 3, for is read was .
214, 11, for as read like*
»" - 19 , for plains read planes .
229, 14, after the word body , insert is*
$56, 19, for 5°. read 135°.
THE
EDITOR’S PREFACE.
If the reputation of M. de Chateaubriand,
already established by works of the greatest
merit, has received a considerable addition
from the Essay on Ancient and Modern Re-
volutions, which we have just published,
his Recollections of Italy, England and
Amei'ica, with the excellent Essays on
Literature and Morals that accompany
them, will certainly add to it.
Throughout this collection will be found
those energetic ideas, that fine imagination,
that picturesque colouring, those ingenious
comparisons and original turns of expression
which impart a peculiar charm to M. de
Chateaubriand’s writings. No Author of
VI
the present day has, like him, attained the
art of connecting literature with morals, by
a style abounding in imagery and rich m
sentiments. This happy talent is displaced
in every page, and there are even passages,
in which it is still more manifest than in Ins
greater works.
Several of the detached Essays appeared
in the Mercure. de France, between the years
1800 and 1807. The Author at this time
finished his Beauties of Christianity , and
trusted that he had thereby erected a monu-
ment to the religion of his forefathers. It
must be acknowledged that, in several parts
of this work, lie displays a soul fully im-
pressed with the perfections of Christianity .
His travels to Palestine, procured us the
poem of The Martyrs, and the Itinerary
of that country. After his return, M. de
Chateaubriand would perhaps have deters
mined to resume his labours in the Mercure,
had he not found the spirit of that journal
vn
entirely altered, and had he not been dis-
gusted by the despotism of the French
ruler, who wished not only to command the
writings, but even the conversation and
very thoughts of his subjects ; particularly
of thqse who were distinguished authors.
It is true that M. de Chateaubriand had
himself praised the despot; but this was
at a period w hen it was still excusable to be
mistaken as to the real character of Buona-
parte. None of the enlightened men had
penetration enough to prophecy that the
general of the expedition to Egypt would
be the future opponent to the rights of hu-
manity, and M. de Chateaubriand has the
further excuse, that when the Statesmen and
Writers of France began to rival each other
in meanness, and prostrate themselves at
the foot of the throne, the Author of the
Beauties of Christianity ceased to worship
the unworthy idol of transient glory, re-
covered by degrees, and silently resumed
1
u
% • •
Vlll
the noble attitude which belonged to him.
It was now the despot’s turn to humble
himself before the greatest writer of his
Empire, and he adopted measures to draw
M. de Chateaubriand into the circle of his
slaves, but in vain. All his power was in-
effectual, when exerted to shake the him
and noble soul of a simple individual, who
was no longer to be imposed upon by ficti-
tious grandeur. He was induced, however,
by dint of persuasion, to become a member
of the first literary body in I ranee. It was
necessary that he should make a public oia-
tion upon this occasion, and it was then that
he prepared the eulogium on liberty, which
will be found in the present publication.
His intrepidity astonished the Institute and
Government. He was forbidden to deliver
his oration, but he was no longer impor-
tuned for his support, which could palpably
never be obtained afterwards. From this
period his heart, afflicted by the misfortunes
ix
of France, and the degradation which lite-
rature and the arts had experienced, was
doomed to sigh in secret ; but it experienced
consolation when the tyrant began to lose
the power of oppressing and ruining the
nation. Those, who nevei could have dis-
played the courage ot M. de Chateaubriand,
thought proper to criticize his admirable
publication in favour of the Bourbons,* as
being a work too strongly betraying the
passions of the writer. They would perhaps
have written in colder blood, because their
eyes were then familiarized with the horrors
which they saw incessantly renewed. But
can the soul of a great writer remain torpid
when liberty dawns upon his unfortunate
country ! Would Cicero and Demosthenes
have remained torpid if they had been called
upon to expose, the one an incendiary’s
crimes, and the other a conquering mo-
* Of Buouaparte and the Bourbons, 8vo. 1814.
2
X
narch’s artifices and ambition? And what
were these subjects in comparison with the
great interests of the world, which were
discussed during April 1814, in the capital
of France ? Cold blooded people are often
useful ; but still a single energetic man,
when fired with honest indignation, can
effect more than thousands of frigid dispo-
sition. When the revolution, so ardently
desired by all those who possessed hearts
not debased by slavery, was effected, the
Political Rejections of M. de Chateau-
briand were of a calmer nature, and bore
reference only to the happiness which France
was about to enjoy under the sway of the
Bourbons.
That happiness has been, alas, of short
duration. The revolutionary system is re-
established in France, and M. de Chateau-
briand has again quitted his country for the
purpose of following his King, and devoting
his pen to the instruction of his unfortunate
XI
countrymen, by writings similar to those oi
which all Europe acknowledges the energe-
tic influence.
Though M. de Chateaubriand has
gained the applause of all civilized nations,
and though his works have been several
times printed in his native language, as well
as translated into almost all the languages
of Europe, it is nevertheless a fact that in his
own country a numerous party of calum-
niators have tried to overwhelm him with
criticisms, parodies, satires and injuries. It «.
is true that they have not been able to di-
minish his reputation as an Author, but they
have succeeded so far as to create in the
public mind an uncertainty as to the rank
which he ought to hold in literature. His
imagination is too vivid, and sometimes
carries away his reason, so that he falls oc-
casionally into extravagant expressions, and
arguments which are more specious than
solid. His detractors dwell on his slight im-
Xll
perfections, and represents them as consti-
tuting the foundation of his writings. 1 hey
do not chuse to see that a fine imagination is,
in spite of some aberrations, infinitely supe-
rior to all those ordinary minds, the pro-
ductions of which appear wise, because the
rules of grammar are observed in them, and
the ideas of the day exactly met. Those
authors may please, but their reputation will
not extend beyond the limits ot their country
and age. It is only by taking for their
models the superior beauties of M. de Cha-
teaubriand’s style, and avoiding his defects,
that they can hope to equal his reputation,
and to excite, like him, the enthusiasm of
all who possess cultivated minds.
RECOLLECTIONS
OF
ITALY.
RECOLLECTIONS
OF
ITALY.
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS.
TO MONSIEUR DE FONTANES.
My dear friend,
I am just arrived at Rome
from Naples, and send you all my journey has
produced, for you have a right to this all — a few
laurel leaves snatched from the tomb of Virgil,
whom “ tenet nunc Parthenope 1 should
long since have given yon a description of this
classic region, but various circumstances have
hindered me. I will not leave Rome, however,
without saying a few words about so celebrated
a city. We agreed that I was to address you
b 2
4 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
without ceremony; and to tell you at a \enture
whatever impressions were made upon me in
Italy, as I formerly related to you what ideas I
had formed, while wandering through the soli-
tudes of the New World. Without further pre-
amble, then, I will attempt to give you an account
of the environs of Rome, that is to say, the
adjacent country and the ruins.
You have read all that has been written on
this subject, but I do not know whether tra-
vellers have given yon a very just idea of the
picture, which the Roman territory presents.
Figure to yourself something of the desolation
^ Tyre and Babylon, as described in scripture
—silence and solitude as vast as the noise and
tumult of men, who formerly crowded together
on this spot. One may almost fancy that the
prophet’s curse is still heard, when he announced
that two things should happen on a single day,
sterility and widowhood.* You see here and
there some remains of Roman roads, in places
where nobody ever passes, and some dried-up
* Isaiah.
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS.
5
tracks of winter torrents, which at a distance
have themselves the appearance of large fre-
quented roads, but which are in reality the beds
of waters, formerly rushing onwards with impe-
tuosity, though they have now passed away like
the Roman nation. It is with some difficulty
that you discover any trees, but on every side
yon behold the ruins of aqueducts and tombs,
which appear to be the forests and indigenous
plants of this land — composed as it is of mortal
dust, and the wrecks of empires. I have often
thought that I beheld rich crops in a plain, but
on approaching them, found that my eye had
been deceived by withered grass. Under this
barren herbage traces of ancient culture may
sometimes be discovered. Here are no birds,
no labourers, no lowing of cattle, no villages.
A few miserably managed farms appear amidst
the general nakedness of the country, but the
windows and doors of the habitations are closed.
No smoke, no noise, no inhabitant proceeds
from them. A sort of savage, in tattered gar-
ments, pale and emaciated by fever, guards these
melancholy dwellings, like the spectres who
J
6 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
defend the entrance of abandoned castles in our
gothic legends. It may be said, therefore, that
no nation has dared to take possession of the
country, once inhabited by the masters of the
world, and that you see these plains as they were
left by the ploughshare of Cincinnatus, or the
last Roman team.
It is in the midst of this uncultivated region
that the eternal city raises her head. Decayed
as to her terrestial power, she appears to have
resolved on proudly isolating herself. She has
separated herself from the cities of the world,
and like a dethroned queen, has nobly concealed
her misfortunes in solitude.
I should in vain attempt to describe the
sensation experienced, when Rome suddenly
appears to your view amidst her inania rcgna ,
as if raising herself from the sepulchre in which
she had been lying. Picture to yourself the dis-
tress and astonishment, which the prophets ex-
perienced, when God, in a vision, shewed them
some city, to which he had attached the
destiny of his chosen people.* The multitude
* Ezekiel.
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS.
of recollections and the crowd of sensations
oppress you, so that your very soul is disordered
at beholding the place — for it is Rome, which
has twice inherited the empire of the world,
first as the heir to Saturn, and secondly to
Jacob.*
You will, perhaps, think, from my descrip-
tion, that nothing can be more frightful than
the Roman environs ; but in this conjecture >ou
would be egregiously mistaken. They possess
an inconceivable grandeur, and in contemplating
them, you would be always ready to exclaim
with Virgil :
Salve , magna parens frugum , Satumia tellus ,
Magna virdm / f
* Montaigne thus describes the neighbourhood of
Rome about two centuries ago.
« \y e h ac j at a distance, on our left, the Appennines,
and the prospect of a country by no means pleasant, uneven
and full of gaps, which would render it difficult to range
troops in regular order* The country is without trees, and
a considerable part of it sterile, open on every side, aud more
than ten miles in circumference* Like all other countries
too of this description, it is very thinly inhabited*”
f Hail, happy land, producing richest fruits,
And heroes of renown !
u
8 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
If you view them as an economist, they
will displease you, but if you survey them as an
artist, or a poet, or a philosopher, you will per-
haps not wish them to be altered. The sight of
a corn-field or a vineyard would not cause such
strong emotions in your mind as that of a
country, where modern culture has not reno-
vated the soil, and which may be said to have
become as purely anticjue as the ruins which
cover it.
Nothing is so beautiful as the lines of the
Roman horizon, the gentle inclination of the
plains, and the soft flying contour of the termi-
nating mountains. The valleys often assume
the form of an arena, a circus, or a riding-house.
The hills are cut in terraces, as if the mighty
hand of the Romans had moved the whole land
at ple'asure. A peculiar vapour is spread over
distant objects, which takes off their harshness
and rounds them. The shadows are never
black and heavy ; for there are no masses so
obscure, even among the rocks and foliage, but
that a little light may always insinuate itself.
A singular tint and most peculiar harmony unite
the earth, the sky, and the waters. All the
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS.
surfaces unite at their extremities by means of
an insensible gradation of colours, and without
the possibility of ascertaining the point, at
which one ends, or another begins. Yon have
doubtless admired this sort of light in Claude
Lorrain’s landscapes. It appears ideal and still
more beautiful than nature ; but it is the light
of Rome.
I did not omit to see the Villa Borghese,
and to admire the sun as he cast his setting
beams upon the cypresses of Mount Marius
or on the pines of Villa Pamphili. I have also
often directed my way up the Tiber to enjoy
the grand scene of departing day at Ponte Mole.
The summits of the Sabine mountains then
appear to consist of lapis lazuli and pale gold,
while their base and sides are enveloped in a
vapour, which has a violet or purple tint. Some-
times beautiful clouds, like light chariots, borne
on the winds with inimitable grace, make you
easily comprehend the appearance of the Olympian
Deities under this mythologic sky. Sometimes
ancient Rome seems to have stretched into the
West all the purple of her Consuls and Caesars.
u
10 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
and spread them under the last steps of the god
of day. This rich decoration does not disappear
so soon as in our climate. When you suppose
that the tints are vanishing, they suddenly re-
appear at some other point ol the hoiizon.
Twilight succeeds to twilight, and the charm
of closing day is prolonged. It is true that at
this hour of rural repose, the air no longer re-
sounds with bucolic song ; you no longer hear
the “ dulcia linquimus arva,” but the victims
of sacred immolation are still to be seen. White
bulls and troops of half- wild horses daily descend
to the banks of the Tiber, and quench their
thirst with its waters. You would fancy your-
self transported to the times of the ancient
Sabines, or to the age of the Arcadian Evander,
when the Tiber was called Albula,* and Eneas
navigated its unknown stream.
I will acknowledge without hesitation that
the vicinity of Naples is more dazzling than that
of Rome. When the blazing sun, or the large
red moon rises above Vesuvius, like a body of
* Livy.
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS.
11
fire shot from its volcanic crater, the bay of
Naples, and its banks fringed with orange-trees,
the mountains of Sorrento, the island of Capii,
the coast of Pozzuoli, Baiae, Misene, Cnmes,
Averno, the Elysian fields, and all this Virgi-
gilian district, present to the view a magic spec-
tacle, but it does not possess the imposing gran-
deur of the Roman territory. It is at least certain
that almost every one is prodigiously attached
to this celebrated region. Two thousand years
have elapsed since Cicero believed himself an
exile for life, and wrote to one of his intimate
friends : “ Urban, vii tlujiy cole , et in istd luce
vive.”* The attraction of the lovely Ausonia is
still the same. Many examples are quoted of
travellers, who came to Rome for the purpose of
passing a few days, and remained there all their
lives. Poussin could not resist the temptation
* “ It is at Rome, that you must live my dear Rufus ;
it is that luminary which you must inhabit.” I believe the
passage occurs in the first or second book of the familiar
Epistles ; but as I quote from memory, 1 hope that any
little mistake in this respect will be overlooked.
13 RECOLLECTION $ OF ITALY.
of residing, till his death, in a country which
afforded such exquisite landscapes ; and at the
very moment that 1 pen this letter, I have the
pleasure of being acquainted with M. d’Agin-
court, who has lived here alone for five-and-
twenty years, and who holds forth fair promise
that France will also have her Winckelman.
Whoever occupies himself solely in the
study of antiquities and the fine arts, or whoever
has no other ties in life, should live at Rome.
He will there find, for his society, a district
which will nurture his reflections and take pos-
session of his heart, with walks, which will
always convey to him instruction. The stone,
which he treads upon will speak to him, and
the dust, which the wind blows around him, will
be decomposed particles of some great human
being. Should he be unhappy — should he have
mingled the ashes of those, whom he loved, with
the ashes of the illustrious dead, what placid de-
light will he experience when he passes from the
sepulchre of the Scipios to the tomb of a virtuous
friend, from ‘the superb mausoleum of Cecilia Me-
tellato the modest grave of an unfortunate woman !
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS. 13
He will fancy that their beloved shades find
pleasure in wandering round these monuments,
with that of a Cicero still lamenting his dear
Tnllia, or an Agrippina stdl occupied with the
urn of Germanicus. If he be a cbristian, how
will he be able to tear himself away from this
land, which is become bis own country— this
land, which is become the seat of a second
empire more sacred, and more powerful than the
first — this land, where the friends, whom we
have lost, sleep with saints in their catacombs,
under the eye of the father of the faithful, ap-
pearing as if they would be the first who awoke
from their long sleep, and the nearest to
Heaven.
Though Rome, when internally examined,
resembles at present, in a great degree, the gene*-
rality of European cities, it still preserves a pecu-
liar character ; for no other city affords a similar
mixture of architecture and ruins, from the Pan-
theon of Agrippa to the gothic walls of Belisa-
rius, or the monuments brought from Alexandria
to the dome erected by Michael Angelo. The
beauty of the women is another distinguishing
14 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
feature. They recal by their gait and carriage
the Clelias and Cornelias. You might fancy
that yon saw the ancient statues of Juno and
Pallas, which had descended from their pedestals,
and were walking round their temples. Among
the Romans too is to be seen that tone of car-
nation which artists call the historic colour, and
which they use in their paintings. It appears
natural that men, whose ancestors played so
conspicuous a part in the great theatre of the
world, should have served as models for Raphael
and Dominichino, when they represented his-
torical personages.
Another singularity of the city of Rome is
the number of goats, and more particularly, large
oxen with enormous horns. The latter are used
in teams ; and you will find these animals lying
at the feet of the Egyptian obelisks, among the
ruins of the Forum, and under the arches,
through which they formerly passed, conducting
the triumphant Roman to that Capitol which
Cicero calls the public council of the universe.
Romanos ad templa Dcitm duxere triumphos .
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS.
15
With the usual noise of great cities is here
mingled the noise of waters heard on every side,
as if you were near the fountains of Blandusia and
Egeria. From the summit of the hills, inclosed
*
within the boundaries of Rome, or at the extre.
mity of several streets you have a view of the
fields in perspective, which mixture of town and
country has a very picturesque effect. In winter
the tops of the houses are covered with herbage,
not unlike the old thatched cottages of our pea-
santry. These combined circumstances impart
to Rome a sort of rural appearance, and remind
you that its first dictators guided the plough, that
it owed the empire of the world to its labourers,
and that the greatest of its poets did not disdain
to instruct the children of Romulus in the art
of Hesiod.
Atcrceumque cano romcma per oppida carmen.
As to the Tiber, which waters, and parti-
cipates in the glory of this city, its destiny is
altogether strange. It passes thrdugh a corner
of Rome, as if it did not exist. No one deigns
to cast his eyes towards it, no one speaks of it.
3
16
J
RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
no one drinks its waters, and the women do not
even use it for washing. It steals away between
the paltry houses which conceal it, and hastens
to precipitate itself into the sea, ashamed of its
modern appellation, Tevere.
I must now, my dear friend, say something
of the ruins, which you so particularly requested
me to mention when I wrote to you. 1 have
minutely examined them all, both at Rome and
Naples, except the temples of Paestum, which I
have not had time to visit. You are aware that
they assume different characters, according to
the recollections attached to them.
On a beautiful evening in July last 1 seated
myself at Colis6e, on a step of the altar dedi-
cated to the sufferings of the Passion. The
sun was setting, and poured floods of gold
through all the galleries, which had formerly
been thronged with men; while, at the same
time, strong shadows were cast by the broken
corridors and other ruinous parts, or fell on the
ground in large masses from the lofty structure.
I perceived among the ruins, on the right of
the edifice, the gardens of Cajsar’s palace, with
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS. 1 7
a palm-tree, which seems to have been placed in
the midst of this wreck, expressly for painters
and poets. Instead of the shouts of joy, which
heretofore proceeded from the ferocious spec-
tators in this amphitheatre, on seeing Christians
devoured by lions and panthers, nothing was
now heard but the barking of dogs, which be-
longed to the hermit resident here as a . guardian
of the ruins. At the moment that the suft
descended below the horizon, the clock in the
dome of Saint Peter resounded under the por-
ticoes of Collisee. This correspondence, through
the medium of religious sounds, between the two
grandest monuments of Pagan and Christian
Rome, caused a lively emotion in my mind. I
reflected that this modern edifice would fall in
its turn, like the ancient one, and that the memo-
rials of human industry succeed each, other
like the men, who erected them. I called to
mind that the same Jews, who, during their first
captivity, worked at the edifices of Egypt and
Babylon, had also, during their last dispersion
built this enormous structure ; that the vaulted
roofs, which now re-echoed this Christian bell
C
18 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
were the work of a Pagan emperor, who had
been pointed out by prophecy as destined to com-
plete the destruction of Jerusalem. Are not
these sufficiently exalted subjects of meditation
to be inspired by a single ruin, and do you not
think that a city, where such effects are pro-
duced at every step, is worthy of examination ?
I went to Collis6e again yesterday, the 9th
of January, for the purpose of seeing it at another
season, and in another point of view. On my
arrival I was surprised at not hearing the dogs,
who generally appeared and barked in the supe-
rior corridors of the amphitheatre, among the
ruins and withered herbage. 1 knocked at the
door of the hermitage, which was formed under
one of the arches, but I received no answer — the
hermit was dead. The inclemency of the season,
the absence of this worthy recluse, combined
with several recent and afflicting recollections,
increased the sadness arising from this place to
such an extent that 1 almost supposed myself to
be looking at the ruins of an edifice, which I
had, a few days before, admired in a fresh and
perfect state. It is thus that we are constantly
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS. 19
reminded of our nothingness, Man searches
around him for objects to convince his reason#
He meditates on the remains of edifices and
empires ; forgetting that he himself is a ruin
still more instable, and that he will perish even
before these. What most renders our life a the
shadow of a shade’’* is that we cannot hope
to live long in the recollection of our friends.
The heart, in which our image is graven, is like
the object, of which it retains the features —
perishable clay. I was shewn, at Portici, a
piece of cinder taken from Vesuvius, which
crumbles into dust when touched, and which
preserves the impression, (daily diminishing) of
a female’s breast and arm, who was buried under
the ruins of Pompeia# Though not flattering
to our self-love, this is the true emblem of the
traces left by our memory in the hearts of men,
who are only dust and ashes. ^
Before I took my departure for Naples, I
passed some days alone at Tivoli. 1 traversed
the ruins in its environs, and particularly those
* Pindar.
t Job.
/
/
20 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
of Villa Adriana. Being overtaken by a shower
of rain in the midst of my excursion, I took
refuge in the halls of Thermes near Pecile*
under a fig-tree, which had thrown down a wall
by its growth. In a small octagonal saloon,
which was open before me, a vine had penetrated
through fissures in the arched roof, while its
smooth and red crooked stem mounted along
the wall like a serpent. Round me, across the
arcades, the Roman country was seen in different
points of view. Large elder trees filled the de-
serted apartments, where some solitary black-
birds found a retreat. The fragments of ma-
sonry were garnished with the leaves of scolo-
pendra, the satin verdure of which appeared like
mosaic work upon the white marble. Here and
there lofty cypresses replaced the columns, which
had fallen into these palaces of death. The
wild acanthus crept at their feet on the ruins, as
if nature had taken pleasure in re-producing, up-
on these mutilated chefs d oeuvre of architecture,
the ornament of their past beauty. The dif-
* Remains of the Villa.
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS. 21
ferent apartments and the summits of the rnins
were covered with pendant verdure ; the wind
agitated these humid garlands, and the plants
bent under the rain of Heaven.
While I contemplated this picture, a thou-
sand confused ideas passed across nay mind. At
one moment I admired, at the next detested
Roman grandeur. At one moment I thought
of the virtues, at another of the vices, which dis-
tinguished this lord of the world, who had wished
to render his garden a representation of his
empire. I called to mind the events, by which
his superb villa had been destroyed. 1 saw it
despoiled of its most beautiful ornaments by the
successor of Adrian — I saw the barbarians pass-
ing like a whirlwind, sometimes cautoning them-
selves here ; and, in order to defend themselves
amidst these monuments of art which they
had half destroyed, surmounting the Grecian
and Tuscan orders with gothic battlements —
finally, I saw Christians bringing back civilization
to this district, planting the vine, and guiding
the plough into the temple of the Stoics, and
the saloons of the Academy.* Ere long the
* Remains of the Villa.
w
22 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
arts revived, and the monarchs employed peisons
to overturn what still remained of these gor-
geous palaces, for the purpose of obtaining some
master-pieces of art. While these different
thoughts succeeded each other, an inward voice
mixed itself with them, and repeated to me what
has been a hundred times written on the vanity
of human affairs. There is indeed a double
vanity in the remains of the Villa Adriana ; for
it is known that they were only imitations of
other remains, scattered through the provinces
of the Roman empire. The real temple of
Serapis and Alexandria, and the real academy at
Athens no longer exist ; so that in the copies of
Adrian you only see the mins of ruins.
I should now, my dear friend, describe to
you the temple of the Sibyl at Tivoli, and the
charming temple of Vesta, suspended over the
cascade ; but I cannot spare time for the purpose.
I regret, too, that I am unable to depict this
cascade, on which Horace has conferred cele-
brity. When there, I was in your domain, for
you are the inheritor of the Grecian or
the “ simplex munditiis," described by the author
of the Ars Poetica ; but I saw it in very gloomy
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS
23
weather, and I myself was not in good spirits. I
will further confess that I was in some degree
annoyed by this roar of waters, though I have
been so often charmed by it in the forests of
America. I have still a recollection of the hap-
piness which 1 experienced during a night
passed amidst dreary deserts, when my wood fire
was half extinguished, my guide asleep, and my
horses grazing at a distance — 1 have still a
recollection, I say, of the happiness which I
experienced when 1 heard the mingled melody
of the winds and waters, as l reclined upon the
earth, deep in the bosom of the forest. These
murmurs, at one time feeble, at another more
loud, increasing and decreasing every instant,
made me occasionally start ; and every tree was
to me a sort of lyre, from which the winds ex-
tracted strains conveying ineffable delight.
At the present day I perceive that I am
less sensible to these charms of nature, aud I
doubt whether the cataract of Niagara would
cause the same degree of admiration in my
mind, which it formerly inspired. When one
is very young, Nature is eloquent in silence,
24 RECOLLECTIONS of ITALY.
because there is a superabundance in the heart
of man. All his futurity is before him (if my
Aristarchus will allow me to use this expression)
he hopes to impart his sensations to the world*
and feeds himself with a thousand chimeras ;
but at a more advanced age, when the prospect,
which we had before us, passes into the rear,
and we are undeceived as to a host of illusions,
then Nature, left to herself, becomes colder and
less eloquent. “ Lesjardins parlent peu."* To
interest us at this period of life, it is necessary that
we have the additional pleasure of society, for
we are become less satisfied with ourselves.
Absolute solitude oppresses us, and we feel a
want of those conversations which are carried
on, at night, in a low voice among friends.
I did not leave Tivoli without visiting the
house of the poet, whom I have just quoted. It
faced the Villa of Mecsenas, and there he greeted
l< jioribus el vino genium memorem brevis cevi
* La Fontaine.
f Horace.
J There he greeted with flowers and wine the genius
who reminds us of the brevity of life.
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS. 2»
The hermitage could not have been large, for
it is situated on the very ridge of the hill ; but
one may easily perceive that it must have been
verv retired, and that every thing was commo-
dious, though on a small scale. From the
orchard, which was in front of the house, the eye
wanders over an immense extent of country. It
conveys, in all respects, the idea ot a true retreat
for a poet, whom little suffices, and who enjoys
so much that does not belong to him “ spatio
brevi spem longam reseces."*
After all, it is very easy to be such a philo-
sopher as Horace was. He had a house at
Rome, and two country villas, the one at Utica,
the other at Tivoli. He quailed, with his friends,
the wine which had been made during the con-
sulate of Tully. His sideboard was covered
with plate ; and he said to the prime minister of
the sovereign, who guided the destinies of the
world : “ I do not feel the wants of poverty ;
and if I wish for any thing more, you, Mecsenas,
* Closed in a narrow space of far extended hopes.
Horace.
£6 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
will not refuse me.” Thus situated, a man may
very confortably sing of Lalage, crown himself
with short-lived lilies, talk of death while he is
drinking Falernian, and give his cares to the
winds.
I observe that Horace, Virgil, Tibullus, and
Livy all died before Augustus, whose fate in this
respect was the same as Louis XIV experienced.
Our great prince survived his cotemporaries
awhile, and was the last who descended to the
grave, as if to be certain that nothing remained
behind him.
It will doubtless be a matter of indifference
to you if I state the house of Catullus to be at
Tivoli above that of Horace, and at present occu-
pied by monks ; but you will, perhaps, deem it
more remarkable that Ariosto composed his
“ fables comiques’'* at the same place in which
Horace enjoyed the good things of this world.
It has excited surprise that the author of Orlando
Furioso, when living in retirement with the car-
dinal d’Est at Tivoli, should have fixed on
* Boileau.
3
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS. 1*7
France as the subject of his divine extravaganzas,
and France too when in a state of deroi-baiba-
rity, while he had under his eyes the grave re-
mains and solemn memorials of the most serious
and civilized nation upon earth. In other
respects, the Villa d'Est is the only modem one,
which has interested me, among the wiecks of
proud habitations belonging to so many Em-
perors and Consuls. 1 his illustrious house of
Ferrara has had the singular good fortune of
being celebrated by the two greatest poets ot
its age, and the two men, who possessed the
most brilliant genius, to which modern Italy has
given birth.
Piacciavi generose Ercolea prole
Omatneno , e splendor del secol nostro 9
lppolito , etc.
It is the exclamation of a happy man, who
returns thanks to the powerful house, which
bestows favors on him, and of which he con-
stitutes the delight. Tasso, who was more af-
fecting, conveys in his invocation, the acknow-
ledgments of a grateful but unfortunate man ;
Tu magnanimo Alfonso, il qual ritogli, etc.
J
aS RECOLLECT IONS OF ITALY.
He, who avails himself of power to assist
neglected talent, makes a noble use of it.
Ariosto and Hippolyto d’Est have left, in the
valleys of Tivoli, a reputation which does not
yield, in point of the charm conveyed by it, to
that of Horace and Mecaenas. But what is be-
come of the protectors and the protected ? At
the moment that I write this letter, the house of
Est is extinct, and its villa fallen into ruins.
Such is the history of every thing belonging to
this world.
Linquenda tellus, et domus, et platens
Uxor .*
I spent almost a whole day at this superb
villa. I could not put a period to my admira-
tion of the immense prospect, which I enjoyed
from the high ground of the terraces. Below
me were gardens, stretching to a considerable
extent, and displaying great numbers of plane-
trees and cypresses. Beyond these were the
rOins of the house, which once belonged to
* Man must quit his estate, his house, and amiable*
wife.
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS. 29
Mecaenas, on the borders of the Anio.* On the
opposite hill, which is on the other side ot the
river, is a wood of ancient olives and among
these are the ruins of the villa once occupied by
Varus. f A little further, to the left, rise the
three mountains Monticelli, San Francesco, and
Sant Angelo, and between the summits of these
three neighbouring mountains appears the azure
brow of old Socrate. In the horizon, and at
the extremity of the Roman plains, describing a
circle by the West and South, may be discerned
the heights of Monte Fiascone, Rome, Civita
Vecchia, Ostie, the sea, and Frascati, surmounted
by the pines of Tusculum. Returning in search
of Tivoli towards the East, the entire circum-
ference of this immense prospect is terminated
by Mount Ripoli, formerly occupied by the
houses of Brutus and Atticus, at the foot of which
is the Villa Adriana.
In the midst of this picture the Teverone
* Now the Teverone.
t The Varus, who was massacred with the legions in
Germany* See the admirable description of Tacitus.
u
30 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
descends rapidly towards the 1 iber, and the eye
may follow its source to the bridge, where the
mausoleum of the family Plotia is elected in the
form of a tower. The high road to Rome is also
visible in the plain. It was the ancient Tibur-
tine way, then bordered by sepulchres ; and at
present, haystacks of a pyramidical form remind
the spectator of the tombs, which they resemble
in shape.
It would be difficult to find, in the rest of
the world, a place more likely to beget powerful
reflections. I do not speak of Rome, though the
domes of that city are visible, by which I at once
say much for a prospect ; but I speak only of
the district and its truly interesting remains.
There you behold the 'house in which Mecaenas,
satiated with the luxuries of the world, died of a
tedious complaint. Varus left this hill to shed
his blood in the marshes of Germany. Cassius
and Brutus abandoned these retreats, in order to
overthrow their country. Under these pines of
Frascati, Cicero pursued his studies. Adrian
caused another Peneus to flow at the foot of that
hill, and transported into this region the charms
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS. 31
and recollections of the valley of Terape. To.
wards this source of the Soltafare the queen of
Palmyra ended her days in obscurity, and her
city of a moment disappeared in the desert. It
was here that king Latinus consulted the god
Faunus in the forest of Albunea. It was here
that Hercules had his temple, and the Sybil
dictated her oracles. Those are the mountains
of the ancient Sabines, and the plains of
Latium, the land of Saturn and Rhea, the cradle
of the golden age, sung by all the poets. In
short, this is the smiling region of which French
genius alone has been able to describe the graces,
through the pencil of Poussin and Claude Lor-
rain.
I descended from the Villa d'Est about three
o’clock in the afternoon, and crossed the Teve-
rone over the bridge of Lupus, for the purpose
of re-entering Tivoli by the Sabine gate. In
passing through the grove of olives, which I
before mentioned to you, I perceived a white
chapel, dedicated to the Madonna Quintilanea,
and built upon the ruins of the villa formerly
belonging to Varus. It was Sunday — the door
32 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
of the chapel was open, and I entered. I saw
three altars disposed in the form ot a cross ; and
on the middle one was a silver crucifix, before
which burnt a lamp suspended from the root.
A solitary man, of most unhappy mien, was
prostrate against a bench, and praying with such
fervour that he did uot even raise his eyes at
the noise of my footsteps, as I approached. I
felt what 1 have a thousand times experienced on
entering a church — a sort of solace to the
troubles of the heart, and an indescribable dis-
gust as to every thing earthly. I sunk upon my
knees at some distance from the man, and, in-
spired by the place, could not refrain from utter-
ing this prayer :
“ God of the traveller, who sufferest the
pilgrim to adore thee in this humble asylum,
built on the ruins of a palace once occupied by
a great man of this world, — mother of affliction,
who hast mercifully established thy worship in
the inheritance of this unfortunate Roman, who
died far from his country among barbarians—
there are at the foot of your altar, only two pros-
trate sinners. Grant this stranger, who seems to
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS.
33
be so profoundly humbled before your greatness,
all that he implores of you, and let his prayer
obtain for me the removal of my infirmities ; so
that we two Christians, who are unknown to each
other, who have never met but for one instant
during our lives, and who are about to part and
no more see each other here below, may be
astonished when we again meet at the foot of
your throne in mutually owing part of our hap-
piness to the intercession of this day, and to the
miracles of your charity.”
When I look at all the leaves, which are
scattered over my table, l am alarmed at having
trifled to such an extent, and hesitate as to send-
ing such a letter. 1 he fact is that I am aware
of having said nothing to you, and of having
forgotten a thousand things which 1 ought to
have said. How happens it, for instance, that
I have not spoken of Tusculurn, and of that
wonderful man, Cicero, who, according to Se-
neca, was the only genius ever produced by the
Roman nation, equal to the vastness of its em-
pire ? “ Illud ingenvum quod solum populus
Romanus par imperio suo hubuit My voyage
VOL. I. D
34
u
RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
to Naples, ray descent into the cratei of Vesa
vius,* my tours to Pompeia, Capua, Caseita, Sol
fatara, the Lake of Avernus, and the grotto of
the Sibyl would interest you. Baiae, where so
many memorable scenes occurred, would alone
deserve a volume. I could fancy that I still
•saw Bauli, where Agrippina’s house stood,
and where he used this sublime expression to
the assassins sent by his son : l< ^ entrem
The isle of Nisida, which served as a retreat
to Brutus, after the murder of Caesar, the
* There is only some fatigue attendant on a descent
into the crater of Vesuvius, but no danger, unless indeed a
person should be surprised by a sudden eruption ; and even
in that case, if not blown into the air by the explosion of the
matter, experience has proved that he may still save him-
self on the lava, which flows very slowly, but congeals so
rapidly that a person can soon pass over it. I descended as
far as one of the three small craters, formed in the middle of
the large one, by the last eruption. The smoke, towards
the side of the Torre del Annunciata was rather thick, and
I made several abortive efforts to reach a light which was
visible ou the other side towards Caserte. In some parts of
the mountain the cinders were burning-hot, two inches under
the surface. + Tacitus.
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS. 35
bridge of Caligula, the admirable Piscina, and
all those palaces, built in the sea, of which
Horace speaks, well deserve that any one should
stop a moment. Virgil has fixed or found in
these places the beautiful fictions of his sixth
Eneid. It was from hence that he wrote to
Augustus these modest words, the only lines of
prose, 1 believe, written by this great man, which
have reached us : “ Ego vero frequent es a te lit -
teras acavpio. De JEnea qaidem meo, si mehercule
jam (lignum auribus haherem tuis, libenter mit-
terem ; sect tanta inchoata res est, ut pene vitio
mentis tantum opus ingressus mihi videar ; cum
prcesertim, ut scis, alia quoque studia ad id opus
multoque potior a impertiar
My pilgrimage to the tomb of Scipio Afri-
canus is one of those from which I derived the
highest satisfaction, though I failed in attaining
the object, for which I undertook it. I had been
told that the mausoleum of this famous Roman
* This fragment occurs in the Saturnalia of Macrobius,
but 1 cannot point out the book, having no immediate means
of reference. I believe, however, that it is the first,
D 2
36
RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
Still existed, and that even the word patriav, a*
distinguishable on it, being all that remained o
the inscription, which was asserted to have been
carved upon it.
« Ungrateful land, thou shaltnot have my bones !"
I went to Patria, the ancient Liternum, but
did not find the tomb * 1 wandered, however,
throngh the ruins of the house, which the greatest
and most amiable men inhabited during his
exile. 1 saw in imagination the conqueror of
Hannibal walking on the sea- coast opposite to
that of Carthage, and consoling himself for the
injustice of Rome by the charms of friendship,
and the consciousness of rectitude.
* I was not only told that this tomb was in existence ;
but l have read the circumstances above mentioned in some
travels, though I do not recollect by whom they were written.
1 doubt these statements, however, for the following
reasons :
1st. It appears to me that Scipio, in spite of his just
complaints against Rome, loved his country too much to
have wished that such an inscription should be recorded on
his tomb. It is coutrary to ull we know of the genius of the
ancients.
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS.
37
As to the modern Romans, Duclos appears
to have been sarcastic when he calls them the
Italians of Rome . I am of opinion that there is
2dly. The inscription spoken of, is almost literally con*
ceived in the terms of imprecation which Livy puts into the
mouth of Scipio when he left Rome. May not this have
given rise to the error ?
3dly. Plutarch mentions that in the neighbourhood of
Gaieta a bronze urn was found in a marble tomb, wheve the
ashes of Scipio would most probably have been deposited,
and that it bore an inscription very different to the one now
under discussion.
The ancient Liternum, having the name Patria , this
may have given birth to the report that the word Patria was
the only remaining one of the inscription upon the tomb.
Would it not, in fact, be a very singular coincidence that the
town should be called Patria, and that the same word should
also be found in this solitary state upon the monument
of Scipio — unless indeed we suppose the one to have been
taken from the other ?
It is possible, nevertheless, that authors, with whom
I am unacquainted, may have spoken of this inscription in
a way which leaves no doubt, I grant that there is even
an expression in Plutarch, apparently favourable to the
opinion I am combatting. A man of great merit, and who
is the dearer to me because he is very unfortunate, visited
Patria much about the same time that I did. We have
38
RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
still among them the materials, requisite towards
the formation of no common people. When the
Italians are closely examined, great sense, cou-
rage, patience, genius, and deep traces of their
ancient manners are to be discovered in them,
with a kind of superior air, and some noble
customs, which still partake of royalty. Betore
often conversed together about this celebrated place ; but I
am not quite sure whether he said that he had seen the
tomb or the word (which would solve the difficulty) or whe-
ther he only grounded his arguments on popular tradition.
For my own part I never found the tomb itself, but merely
saw the ruins of the villa, which are of no great consequence.
Plutarch mentions some one to have stated that the
tomb of Scipio was near Rome ; but they evidently con-
founded the tomb of the Scipios with that of Scipio Afri-
canus. Livy affirms that the latter was at Liternum, and
that it was surmounted by a statue, which a tempest had
thrown down; adding that he himself had seen the statue. We
know too from Seneca, Cicero, and Pliny, that the other
tomb, namely the family vault of the Scipios, was actually
in existence at one of the gates of Rome. It has been disco-
vered during the pontificate of Pius VI, and the inscrip-
tions, appertaining to it, were conveyed to the museum of
the Vatican. Among the names of the members, composing
the family of Scipio, which appear upon this monument of
their consequence, that of Africanus is wanting.
ROME AND ITS ENVIRONS.
39
you condemn this opinion, which may appeal to
you singular, you must hear my reasons for it,
and at present I have not time to send them.
What a number of observations 1 have to
make upon Italian literature ! Do you know that
I never saw Count Alfieri but once in my life,
and can you guess in what situation < I saw
him put into his coffin. I was told that he
was scarcely at all altered. His countenance
appeared to me noble and grave; but death had
doubtless imparted some additional degree of
severity to it. The coffin being rather too
short, a person bent his head over his breast,
which caused a most disagreeable motion on the
part of the body. Through the kindness of one
who was very dear to Alfieri, and the politeness
of a gentleman at Florence, who was also the
Count’s friend, I am in possession of some
curious particulars as to the posthumous works,
life and opinions of this celebrated man. Most
of the public papers in France have given vague
and mutilated accounts of the subject. Till 1
am able to eomrnnnicate these particulars, 1 send
you the epitaph which Alfieri made for his noble
40
o'
RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
mistress, at the same time that he composed
his own.
Hie sita est
Alf ..... E . . . . St. ...
.Al^. ... Com. ...
Genere. formd. moribus.
Incomparabili. animi. candore.
Proeclarissima.
A. Victoria. Alferio.
Juxta. quern, sarcophago. uno.*
Tumulata. est.
Annorum. 26 *. spatio.
Ultra, res. omnes. dilecta.
Et. quasi, mortale. numine
Ab. ipso, constanter. habita.
Et. observata.
Vixit. annos . . . menses . . . dies . . .
Hannonice. montibus. nata.
Obiit . . . die . . . mensis . . .
Anno. Domini. M.D. C. C. C . . .df
* Sic inicribendum me, ut opinor et opto, praemoriente ;
sed aliter, jubente Deo, aliter inscribendum :
Qui. juxta. earn, sarcophago. uno.
Conditus. erit. quamprimum.
t Here lies Eioisa E. St. Countess of AI, illustrious
ROME AND ItS ENVIRONS.
41
The simplicity of this epitaph, and parti-
cularly of the note which accompanies it, appears
to me very affecting.
For the present I have finished. I send you
a heap of ruins — do what you like with them.
In the description of the different objects, of
which 1 have treated, I do not think that I ha\e
omitted any remarkable circumstance, unless
it be that the Tiber is still the “ fiavus Ti -
berinus It is said that it acquires its muddy
appearance from the rains which fall in the
mountains, whence it descends. I have often,
while contemplating this discoloured river in the
by her ancestry, the graces of her person, the elegance of
her manners, and the incomparable candour of her mind ;
buried near Victor Alfieri and in the same grave ; (a) he pre-
ferred her during twenty-six years to everything in the world ;
and though mortal, she was constantly honoured and revered
by him as if she had been a divinity. She was born at Mons,
lived .... and died on
(a) To be thu* inscribed, if I die first, as I believe and hope I shall ;
but if God ordain it otherwise, the inscription to be thus altered,
after the mention of Alfieri.
Who will soon be inclosed in the same tomb with her.
42 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
serenest weather, represented to myself a life
begun amidst storms. It is in vain that the re-
mainder of its course is passed beneath a serener
sky ; the stream continues to be tainted with the
waters of the tempest, which disturbed it at its
source.
43
VISIT TO MOUNT VESUVIUS.*
On the 5th of January, 1 left Naples at seven
o’clock in the morning, and proceeded to Por-
tici. The sun had chased away the clonds of
night, hut the head of Vesuvins is always wrapt
in mist. I began my journey up the mountain
with a Cicerone , who provided two mules, one
for me and one for himself.
The ascent was at first on a tolerably wide
road, between two platations of vines, which
* The following observations were not intended for the
public eye, as will easily be perceived from the particular
character of the reflections which they contain. They were
principally written in pencil as I ascended to the crater of
the volcano. I have not chosen to correct any part of this
short journal, that I might not in any degree interfere with
the truth of the narrative ; but for the reasons mentioned
the reader is requested to peruse it with indulgence.
3
44 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
were trained upon poplars. I soon began to feel
the cold wintry air, but kept advancing, and at
length perceived, a little below the vapours of
the middle region, the tops of some trees. They
were the elms of the hermitage. The miserable
habitations of the vine-dressers were now visible
on both sides, amidst a rich abundance of La -
chrymae Christi. In other respects, I observed a
parched soil, and naked vines intermixed with
pine-trees in the form of an umbrella, some aloes
in the hedge, innumerable rolling stones, and
not a single bird.
On reaching the first level ground of the
mountain, a naked plain lay stretched before me,
and l had also in view the two summits of Vesu-
vius — on the left the Somma, on the right the
present mouth of the Volcano. These two heads
were enveloped in pale clouds. I proceeded.
On one side the Somma falls in, and on the other,
I began to distinguished the hollows made in the
cone of the volcano, which I was about to climb.
The lava of 1766 and 1769 covered the plain,
which I was crossing. It is a frightful smoky
desert, where the lava, cast out like dross from a
VISIT TO MOUNT VESUVIUS.
45
forge, displays its whitish scum upon a black
ground, exactly resembling dried moss.
Leaving the cone of the volcano to the
right and following the road on the left, I
reached the foot of a hill, or rather a wall,
formed of the lava, which overwhelmed Hercu-
laneum. This species of wall is planted with
vines on the borders of the plain, and on the
opposite side is a deep valley, filled by a copse.
The air now began to “ bite shrewdly.
I climbed this hill in order to visit the her-
mitage which 1 perceived from the other side.
The heavens lowered ; the clouds descended
and flew along the surface of the earth like grey
smoke, or ashes driven before the wind. I began
to hear a murmuring sound among the elms ot
the hermitage.
The hermit came forth to receive me, and
held the bridle of my mule while I alighted.
He was a tall man with an open countenance
and good address. He invited me into his cell,
and placed upon the table a repast of bread,
apples and eggs. He sat down opposite to me,
rested both his elbows on the table, and calmly
46
RECOLLECTIONS OP ITALY.
began to converse while I eat my breakfast.
The clouds were collected all round us, and no
object could be distinguished through the win-
dows of the hermitage. Nothing was heard in
this dreary abyss of vapour, but the whistling of
the wind, and the distant noise of the waves, as
they broke upon the shores of Herculaneum.
There was something singular in the situation of
this tranquil abode of Christian hospitality — a
small cell at the foot of a volcano and in the
midst of a tempest.
The hermit presented to me the book in
which strangers, who visit Vesuvius, are accus-
tomed to make some memorandum. In this
volume I did not find one remark worthy of
recollection. The French indeed, with the good
taste natural to our nation, had contented them-
selves with mentioning the date of their journey,
or paying a compliment to the hermit for his
hospitality. It would seem that this volcano
had no very remarkable effect upon the* visitors,
which confirms me in the idea I some time
since formed, namely, that grand objects and
grand subjects are less capable of giving birth
47
VISIT TO MOUNT VEUSVIUS
to great ideas than is generally supposed ; for
their grandeur being evident, all that is added,
beyond this fact, becomes mere repetition. The
“ nascetur ridiculus mm” is true of alt moun-
tains.
I left the hermitage at half past two o’clock,
and continued to ascend the hill of lava, on
which 1 had before proceeded. On my left was
the valley, which separated me from the Somma ;
on my right the plain of the cone. Not a living
creature did I see in this horrible region but a
poor, lean, sallow, half-naked girl, who was
bending under a load of faggots, which she had
cut on the mountain.
The clouds now entirely shut out the view ;
for the wind blew them upwards from the black
plain, of which, if clear, 1 should have com-
manded the prospect, and caused them to pass
over the lava road, upon which 1 was pursuing
my way. I heard nothing but the sound of my
mule’s foo^teps.
At length I quitted the hill, bending to the
right, and re-descendmg into the plain of lava,
which adjoins the cone of the volcano, and
48 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITAL\.
which I crossed lower down on my road to the
hermitage ; but even when in the midst of these
calcined fragments, the mind can hardly form to
itself an idea of the appearance which the dis-
trict must assume, when covered with fire and
molten metals by an eruption of Vesuvius.
Dante had, perhaps, seen it when he describes
in his Hell those showers of ever-burning fire,
which descend slowly and in silence u come di
neve in Alpe senza vento.
“ Arivammo ad una landa
Che dal suo letto ogni pianta rimove
Lo spazzo er’ un’ arena arida e spessa
Sovra tutto *1 aabbion d’un cader lento
Pioven di fuoco dilatata, e falde,
Come di neve in Alpe senza vento.
Snow was here visible in several places,
and I suddenly discovered at intervals Portici,
Capri, Ischia, Pausilipi, the sea studded with
the white sails of fishing boats, and the coast of
the gulph ol Naples, bordered with orange trees.
It was a view of paradise from the infernal
regions.
VISIT TO MOUNT VESUVIUS. 49
On reaching the foot of the cone, we alighted
from our mules. My guide gave me a long staff,
and we began to climb the huge mass of cinders.
The clouds closed in, the fog became more
dense, and increasing darkness surrounded us.
Behold me now at the top of Vesuvius,
where I seated myself at the mouth of the volcano,
wrote down what had hitherto occurred, and
prepared myself for a descent into the crater.
The sun appeared, from time to time, through
the mass of vapours, which enveloped the whole
mountain, and concealed from me one of the
most beautiful landscapes in the world, while it
doubled the horrors of the place 1 was in. Ve-
suvius, thus separated by clouds from the en-
chanting country at its base, has the appearance
of being placed in the completest desert, and the
sort of terror, which it inspires, is in no degree
diminished by the spectacle of a flourishing city
at its foot.
I proposed to my guide that we should
descend into the crater. He made several
objections, but this was only to obtain a little
more money ; and we agreed upon a sum, which
VOL. i. E
50 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY-
he received on the spot. He then took oft hi*
clothes, and we walked some time on the edge
of the abyss, in order to find a part which was
less perpendicular, and more commodious for
our descent. The guide discovered one, and
gave the signal for me to accompany him.— We
plunged down.
Fancy us at the bottom of the gulph.* I
despair of describing the chaos, which surrounded
me. Let the reader figure to himself a basin, a
thousand feet in circumference, and three hun-
dred high, which forms itself into the shape of a
funnel. Its borders or interior walls are furrowed
by the liquid fire, which this basin has contained,
and vomited forth. The projecting parts of
these walls resemble those brick pillars, with
which the Romans supported their enormous
masonry. Large rocks are hanging down in
different parts, and their fragments mixed with
cinders into a sort of paste, cover the bottom of
the abyss.
* There is fatigue, but very little danger attendant on
a descent into the crater of Vesuvius, unless the investigator
should be surprised by a sudden, eruption.
VISIT TO MOUNT VESUVIUS.
51
This bottom of the basin is ploughed and
indented in various manners. Near the middle
are three vents, or small mouths, recently opened,
which discharged flames during the occupation
of Naples by the French in 1798.
Smoke proceeds from different points of the
crater, especially on the side towards la Torre
del Greco. On the opposite side, towards Ca-
seste, I perceived flame. When you plunge
your hand into the cinders, you find them of a
burning heat, several inches under the surface.
The general colour of the gulph is black as coal ;
but Providence, as 1 have often observed, can
impart grace at his pleasure even to objects
the most horrible. The lava, in some places, is
tinged with azure, ultra-marine, yellow, and
orange. Rocks of granite are warped and
twisted by the action of fire, and bent to their
very extremities, so that they exhibit the sem-
blance of the leaves of palms and acanthus.
The volcanic matter having cooled on the rocks
over which it flowed, many figures are thus
formed, such as roses, girandoles, and ribbons.
The rocks likewise assume the forms of plants
.52 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
and animals, and imitate the various figures,
which are to be seen in agates. I particularly
observed on a blueish rock, a white swan mo-
delled in so perfect a manner that I could have
almost sworn I beheld this beautiful bird sleep-
ing on a placid lake, with its head bent under
its wing, and its long neck stretched over its
back like a roll of silk.
“ Ad vada Meandri concinit albut olor .”
I found here that perfect silence which I
have, on other occasions, experienced at noon
in the forests of America, when I have held my
breath and heard nothing except the beating of
my heart and temporal artery. It was only at
intervals that gusts of wind, descending from
the cone to the bottom of the crater, rustled
through my clothes or whistled round my staff.
I also heard some stones, which my guide kicked
on one side, as he climbed through the cinders.
A confused echo, similar to the jarring of metal
or glass, prolonged the noise of the fall, and
afterwards all was silent as death. Compare
this gloomy silence with the dreadful thundering
VISIT TO MOUNT VESUVIUS. 55
din, which shakes these very places, when the
volcano vomits fire from its entrails, and covers
the earth with darkness.
A philosophical reflection may here be
made, which excites our pity for the sad state
of human affairs. What is it, in fact, but the
famous revolutions of Empires, combined with
the convulsions of nature, that changes the face
of the earth and the ocean ? A happy circum-
stance would it at least be, if men would not
employ themselves in rendering each other miser-
able, during the short time that they are allowed
to dwell together. Vesuvius has not once
opened its abyss to swallow up cities, without
its fury surprising mankind in the midst of blood
and tears. What are the first signs of civiliza-
tion and improved humanity, which have been
found, during our days, under the lava of the
volcano? Instruments of punishment and ske-
letons in chains ! *
Times alter, and human destinies are liable
* At Pompeia.
,54 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITAL*
to the same inconstancy. “ Life, says a Greek
song, “ is like the wheels of a chariot.
yot(> o\a.
B loro; r^iyjn xuAiOh?*
Pliny lost his life from a wish to contem-
plate, at a distance, the volcano, in the centre of
which I was now tranquilly seated. 1 saw the
abyss smoking round me. I reflected that a few
fathoms below me was a gulph of fire.—
I reflected that the volcano might at once
disgorge its entrails, and launch me into the air
with all the rocky fragments by which I was
surrounded.
What Providence conducted me hither ?
By what chance did the tempests of the Ameri-
can ocean cast me on the plains of Lavinia ?
“ Lavinaque venit littora.” I cannot refrain
from returning to the agitations of this life, in
which St. Augustine says that things are full of
misery, and hope devoid of happiness. Rem
plenam miseries, spem beatitudinis inanem. Born
on the rocks of America, the first sound, which
struck my ear on entering the world, was that
VFtlT TO MOUNT VESUVIUS.
55
of the sea, and on how many shores have I seen
the same waves break, that find me here again !
Who would have told me, a few years ago, that
I should hear these wanderers moaning at the
tombs of Scipio and Virgil, after they had rolled
at my feet on the coast of England, or the strand
of Canada ? My name is in the hut of the
savage of Florida, and in the hermit s book at
Vesuvius. When shall I lay down, at the gate
of my fathers, the pilgrim’s staff and mantle ?
•• O p atria ! 0 Divum domus Ilium !
How do 1 envy the lot of those, who never
quitted their native land, and have no adventures
to record !
A VISIT TO MONT BLANC.
I have seen many mountains in Europe and
America, and it has always appeared to me that
in describing these monuments of nature,
writers have gone beyond the truth. My last
experience in this respect has not produced any
change in my opinion. 1 have visited the valley
of Cbamonni, rendered famous by the labours
of M. de Saussure ; but I do not know whether
the poet would there find the ‘ f speciosa deserti
which the mineralogist discovered. Be that as
it may, 1 will simply describe the reflections,
which I made during my journey. My opinion,
however, is of so little consequence thas it can-
not offend any one.
T left Geneva in dull cloudy weather, and
reached Servoz at the moment that the sky was
becoming clear. The crest of Mont Blanc, as
it is termed, is not discoverable from this part of
the country, but there is a distinct view of the
VISIT TO MONT BLANC
57
snow- cl ad ridge called the dome. 1 he Mont6es
are here passed, and the traveller enters the
valley of Chamouni. He proceeds under the
glacier of the Bossons, the pyramids of which
are seen through the firs and larches. M.
Bourrit has compared this glacier, from it3 white-
ness, and the great extent of its chrystals, to a
fleet under sai). I would add in the midst of a
gulph encircled with verdant forests.
I stopped at the village of Chamouni, and
on the following day went to Montanvert, which
1 ascended in the finest weather. On reaching
its summit, which is only a stage towards the
top of Mont Blanc, I discovered what is im-
properly termed the Sea of Ice.
Let the Reader figure to himself a valley,
the whole of which is occupied by a river. The
mountains, near this valley, overhang the river
in rocky masses, forming the natural spires of
Dru, Bochard, and Charmoz. Further on, the
• valley and river divide themselves into two
branches, of which the one waters the foot of
a high mountain, called the Col du Geant or
Giant's hill, and the other flows past the rocks
58 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
called Iorasses. Ou the opposite side is a de-
clivity, which commands a prospect of the
valley of Chamouni. This declivity, which is
nearly vertical, is almost entirely occupied by the
portion of the sea or lake of ice, which is called
the glacier des bo is. Suppose then that a severe
winter has occurred. The river, which fills the
valley, through all its inflexions and declivities,
has been frozen to the very bottom of its bed.
The summits of the neighbouring mountains
are loaded with ice and snow wherever the granite
has been of a form sufficiently horizontal to re-
tain the congealed waters. Such is the lake of
ice, and such its situation. It is manifest that
it is not a sea, and not a lake, but a river ; just
as if one saw the Rhine completely frozen.
When we have descended to the lake of ice,
the surface, which appeared to be smooth and
entire while surveyed from the heights of Mon-
tanvert, displays a number of points and cavities.
The peaks of ice resemble the craggy forms of
the lofty cliffs, which on all sides overhang them.
They are like a relief in white marble to the
neighbouring mountains.
VISIT TO MONT BLANC.
59
Let us now speak of mountains in general.
There are two modes of seeing them, with and
without clouds. These form the piincipal cha-
racter of the Alps.
When clouded, the scene is more animated,
but it is obscure, and often so confused that one
can hardly distinguish its features. The clouds
clothe the rocks in a thousand ways. I have
seen a bald crag at Servoz, across which a cloud
obliquely passed like the ancient toga ; and I
could have fancied I beheld a colossal statue of
a Roman. In another quarter the cultivated
part of the mountain appeared ; but a barrier ot
vapour obstructed the view from my station,
and below it black continuations of the rocks
peeped through, imitating the Chimera, the
Sphinx, the heads of the Auubis, and various
forms of monsters and gods, worshipped by the
Egyptians.
When the clouds are dispersed by the wind,
the mountains appear to be rapidly flying behind
this light curtain, alternately hiding and dis-
covering themselves. At one time, a spot of
verdure suddenly displayed itself through the
60 RECOLLECTIONS OF IT ALT.
opening of a cloud, like an island suspended itt
the Heavens ; at another a rock slowly disrobed
itself, and gradually pierced through the dense
vapour like a phantom. On such an occasion,
the melancholy traveller hears only the rustling
of the wind among the pines, and the roaring of
the torrents which fall into the glaciers, mingled
at intervals with the loud fall of an avalanche,*
and sometimes the whistle of the affrighted
marmot, which has seen the hawk of the Alps
sailing in the air.
When the sky is without clouds, and the
ampitheatre of the mountains entirely displayed
to view, one circumstance is particularly deserv-
ing of notice. The summits of the mountains,
as they tower into the lofty regions, present to
the eye a purity of delineation, a neatness of
plan and profile, which objects in the plain do
not possess. These angular heights, under the
transparent dome of Heaven, resemble beautiful
specimens of natural history, such as fine trees
of coral, or stalactites inclosed in a globe of the
* The sudden descent of an enormous mass of snow
from the mountain into the valley.
VISIT TO MONT BLANC.
61 ’
purest chrystal. The mountaineer searches in
these elegant appearances for objects, which are
familiar to him ; hence the names of the Mules,
the Charmoz, or the Chamois, and the appella-
tions borrowed from religion, the heights of the
cross, the rock of the altar, the glacier of the
pilgrims — simple and artless denominations,
which prove that if man be incessantly occupied
in providing for his wants, he every where
delights to dwell upon subjects which offer
consolation.
As to mountain trees, I shall only mention
the pine, the larch, and the fir, because they
constitute, as it were, the only decoration of the
~uu% - % :■
Alps. • ;
,'v-*
The pine by its shape calls to mind the
m
beauties of architecture, its branches having the
elegance of the pyramid, and its trunk that of
the column. It resembles also the form- of the
rocks, among which it flourishes. I have often,
upon the ridges and advanced cornices of the
mountains, confounded it with the pointed
peaks or beetling cliffs. ' Beyond the hill of
Balme, at the descent of the glacier de Trien,
62 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY"
occurs a wood of pines, firs, and larches, which
surpass all their congeners in point of beauty.
Every tree in this family of giants has existed
several ages, and the Alpine tribe has a king,
which the guides take care to point out to tra-
vellers. It is a fir, which might serve a9 a
mast for the largest man of war. The monarch
alone is without a wound — while all his subjects
round him are mutilated. One has lost his head;
another, part of his arms ; a third, has been rent by
lightning, and a fourth blackened by the herds-
man’s fire. I particularly noticed twins which
had sprung from the same trunk, and towered
aloft together. They were alike in height, form,
and age ; but the one was full of vigour, and the
other in a state of decay. They called to my
mind these impressive lines of Virgil :
“ Daucia, Laride Thymberque> simillima proles ,
“ Indiscreta suis, gratusque parentibus error ,
“ Ai nunc dura dedit vobis discrimina Pallas. 1 *
€C Oh Laris and Thimber, twin sons of
Daucus, and so much resembling each other,
that even your parents could not discern the
3
VISIT TO MONT BLANC.
63
difference, and felt delight in the mistakes
which you caused ! But death has caused a
mournful difference between you.”
I may add that the pine announces the soli-
tude and indigence of the mountain, on which it
is found. It is the companion of the poor Savoy-
ard, of whose lot it partakes. Like him it
grows and dies upon inaccessible eminences,
where its posterity perpetuates it, to perish
equally unknown. It is on the larch that the
mountain bee gathers that 6rm and savoury
honey, which mixes so agreeably with the rasp-
berries and cream of Montaubert. The gentle
murmuring of the wind among the pines ha9
been extolled by pastoral poets, but when the
gale is violent, the noise resembles that of the
sea, and you sometimes actually think that you
hear the roaring billows of the ocean in the
middle of the Alps. The odour of the pine is
aromatic and agreeable. To me it has a pecu-
liar charm ; for I have smelt it at sea, when
more than twenty leagues from the coast of
Virginia. It likewise always awakens in my
mind the idea of that new world, which was
64 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY-
announced to me by a balmy air of tb.it fine
region and those brilliant lakes, where the per-
fume of the forest was borne to me upon the
matin breeze ; and as if every thing was connected
in our remembrance, it also calls to mind the
sentiments of regret and hope which alternately
occupied my thoughts, when, leaning over the
side of the vessel, I thought of that country which
1 had lost, and those deserts, which I was about
to explore.
But to arrive finally at my peculiar opinion
as to mountains, I will observe that as there can
be no beautiful landscape without a mountainous
horizon, so there is no place calculated for an
agreeable residence, and no landscape which is
satisfactory to the eye and heart where a defi-
ciency of space and air exists. Still the idea of
great sublimity is attached to mountainous
views, and with great justice as far as regards
the grandeur of objects ; but if it be proved that
this grandeur, though real in its effects, is not
properly perceived by the senses, what becomes
of the sublimity ?
It is with the monuments of nature as with
VISIT TO MONT BLANC.
65
those of art. To enjoy their beauty, a person
must be stationed at the true point of perspective.
Without this the forms, the colouring, and the
proportions entirely disappear. In the interior
of mountains, when the object itself is almost
touched, and the field, in which the optics move,
is quite confined, the dimensions necessarily lose
their grandeur — a circumstance so true that one
is continually deceived as to the heights and
distances. 1 appeal to travellers whether Mont
Blanc appeared to them very lofty from the
valley of Chamounie. An immense lake in the
Alps has often the appearance of a small pond.
You fancy a few steps will bring you to the top
of an acclivity, which you are three hours in
climbing. A whole day hardly suffices to effect
your escape from a defile, the extremity of
which you seemed at first almost to touch with
your hand. This grandeur of mountains, there-
fore, so often dwelt upon, has no reality, except
in the fatigue which it causes. As to the land-
scape, it is not much grander to the eye than
an ordinary one.
But these mountains, which lose their ap-
vol. i. p
66 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY*
parent grandeur when they aie too neariy
approached by the spectator, are nevertheless, so
gigantic that they destroy what would otheiwise
constitute their ornament. Thus by contrary I
laws, every thing is diminished, both as a whole
and in its separate parts. If nature had made
the trees a hundred times larger on the moun-
tains than in the plains, if the rivers and cascades
poured forth waters a hundred times more abun-
dant, these grand woods and grand waters might
produce most majestic effects upon the extended
face of the earth ; but such is by no means the
case. The frame of the picture is enlarged
beyond all bounds, while the rivers, the forests, |
the villages and the flocks preserve their ac-
customed proportions. Hence there is no affinity
between the whole and the part, between the
theatre and its decorations. I he plan ot the
mountains being vertical, a scale is thereby i
supplied, with which the eye examines and com- I
pares the objects it embraces, in spite of a wish
to do otherwise, and these objects one by one
proclaim their own pettiness when thus brought
to live test. For example, the loftiest pines can
VISIT TO MONT BLANC.
67
hardly be distinguished from the vallies, or look
only like flakes of soot dashed on the spot. The
tracks of pluvial waters, in these black and
gloomy woods, have the appearance of yellow
parallel stripes, while the largest torrents and
steepest cataracts resemble small streams, or
bluish vapours.
Those, who have discovered diamonds, to-
pazes and emeralds in the glaciers, are more
fortunate than I was ; for my imagination was
never able to perceive these treasures. The
snow at’ the foot of the Glacier des Bois, mixed
with the dust of the granite, seemed to me like
ashes. The Lake of Ice might be taken, in
several quarters, for a lime or plaister pit. Its
crevices were the only parts which afforded any
prismatic colours, and when the masses of ice
rest on the rock, they look like so much com-
mon glass.
Th is white drapery of the Alps has a great
inconvenience too, not yet mentioned. It makes
every thing around it look black, nay it even
darkens the azure sky ; nor must it be supposed
that the spectator is remunerated for this dis-
F 2
68 recollections of Halt.
agreeable effect by the fine contrast with the
colour of the snow itself. The tint, which the
neighbouring mountains confer upon it, is lost
to a person stationed at their feet. The splen-
dour, with which the setting sun gilds the sum-
mits of the Alps in Savoy, is only seen by the
inhabitants of Lausanne. As to the traveller,
who passes through the valley of Chamouni, it
is in vain that he expects to witness this brilliant
spectacle. He sees over his head, as if through
a funnel, a small portion of sky which is a
dingy blue in point of colour, and unmixed with
any golden or purple marks of the setting lumi-
nary. Wretched district, upon which the sun
hardly casts a look even at noon through its
frozen barrier !
May I be allowed to utter a trivial truth for
the purpose of making myself better understood ?
In a painting — a back ground is necessary, and
for this purpose a curtain is often resorted to.
In nature the sky is the curtain ot the landscape ;
if that be wanting in the back ground, every
thing is confused and without effect. Now the
mountains, when a person is too near them,
VISIT TO MONT BLANC. t>9
obstruct a view of the greater part ot the sky.
There is not air enough round them ; they cast
a shade npon each other, and interchange the
darkness which perpetually prevails among the
cavities of the recks. To know whether moun-
tain landscapes have so decisive a superiority, it
is only requisite to consult painters. You will
see that they have always thrown eminences into
the distance, thereby opening to the eye a view
of woods and plains.
There is only one period at which mountains
appear with all their natural sublimity ; namely,
by moon-light. It is the property of this twi-
light planet to impart only a single tint without
any reflection, and to increase objects by isolating
the masses, as well as by causing that gradation
of colours to disappear, which connect the differ-
ent parts of a picture. Hence the more bold and
decided the features of a rock or mountain, a IK *
the more hardness there is in the design, so
much the more will the moon bring out the lines
of shade. It is for this reason that Homan
architecture, like the contour of mountains, is so
beautiful by moon-light.
70 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
The grand , therefore, and consequently
that species of sublimity, to which it gives birth,
disappears in the interior of a mountainous
country. Let us now see whether the graceful
is to be found there in a more eminent degree.
The valleys of Switzerland create at first a
sort of ecstacy; but it must be observed that
they are only found so agreeable by comparison.
Undoubtedly the eye, when fatigned by wander-
ing over sterile plains, or promontories covered
with reddish lichen, experiences great delight in
again beholding a little verdure and vegetation.
But in what does this verdure consist ? In some
pitiful willows, in some patches of oats and bar-
ley, which grow with difficulty, and are long in
ripening, with some wild trees, which bear late
and bitter fruit. If a vine contrives to vegetate
in some spot with a Southern aspect, and care-
fully protected from the Northern blast, this
extraordinary fecundity is pointed out to you as
an object of admiration. If yon ascend the
neighbouring heights, the great features of the
mountains cause the miniature of the valley to
disappear. The cottages become hardly visible,
VISIT TO MONT BLANC. 7 1
and the cultivated parts look like so many pat-
terns on a draper’s card.
Mach has been said of mountain flowers —
the violet, which is gathered on the borders of
the glaciers, the strawberry which reddens in 'the
snow, &c. but these are imperceptible wonders,
which produce no effect. The ornament is too
small for the colossus, to which it belongs.
It appears that 1 am altogether unfortunate,
for I have not been able to discover in these
cottages, which have been rendered famous by
the enchanting imagination of J. J. Rousseau,
any thing but miserable huts filled with the
ordure of cattle, and the smell of cheese and fer-
mented milk. I found the inhabitants of them
to be forlorn mountaineers, who considered
themselves exiles, and longed for the luxury of
descending into the valleys.
Small birds, flying from one frozen cliff to
another, with here and there a couple of ravens
or a hawk, scarcely give animation to the rocky
snow- clad scenery, where a fall of rain is almost
always the only object in motion, which salutes
your sight. Happy is the man in this region.
72 RECOLLECTIONS OE ITALY.
who hears the storm announced from some old
fir by the woodpecker. Yet this melancholy
indication of life makes my mind feel still more
sensibly the general death around me. The
chamois, the bouquetins, and the white rabbits
are almost entirely destroyed. Even marmots
are becoming scarce; and the little Savoyard is
threatened with the loss of his treasure. The
wild animals are succeeded on the summits of
the Alps by herds of cattle, which regret that
they are not allowed to enjoy the plain as well
as their masters. They have, however, when
lying in the coarse herbage of the Canx district,
the merit of enlivening the scene, and the more
so because they recal to mind the descriptions of
the ancient poets.
Nothing remains but to speak of the sensa-
tions experienced among mountains, and these
are to me very painful. I cannot he happy where
I witness on all sides the most assiduous labour,
and the most unheard-of toil, while an ungrateful
soil refuses all recompense. 1 he mountaineer,
who feels his misfortune, js more sincere than
travellers. He calls the plains the good country ,
VISIT TO MONT BLANC.
7 $
and does not pretend that the rocks, moistened by
the sweat of his brow, but not thereby rendered
more fertile, are the most beautiful and best of
God’s dispensations. 11 he appears highly at-
tached to his mountain, this must be reckoned
among the marvellous connection, which the
Almighty has established, between our troubles,
the object which causes them, and the places, in
which we experienced them. It is also attribu-
table to the recollections of infancy, to the first
sentiments of the heart, to the pleasures and even
the rigonrs of the paternal habitation. More
solitary than the rest of mankind, more serious
from a habit of enduring hardships, the moun-
taineer finds support in his own sentiments.
The extreme love of his country does not arise
from any charm »n the district which he inhabits,
but from the concentration of his ideas, and the
limited extent of his wants.
Mountains, however, are said to be the
abode of contemplation. — 1 doubt this. I doubt
whether any one can indulge in contemplation,
when his walk is fatiguing, and when the atten-
tion he is obliged to bestow on his steps, entirely
74 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
occupies his mind. The lover of solitude, who
gazed with open mouth at chimeras,* while he
was climbing Montanvert, might well fall into
some pits, like the astrologer, who pretended to
read over head when he could not see his feet.
I am well aware that poets have fixed upon
valleys and woods as the proper places to con*
verse with the Muses. For instance let us hear
what Virgil says.
“ Rura miki et rigui placeant in vallibus amnes,
“ Flumina ament, sy/vasque inglorius
From this quotation it is evident that he liked
the plains, “ rura mihi ; ” he looked for agree-
able, smiling, ornamented valleys, “ vallibus
amnes ; ” he was fond of rivers, Jlumina amem/
(not torrents) and forests, in which he could pa ss
his life without the parade of glory, “ sylvasque
inglorius .” These sylvce are beautiful groves of
oaks, elms, and beeches, not melancholy woods
of fir ; for he does not say in this passage, “ et
ingentiramorum protegat umbrd ,” that he wishes
to be enveloped in thick shade.
* La Fontaine.
VISIT TO MONT BLANC.
75
And where does he wish that this valley
shall be situated ? In a place, which will inspire
happy recollections and harmonious names, with
traditions of the muses and of history :
“ 0 ubi campi
“ Sperchiusque, et virginibus bacchnta Laccenis
“ Taygeta ! O qui me gelidis vallibus Hoemi
“ Sistat ! ”
“ Oh, where are the fields, and the river Sper-
chius, and Mount Taygetus, frequented by the
virgins of Laconia ? Oh, who will convey me to
the cool valleys of Mount Hcemus?” He would
have cared very little for the valley of Chamouni,
the glacier of Taconay, the greater or lesser
Iorasse, the peak of Dm, and the rock of T&te-
Noir.
Nevertheless, if we are to believe Rousseau,
and those who have adopted his errors without
inheriting his eloquence, when a person arrives
at the summit of a mountain, he is transformed
into a new man. “ On high mountains,'* says
Jean Jacques, “ Meditation assumes a grand and
sublime character, in unison with the objects that
strike us. The mind feels an indescribable
76 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
placid delight, which has nothing earthly or
sensual in it. It appears to raise itself above the
abode of mankind, leaving there all low and
terrestrial feelings. I doubt whether any agita-
tion of the soul can he so violent as to resist the
effects of a lengthened stay in such a situation.”
Would to Heaven that it were really thus !
How charming the idea of being able to
shake off our cares by elevating ourselves a few
feet above the plains ! But unfortunately the
soul of man is independent of air and situation.
Alas ! a heart, oppressed with pain, would be
no less heavy on the heights than in the valley.
Antiquity, which should always be referred to
when accuracy of feeling is the subject of dis-
cussion, was not of Rousseau’s opinion as to
mountains ; but, on the contrary, represents
them as the abode of desolation and sorrow. If
the lover of Julia forgot his chagrin among the
rocks of Valais, the husband of Eurydice fed
the source ot his grief upon the mountains of
Thrace. In spite of the talents possessed by the
philosopher of Geneva, 1 doubt whether the
voice of Saint Preux will be heard by so many
future ages as the lyre of Orpheus. (Edipns,
VISIT TO MONT BLANC*
77
that perfect model of Royal calamity, that
grand epitome of all earthly evils, likewise
sought deserted eminences. He mounted to-
wards Heaven to interrogate the Gods respecting
human misery. We have other examples sup-
plied by antiquity, and of a more beautiful as
well as more sacred description. ihe holy wri-
tings of the inspired, who better knew the nature
of man than the profane sages, always describe
those who are particularly unhappy, the prophets
and our Saviour himself, as retiring, in the day
of affliction, to the high places. 1 he daughter
of Jeptha, before her death, asked her father’s
permission to go and bewail her virginity on the
mountains of Judea. Jeremiah said that he
would go to the mountains for the purpose of
weeping and groaning. It was on the Mount
of Olives that Christ drank the cup, which was
filled with all the afflictions and tears of mankind.
It is worthy of observation that in the most
rational pages of that writer, who stepped for-
ward as the defender of fixed morality, it is still
not difficult to find traces of the spirit ot the age
in which he lived. This supposed change of
our internal dispositions, according to the nature
78 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
of the place which we inhabited, belonged se-
cretly to the system of materialism ; which
Rousseau affected to combat. The soul was
considered to be a sort ot plant, subject to the
variations of the atmosphere, and agitated or
serene in conformity with this. But could
Jean Jacques himself really believe in this salu-
tary influence of the higher regions ? Did not
this unfortunate man himself carry with him his
passions and his misery to the mountains of
Switzerland ?
\
There is only one situation, in which it is
true that mountains inspire an oblivion of
earthly troubles. This is when a tnan retires far
from the world to employ his days in religious
excercises. An anchorite, who devotes himself
to the relief of human nature, or a holy hermit,
who silently meditates on the omnipotence of
God, may find peace and joy upon barren rocks ;
but it is not the tranquillity of the place which
passes into the soul of the reclose ; it is, on the
contrary, his soul, which diffuses serenity
through the region of storms.
It has ever been an instinctive feeling of
mankind to adore the Eternal on high places.
VISIT TO MONT BLANC.
79
The nearer we are to Heaven, the less distance
there seems to be for our prayers to pass before
they reach the throne of God. T he patriarchs
sacrificed on the mountains ; and as it they had
borrowed from their altars their idea of the
Divinity, they called him the Most High. Tra-
ditions of this ancient mode of worship remained
among Christian nations ; whence our moun-
tains, and in default of them our hills were
covered with monasteries and abbeys. from
the centre of a corrupt city, man, who was per-
haps proceeding to the commission of some
crime, or who was at least in pursuit of some
vanity, perceived, on raising his eyes, the altars
upon the neighbouring heights. The cross,
displaying at a distance the standard of poverty
to the eyes of luxury, recalled to the rich ideas of
affliction and commiseration. Our poets little
understood their art, when they ridiculed these
emblems of Mount Calvary, with the institu-
tions and retreats, which bring to our recollec-
tion those of the East, the manners of the
hermits of the Thebaid, the miracles of our
divine religion, and the events of times, the an-
tiquity of which is not effaced by that of Homer.
80 RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY.
But this belongs to another class of ideas
and sentiments, and bears no reference to the
general question, which we are examining.
After having censured mountains, it is only just
to conclude by saying something in their favour.
I have already observed that they are essential to
a fine landscape, and that they ought to form
the chain in the back ground of a picture. Their
hoary heads, their lank sides, and gigantic
members, though hideous when contemplated,
are admirable when rounded by the vapour of
the horizon, and coloured in a melting gilded
light. Let us add too, if it be wished, that
mountains are the source of rivers, the last
asylum of liberty in times of despotism, as well
as an useful bariier against invasion, and the
evils of war. All I ask is that I may not be
compelled to admire the long list of rocks,
quagmires, crevices, holes, and contortions of
the Alpine vallies. On this condition I will say
there are mountains, which I should visit again
with much pleasure — for instance those of
Greece and Judea.*
* This letter was written prior to M. de Chateaubriand’s
recent Travels in the Holy Laud.
RECOLLECTIONS
OF
ENGLAND.
recollections
OF
ENGLAND.
If man were not attached, by a sublime instinct
to his native country, his most natural condition
in the world would be that of a traveller. A
certain degree of restlessness is for ever urging
him beyond his own limits. He wishes to see
every thing, and is full of lamentations after he
has seen every thing. I have traversed several
regions of the globe, but I confess that 1 paid
more attention to the deserts than to mankind,
among whom, after all, I often experience
solitude.
I sojourned only for a short period among
the Germans, Spaniards, and Portuguese; but
1 lived a considerable time in England ; and as
the inhabitants of that kingdom constitute the
c 2
84 RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND.
only people who dispute the empire of the
French,* the least account of them becomes
interesting.
Erasmus is the most ancient traveller, with
whom I am acquainted, that speaks of the
English. He states that, during the reign of
Henry VIII. he found London inhabited by
barbarians, whose huts were full of smoke. A
long time afterwards, Voltaire, wanting to dis*
cover a perfect philosopher, was of opinion that
he had found this character among the Quakers
upon the banks of the Thames. During his
abode there the taverns were the places, at which
the men of genius, and the friends of rational
liberty assembled. England, however, is known
to be the country, in which religion is less dis-
cussed, though more respected than in any other;
and where the idle questions, by which the tran-
quillity of empires is disturbed, obtain less atten-
tion than any where else.
* This was written at the time that all the continental
powers of Europe had been couquered by the arms of Na-
poleon, and had acknowledged his title.
RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND.
85
It appears to me that the secret of English
manners, and their way of thinking is to be sought
in the origin of this people. Being a mixture of
French and German blood, they form a link of
the chain by which the two nations are united.
Their policy,* their religion, their martial habits,
their literature, arts, and national character
appear to me a medium between the two. They
seem to have united, in some degree, the
brilliancy, grandeur, courage, and vivacity of
the French with the simplicity, calmness, good
sense, and bad taste of the Germans.
Inferior to us in some respects, they are
superior in several others, particularly in every
thing relative to commerce afid wealth. They
excel ns also in neatness ; and it is remarkable
that a people, apparently of a heavy turn, should
have, in their furniture, dress, and manufactures,
an elegance in which we are deficient. It may
be said of the English that they employ in the
labours of the hand the delicacy, which we de-
vote to those of the mind.
The principal failing of the English nation
is pride ; which is indeed the fault of all man-
I
86 RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND*
kind. It prevails at Paris as well as London,
but modified by the French character, and trans-
formed into self love. Pride, in its pure state,
appertains to the solitary man, who is not obliged
to make any sacrifice ; but he, who lives much
with his equals, is forced to dissimulate and
conceal his pride under the softer and more
varied forms of vanity. The passions are, in
general, more sudden and determined among the
English ; more active and refined among the
French. The pride of the former makes him
wish to crush every thing at once by force ; the
self love of the other slowly undermines what it
wishes to destroy. In England a man is hated
for a vice, or an offence, but in France such a
motive is not necessary; for the advantages of
person or of fortune, success in life, or even a
ion mot will be sufficient. This animosity,
which arises from a thousand disgraceful causes,
is not less implacable than the enmity founded
on more noble motives. There are no passions
so dangerous as those, which are of base origin ;
for they are conscious of their own baseness, and
are thereby rendered furious. They endeavour
REC0LLECTI0N9 OF ENGLAND. 8/
to conceal it under crimes, and to impart, from
its effects, a sort of apalling grandeur, which is
wanting from principle. 1 his the French revo-
lution sufficiently proved.
Education begins early in England. Girls
are sent to school during the tenderest years.
You sometimes see groups of these little ones,
dressed in white mautles, straw-hats tied under
the chin with a ribband, and a basket on
the arm which contains fruit and a book, all with
downcast eyes, blushing if looked at. When I
have observed our Jbrench female children
dressed in their antiquated fashion, lifting up the
train of their gowns, looking at every one with
effrontery, singing love-sick airs, and taking
lessons in declamation, I have thought with re-
gret of the simplicity and modesty of the little
English girls. A child without innocence is a
flower without perfume.
The boys also pass their earliest years at
school, where they learn Greek and Latin. 1 hose
who are destined for the church, or a political
career, go to the universities of Cambridge and
Oxford. The first is particularly devoted to
88 RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND.
mathematics, in memory of Newton ; but the
English, generally speaking, do not hold this
study in high estimation ; for they think it very
dangerous to good morals when carried too far.
They are of opinion that the sciences harden the
heart, deprive life of its enchantments, and lead
weak minds to atheism, the sure road to all other
crimes. On the contrary, they maintain that
the belles lettres render life delightful, soften the
sonl, fill us with faith in the Divinity, and thus
conduce, through the medium of religion, to
the practice of all the virtues.*
When an Englishman attains manhood,
agriculture, commerce, the army and navy,
religion and politics, are the pursuits of life open
to him. If hs chnses to be what they call a
gentleman fanner, he sells his corn, makes agri-
cultural experiments, hunts foxes and shoots
partridges in autumn, eats fat geese at Christ-
mas, sings “ Oh the roast beef of old England,”
grumbles about the present times, and boasts of
the past which he thought no better at the
moment, above all, inveighs against the minister
* Gibbon,
RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND. 8,9
and the war for raising the price of port-wine,
and finally goes inebriated to bed, intending to
lead the same life on the following day.
The army, though so brilliant dnring the
reign of Queen Anne, had fallen into a state of
disrepute, from which the present war has raised
it. The English were a long time before they
thought of turning their principal attention to
their naval force. They were ambitious of dis-
tinguishing themselves as a continental power.
It was a remnant of ancient opinions, which held
the pursuits of commerce in contempt. The
English have, like ourselves, always had a
species of physiognomy, by which they might
be distinguished. Indeed, these two nations are
the only ones in Europe, which properly deserve
the appellation. If we had our Charlemagne,
they had their Alfred. Their archers shared
the renown of the Gallic infantry ; their Black
Prince rivalled our Duguesclin, and their Marl-
borough our Turenne. Their revolutions and
ours keep pace with each other. We can boast
of the same glory; but we must deplore the
same crimes and the same misfortunes.
o'
90 RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND.
Since England is become a maritime power,
she has displayed her peculiar genius in this new
career. Her navy is distinguished from all
others in the world by a discipline the most
singular. The English sailor is an absolute
slave, who is sent on board a vessel by force, and
obliged to serve in spite of himself. The man,
who was so independent while a labourer, ap-
pears to lose all the rights of freedom from the
moment that he becomes a mariner. His supe-
riors oppress him by a yoke the most galling and
humiliating.* Whence arises it that men of so
lofty a disposition should submit to such tyran-
nical ill-usage ? It is one of the miracles of a
free government. In England the name of the
law is almighty. When the law has spoken,
resistance is at an end.
1 do not believe that we should be able, or
indeed that we ought to introduce the English
system into our navy. The French Seaman,
* The reader will bear in mind, while contemplating
this overcharged picture of our gallant navy, that the artist,
by whom it is painted, is naturalized in France, though not
born there.— E ditor.
RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND. 9*
who is frank, generous, and spirited, wishes to
approach his commander, whom he regards still
more as his comrade than his captain. Moie-
over, a state of such absolute servitude, as that
of the English sailor, can only emanate from
civil authority ; hence it is to be feared that it
would be despised by the French ; for unfortu-
nately the latter rather obeys the man than the
law, and his wishes are more private than public
ones.
Our naval officers have hitherto been better
instructed than those of England. The latter
merely knew their manoeuvres, while ours were
mathematicians, and men of science in every
respect. Our true character has, in general, been
displayed in our navy, where we have appeared
as warriors, and as men improved by study. As
soon as we have vessels, we shall regain our
birthright on the ocean, as well as upon land.
We shall also be able to make further astro-
nomical observations, and voyages round the
world; but as to our becoming a complete com-
mercial nation, I believe we may renounce the
idea at once. We do every thing by genius and
9 2 RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND.
inspiration ; but we seldom follow up our pro-
jects. A great financier, or a great man as to
commercial enterprize may appear among us ;
but will his son pursue the same career ? Will
he not think of enjoying the fortune bequeathed
by his father, instead of augmenting it? With
such a disposition, no nation can become a
mercantile one. Commerce has always had
among us an indescribable something of the
poetic and fabulous in it, similar to the rest of
our manners. Our manufactures have been
created by enchantment ; they acquired a great
degree of celebrity, but they are now at an end.
While Rome was prudent, she contented herself
with the Muses and Jupiter, leaving Neptune to
Carthage. This God had, after all, only the
second empire, and Jupiter hurled his thunders
o.n the ocean as well as elsewhere.
The English clergy are learned, hospitable,
and generous. Ihey love their country, and
exert their powerful services in support of the
laws. In spite ol religious differences, they
received the French emigrant clergy with truly
Christian charity. The university of Oxford
RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND. 93
printed, at its expense, and distributed gratis to
our poor priests, a new Latin Testament, accord-
ing to the Roman version, with these words :
“ For the use of the Catholic clergy exiled on
account of their religion." Nothing could be
more delicate or affecting. It was doubtless a
beautiful spectacle for philosophy to witness, at
the close of the eighteenth century, the hospi-
tality of the English clergy towards the Catholic
priests ; nay, further, to see them allow the
public exercise of this religion, and even establish
some communities. Strange vicissitude of hu-
man opinions and affairs ! The cry of “ The
Pope, the Pope ! ” caused the revolution during
the reign of Charles the First ; and James the
Second lost his crown for protecting the Catho-
lic religion.
They, who take fright at the very name of
this faith, know but very little of the human
mind. They consider it such as it was in the
days of fanaticism and barbarity ; without re-
flecting that, like every other institution, it
assumes the character of the ages, through which
it passes.
94 RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND*
The English clergy are, however, not with-
out faults. They are too negligent with regard
to their duties, and too fond of pleasure ; they
give too many balls, and mix too much in the
gaieties of life. Nothing is more revolting to a
stranger than to see a young minister of religion
awkwardly leading a pretty woman down an
English country-dance. A priest should be
entirely a divine ; and virtue should reign around
him. He should retire into the mysterious
recesses of the temple, appearing but seldom
among mankind, and then only for the purpose
of relieving the unhappy. It is by such conduct
that the French clergy obtain our respect and
confidence ; whereas they would soon lose both
the one and the other, if we saw them seated at
our sides on festive occasions and familiarizing
themselves with us ; if they had all the vices of
the times, and were for a moment suspected of
being feeble fragile mortals like ourselves.
1 he English display great pomp in their
religious festivals. They are even beginning to
introduce paintings into their churches ; having
at length discovered that religion without wor-
RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND. 95
ship is only the dream of a cold enthusiast, and
that the imagination of man is a faculty which
must be nourished a9 well as his reason.
The emigration of the French clergy has in
a great degree tended to propagate these ideas ,
and it may be remarked that by a natural return
towards the institutions of their forefathers, the
English have, for some time, laid the scene of
their dramas and other literary works in the
ages, during which the catholic religion pre-
vailed among them. Of late, this faith has been
carried to London by the exiled priests of France ;
and appears to the English, precisely as in their
romances, through the medium of noble ruins
and powerful recollections. All the world
crowded with anxiety to hear the funeral oration
over a French lady, delivered by an emigrant
bishop at London in a stable.
The English church has reserved for the
dead the principal part of those honours, which
the Roman religion awards to them. In all the
great towns there are persons, called undertakers,
who manage the funerals. Sometimes you read
on the signs over their shops, “ Coffin maker to
2
96 RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND.
the King,” or “ Funerals performed here > as if
it was a theatrical representation. It is indeed
true that representations of grief have long con-
stituted all the marks of it, which are to be
found among mankind, and when nobody is
disposed to weep over the remains of the de*
ceased, tears are bought for the occasion. The
last duties paid to the departed would, however,
be of a sad complexion indeed, if stripped of the
marks of religion ; for religion has taken root at
the tomb, and the tomb cannot evade her. It is
right that the voice of hope should speak from
the coffin ; it is right that the priest of the living
God should escort the ashes of the dead to their
last asylum. It may be said, on such an occa-
sion, that Immortality is marching at the head
of Death.
The political bent of the English is well
known in France, but most people are ignorant
as to the parties, into which the parliament is
divided. Besides that of the minister, and the
one m opposition to it, there is a third, which
may be called The Anglicans , at the head of
which is Mr. Wilberforce. It consists of about.
t.d U.i-v * t>ti Mir* i. ■ ■" ;; vu ' i^m’%
.1
\
RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND. 97
a hundred members, who rigidly adhere to an-
cient manners, particularly in what respects
religion. Their wives are clothed like quakers;
they themselves affect great simplicity, and give
a large part of their revenue to the poor. Mr,
Pitt was of this sect, and it was through their
influence that he was elevated to, as well as main-
tained in the office of Prime Minister , for by sup-
porting one side or the other, they are almost sure
to constitute a majority and decide the question
discussed. When the affairs of Ireland were
debated, they took alarm at the promises which
Mr. Pitt made to the Catholics, and threatened
to pass over to the opposition, upon which the
minister made an able retreat from office, in order
to preserve the friends, with whom he agreed on
most essential points, and escape from the diffi-
culties, into which circumstances had drawn
him. Having acted thus, he was sure not to
offend the Anglicans, even if the bill passed ;
and if, on the contrary, it was rejected, the
catholics of Ireland could not accuse him of
breaking his engagement. — It has been asked in
F ranee whether Mr. Pitt lost his credit with his
VOL. i. H
98 RECOLLECTION'S OF ENGLAND-
place, but a single fact will be the best answer to
this question. He still sits in the House of
Commons. When he shall be transferred to the
upper house, his political career will be at an
end.
An erroneous opinion is entertained by the
French as to the influence of the party, in Eng-
land, called the opposition, which is completely
fallen in the opinion of the public. It possesses
neither great talents, nor real patriotism. Mr.
Fox himself is no longer of any use to it, having
lost all his eloquence from age and excesses of
the table. It is certain that his wounded
vanity, rather than any other motive, induced
him, for so long a time, to discontinue his atten-
dance in Parliament.
The bill, which excludes from the House oi
Commons every person in holy orders, has been
also misinterpreted at Paris. It is not known
that the Only object of this measure was to expel
Horne Tooke, a man of genius, and a violent
enemy of government, who had formerly been in
orders, but had abandoned bis cloth; who had
also beeri a supporter of power even to the
ft ECO LLECTION5 OF ENGLAND. 99
extent of drawing upon himself an atfack from
the pen of Junius ; and finally became a proselyte
of liberty, like many others.
Parliament lost in Mr. Burke one of its
most distinguished members. He detested the
French Revolution, but to do him justice, no
Englishman ever more sincerely loved the French
as individuals, or more applauded their valour
and their genius. Though he was not rich, he
had founded a shool for the expatriated youth of
our nation, where he passed whole days in ad-
miring the genius and vivacity of these children.
He used often to relate an anecdote on the sub-
ject. Having introduced the son of an English
nobleman to be educated at this school, the
young orphans proposed to play with him, but
the lord did not chuse to join in their sports.
“ I don’t like the French,” said he frequently
with a degree of sarcasm. A little boy, who
could never draw from him any other answer,
said, “ That is impossible. You have too good
a heart to hate ns. Should not your Lordship
substitute your fear for your hatred ?”
It would be right to speak here of English
h 2
100 RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND.
literature, and the men of letters, but they
demand a separate article. I will, theiefore,
content myself, for the present, with recording
some critical decisions, which have much
astonished me, because they are in direct con«
tradiction to our received opinions.
Richardson is little read, being accused of
insupportable tediousness and lowness of style.
It is said of Hume and Gibbon that they have
lost the genius of the English language, and
filled their writings with a crowd of Gallicisms ;
the former is also accused of being dull and
immoral. Pope merely passes for an exact and
elegant versifier; Johnson contends that his
Essay on Man is only a collection of common
passages rendered into pleasant metre. Dryden
and Milton are the two authors, to whom the
title of author is exclusively applied. The Spec-
tator is almost fprgotten, and Locke is seldom
mentioned, being thought a feeble visionary.
None but professed philosophers read Bacon.
Shakspeare alone preserves his imperial influence,
which is easily accounted for by the following
fact.
RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND. 101
I was one night at Covent-Garden Theatre,
which takes its name, as is generally known,
from an ancient convent, on the scite of which
it is built. A well dressed man, seated himself
near me, and asked soon afterwards where he
was. I looked at him with astonishment, and
answered, “ In Co vent Garden.” “A pretty
garden indeed ! ” exclaimed he, bursting into a
fit of laughter, and presenting to me a bottle of
rum. It was a sailor, who had accidentally
passed this way as he came from the city, just at
the time the performance was commencing ; and
having observed the pressure of the crowd at the
entrance of the theatre, had paid his money, and
entered the house without knowing what he was
to see.
How should the English have a theatre to
be termed supportable, when the pit is composed
of judges recently arrived from Bengal, and the
coast of Guinea, who do not even know where
they are ? Shakspeare may reign eternally in
such a nation. It is thought that every thing is
justified by saying that the follies of English
tragedy are faithful pictures of nature. If this
102 RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND.
were tine, the most natural situations aie not
those, which produce the greatest efte> t It is
natural to fear death, and yet a victim, who
laments its approach, dries the tears betoie ex-r
cited by commiseration. The human heart
wishes for more than it is capable of sustaining,
and above all, wishes for objects of admiration.
There is implanted in it an impulse towards some
indescribable unknown beauty, for which it was
perhaps created at its origin.
A graver observation arises also from this
subject. A nation, which has always been
nearly barbarous with respect to the arts, may
continue to admire barbarous productions, without
its being of any consequence*; but I do not know
to what point a nation, possessing chef deeuvres
in every pursuit, can resume its love of the
monstrous, without detracting from its character.
For this reason, the inclination to admire Sbak-
speareis more dangerous in France than England.
In the latter country this results from ignorance
in ours it would be the effect of depravity.
In an enlightened age, the manners of a truly
polished people contribute more towards good
RECOLLECTIONS OF ENGLAND* 103
taste than is generally imagined. Bad taste,
therefore, which has so many means of regaining
its influence, must depend on false ideas, or a
natural bias. The inind incessantly works on
the heart, and it is difficult tor the road, taken
by the heart, to be straight, when that of the
imagination is crooked. He, who likes de-
formity, is not far from liking vice, and he, who
is insensible to beauty, may easily form a false
conception of virtue. Bad taste and vice almost
always move together ; for the former is only
the expression of the latter, in the same way as
words convey our ideas to otherS|
I will close this article with some brief
observations on the soil, the atmosphere, and
public buildings of England.
The country is almost without birds, anti
the rivers are small, but the banks of these have,
nevertheless, a pleasing effect from the solitude
which prevails there. The verdure of the fields
is of a most lively description. There are few^
indeed hardly any woods; but every person’s
small property being enclosed by a hedge, you
might fancy when you take a survey from the
104
U
RECOLLECTIONS OF IKC1A-JK
top of a hill, that you were in the middle of a
forest. England, at the first glance, resemble?
Britany, the heaths and plains being surrounded
with trees. As to the sky of this -country-; its
azure is brighter than our’s, but less transparent;
The variations of light are more striking from
the multitude of clouds. In summer, when the
sun sets at London, beyond Kensington Gardens,'
it sometimes affords a very picturesque spectacle.
The immense volume of coal-smoke, hanging
over the city, represents those black rocks, tinged
with purple, which are adopted in our represent
tations of Tartarus, while the ancient towers of
Westminster Abbey, crowned with vapour, and
Teddened with the last rays of the sun, raise
their heads above the city, the palace, and St.
James's Park, like a great monument of death,
appearing to command all the other handyworkfc
of man.
Saint Paul’s church is the most beautiful
modern, and Westminster Abbey the most beau-
tiful Gothic edifice in England. I shall, per 8 -
haps, speak more at large respecting the latter
on some future occasion. 1 have often, when
RECOLLECTIONS 'OF ENGLAND. 1 05
returning from my excursions round London,
passed behind Whitehall, through the court in
which Charles the First was beheaded. It is in
an abandoned state, and the grass grows among
the stones. 1 have sometimes stopped and
listened to the wind, moaning round the statue
of Charles the Second, which points to the spot
where his lather perished. I never found any
person in this place but workmen cutting stone,
whistling as they pursued their labours. Having
asked one day what this statue meant, some of
them could hardly give me any answer, and
others were entirely ignorant of the subject.
Nothing ever afforded a more just idea of human
events, and our littleness. What is become
of persons who made so much noise ? Time
has taken a stride, and the face of the earth has
been renewed. To generations, then divided by
political animosity, have succeeded generations
indifferent to the past, but filling the present times
with new animosities, which succeeding genera-
tions will in their turn forget.
106
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
I.— YOUNG.
When a writer lias formed a new school, and is
found, after the criticisms of half a century, to
he still possessed of great reputation, it is im-
portant to the cause of literature that the reason
of this success should be investigated ; especially
when it is neither ascribable to greatness of
genius, nor to superiority of taste, nor to the
perfection of the art.
A few tragic situations and a few quaint
words, with an indescribable, vague, and fantas-
tic use of woods, heaths, winds, spectres, and
tempests, account for the celebrity of Shakspeare.
Young, who has nothing of this nature in his
works, is indebted, perhaps, for a great portion
of his reputation, to. the fine picture which he
displays at the opening of his chief work, “ The
Complaint, or Night Thoughts on Life, Death,
' ■ 3
young.
107
and Immortality A minister of the Almighty,
an aged father, who has lost his only daughter,
wakes in the middle of succeeding nights to
moan among the tombs. He associates death
with time and eternity, through the only grand
medium which man has within himself— I mean
sorrow. Such a picture strikes the observer at
once, and the effect is durable.
But on advancing a little into these Night
Thoughts, when the imagination, roused by the
exordium of the poet, has created a world of
tears and reveries, you will find no trace of what
the author promised at the outset. You behold
a man, who torments himself in every way for
the pnrpose of producing tender and melancholy
ideas, without arriving at any thing beyond
morose philosophy. Young was pursued by the
phantom of the world even to the recesses of
the dead, and all his declamation upon morta-
lity exhibits a feeling of mortified ambition.
There is nothing natural in his sensibility, no-
thing ideal in his grief. The lyre is always
touched with a heavy hand. Young has particu-
larly endeavoured to impart a character of sadness
108
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
to his meditations. Now, this character is deri-
ved from three sources — the scenes of nature, the
ideas floating upon the memory, and religious
principle.
With regard to the scenes of nature, Young
wished to avail himself of them as auxiliaries
to his complaints, but I do not know that he
has succeeded. He apostrophizes the moon,
and be talks to the stars, but the reader is not
thereby affected. I cannot explain in what the
melancholy consists, which a poet draws from
a contemplation of nature ; hut it is certain that
he finds it at every step. He combines his soul
with the roaring of the wind, which imparts to
him ideas of solitude. A receding wave reminds
him of life — a falling leaf of man. This sadness
is hid in every desert for the use of poets. It is
the Echo of the fable who was consumed by
grief, and the invisible inhabitant of the
mountains.
When the mind is labouring under chagrin,
the reflection should always take the form of.
sentiment and imagery, but in Young the senti-
ment, on the contrary, is transformed into
YOUNG. 109
reflection and argument* On opening the first
Complaint 1 read :
« From short (as usual) and disturb’d repose
I wake : how happy they, who wake no morel
Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the grave*
I wake, emerging from a sea of dreams
Tumultuous ; where my wreck’d desponding thought.
From wave to wave of fancied misery.
At random drove, her helm of reason lost.
Though now restored, ’tis only change of pain,
(A bitter change) severer for severe.
The day too short for my distress, and night.
Even in the zenith of her dark domain.
Is sunshine to the colour of my fate.”
Is this the language of sorrow ? What is a
wrecked desponding thought, floating from
wave to wave of fancied misery ? What is a
night which is a sun, compared with the colour
of a person’s fate ? The only remarkable feature
of this quotation is the idea that the slumber of
the tomb may be disturbed by dreams ; but this
directly brings to mind the expression of Ham-
let : “To sleep — to dream !”
Ossian awakes also at midnight to weep,
but Ossian weeps in reality. “ Lead, son of
Alpin, lead the aged to his woods. The winds
1
no
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
begin to rise. The dark wave of the lake re*
sounds. Bends there not a tree from Mora
with its branches bare ? It bends, son of Alpin,
in the rustling blast. My harp hangs on a
blasted branch. The sound of its strings is
mournful. Does the wind touch thee, oh harp,
or is it some passing ghost ? It is the hand of
Malvina. But bring me the harp, son of Alpin,
another song shall arise. My soul shall depart
in the sound ; my fathers shall bear it in their
airy hall. Their dim faces shall hang with joy
from their cloud, and their hands receive their
son.”
Here we have mournful images, and poetical
reverie. The English allow that the prose of
Ossian is as poetic as verse, and possesses all
the inflexions of the latter ; and hence a French
translation of this, though a literal one, will be,
if good, always supportable; for that, which is
simple and natural in one language, possesses
these qualities in every language. f
It is generally thought that melancholy
allusions, taken from the winds, the moon,
and the clouds, were unknown to the ancients;
YOUtfG,
III
but there are some instances of them in Ilomer,
and a beautiful one in Virgil. Lmseas perceives
the shade of Dido in the recesses of a forest,
as one sees, or fancies that one sees the new moon
rising amidst clouds.
« Qualem primo qui surgere mensc
Aut videt , aut videsse putat per nubila lunam."
Observe all the circumstances. It is the
moon, which the spectator sees, or fancies that he
sees crossing the clouds ; consequently the shade
of Dido is reduced to a very small compass, but
this moon is in its first phasis, and what is this
planet at such a time? Does not the shade ot
Dido itself seem to vanish from the mind’s
eye?” Ossian is here traced to Virgil; but it is
Ossian at Naples, where the light is purer, and
the vapours more transparent.
. Young was therefore ignorant of, or rather
has ill expressed melancholy, which feeds itself
on the contemplation of nature, and which,
whether soft or majestic, follows the natural
course of feeling. How superior is Milton to
the author of the Night Thoughts in the nobi-
112
{
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
lity of grief! Nothing is finer than his font
last lines of Paradise Lost :
*• The world was all before them where to chuse
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide.
They haud in hand, with wand’ring steps and slow,
Through Eden took their solitary way.”
In this passage the reader sees all the soli-
tudes of the world opened to our first father,
all those seas which water unknown lands, all
the forests of the habitable globe, and man left
alone with his sins amidst the deserts of creation.
Harvey, though possessing a less elevated
genius than the author of the Night Thoughts,
has evinced a softer and more generous sensibi-
lity in his “ Meditations among the Tombs."
He says of an infant, which suddenly died:
“ What did the little, hasty sojourner find so
forbidding and disgustful in our upper world, to
occasion its precipitate exit? It is written, indeed,
of its suffering Saviour that, when he fiad tasted
the vinegar, mingled with gall, he would not
drink * And did our new-come stranger begin
* Matthew, chapter 27, verse 34.
r
YOUNG.
113
to sip the cup of life ; but, perceiving the bitter-
ness, turn away its head, and refuse the draught ?
Was this the cause why the weary babe only
opened its eyes, just looked on the light, and
then withdrew into the more inviting regions of
undisturbed repose ?”
Dr. Beattie, a Scotch poet, has introduced
the most lovely reverie into his Minstrel. It is
when he describes the first effects of the Muse
upon a young mountain bard, who as yet does
not comprehend the genius, by which he is tor-
mented. At one time the future poet goes and
seats himself on the borders of the sea during a
tempest ; at another, he quits the sports of the
village that he may listen, first at a distance, and
then more closely to the sound of the bagpipe.
Young was, perhaps, appointed by Nature to treat
of higher subjects, but still he was not a com-
if
plete poet. Milton, who sung the misfortunes
of primeval man, sighed also in II Penseroso. -
Those good writers of the French nation,
who have known the charms of reverie, have
prodigiously surpassed Young. Chaulieu, like
Horace, has mingled thoughts of death with
voi,. i. I
114
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
the illusions of life. The following well known
lines are of a melancholy cast n uch more to be
admired than the exaggerations of the English
poet.
“ Grotto, where the murm’ring stream
Mossy bank and flow’ ret laves,
Be of thee my future dream,
And of yonder limpid waves.
Fontenay, delicious spot.
Which my youthful life recals.
Oh, when death shall be my lot.
May I rest within thy walls !
Muses, who dispell’d my woe.
While the humble swain you bless r d.
Lovely trees, that saw me grow.
Soon you’ll see me sink to rest.”
In like manner the inimitable La Fontaine
indulges himself.
u Why should my verse describe a flow’ry bank ?
Longer the cruel Fates refuse to spin
My golden thread of life. I shall not sleep
Beneath a canopy of sculptur’d pomp;
But will my rest for this be more disturb’d.
Or will my slumbers less delight impart ?
No, in the trackless desert let me lie,” &c.
It was a great poet, from whom such ideas
YOUNG.
116
emanated; but to pursue the comparison, there
is not a page of Young, which can afford a pas-
sage equal to the following one of J. J. Rousseau.
“ When evening approached, I descended from
the higher parts of the island, and seated myself
at the side of the lake in some retired part of
the strand. There the noise of the waves and
the agitation of the water fixed my attention,
and driving every other agitation from my soul,
plunged it into a delicious reverie, in which night
often imperceptibly surprised me. The flux
and reflux of the waves, with their continued
noise, but swelling in a louder degree at inter-
vals, unceasingly struck my eyes and ears, while
they added to my internal emotions, and caused
me to feel the pleasure of existence without
taking the pains to think. From time to time a
weak and short reflection on the instability of
human affairs, occurred to me, which was sup-
lied by the surface of the waters ; but these
slight impressions were soon effaced by the uni-
formity of the continued motion which rocked
my mind to repose ; and which, without any
active concurrence of my soul, attached me
i 2
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
116
so strongly to the spot, that when summoned
away by the hour and a signal agreed upon, I
could not tear myself from the scene without a
disagreeable effort.”
This passage of Rousseau reminds me that
one night, when I was lying in a cottage,
during my American travels, I heard an ex*
traordinary sort of murmur from a neighbour-
ing lake. Conceiving this noise to be the fore,
runner of a storm, I went out of the hut to
survey the heavens. Never did I see a more
beautiful night, or one in which the atmosphere
was purer. The lake’s expanse was tranquil,
and reflected the light of the moon, which shone
on the projecting points of the mountains, and
on the forests of the desert. An Indian canoe
was traversing the waves in silence. The noise,
which I had heard, proceeded from the flood
tide of the lake, which was beginning, and
which sounded like a sort of groaning as it rose
among the rocks. I had left the hut with an
idea of a tempest — let any one judge of the im-
pression which this calm and serene picture must
have made upon me— it was like enchantment.
YOUNG.
117
Young has but ill availed himself, as I con-
ceive, of the reveries, which result from such
scenes ; and this arose from his being eminently
defective in tenderness. For the same reason
he has failed in that secondary sort of sadness,
which arises from the sorrows of memory. Never
does the poet of the tombs revert with sensibility
to the first stage of life, when all is innocence
and happiness. He is ignorant of *he delights
afforded by the recollection of family incidents
and the paternal roof. He knows nothing of
the regret, with which a person looks back at
the sports and p istimes of childhood. He never
exclaims, like the poet of the Seasons :
" Welcome, kindred glooms !
Congenial horrors, hail ! With frequeut foot.
Pleas’d have I, in my cheerful mom of life.
When nurs’d by careless solitude I liv’d.
And sung of nature with unceasiug joy.
Pleas’d have 1 wander’d through your rough domain.
Trod the pure virgiu snows, myseif as pure.” &c.
Gray in his Ode on a distant view of Eton
College has introduced the same tenderness of
recollection.
1 IS ENGLISH LITERATURE.
« Ah happy hills, ah pleasing shade.
Ah fields belov’d in vain.
Where once my careless childhood stray’d
A stranger yet to pain 1
I feel the gales that from you blow.
My weary soul they seem to soothe.
And redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a second spring.”
As to the recollections of misfortune, they
are numerous in the works of Young. But why
do they appear to be deficient in truth, like all
the rest ? Why is the reader unable to feel an
interest in the tears of the poet r Gilbert, expi-
ring in a hospital, and in the flower of his age,
finds his way to every heart, especially when he
speaks of the friends who have forsaken him.
cc At life’s convivial board I sat.
And reveird in its choicest cheer.
But now I’m call’d away by Fate,
I die — and none will shed a tear.
Farewell, ye streams and verdant glades.
And thou, bright sun, with smile so warm,
Farewell, ye placid forest-shades.
Farewell to nature's ev’ry charm !
YOUNG.
119
Oh may you long confer delight
Ou friends I fondly deem’d so true.
Who leave me now abandon’d quite,
Without one final sad adieu 1”
Look in Virgil at the Trojan women, seated
on the sea shore, and weeping while they survey
the immensity of the ocean.
« Cunctcrque profundum
Pontum aspectabant Jientes."
What beautiful harmony ! How forcibly
does it depict the vast solitude of the ocean, and
the remembrance of their lost country ! What
genuine sorrow is conveyed by this one weeping
glance over the surface of the billows!
M.du Parny has combined the tender charms
of memory with another species of sentiment.
His complaint at the tomb of Emma is full of
that soft melancholy, which characterizes the
writings of the only elegiac poet of France.
“ Friendship, with fugitive deception kind.
Chases thy image, Emma, from my mind;
Emma, the charming object of my love.
So lately call’d to blissful realms above.
Sweet girl, how momentary was thy sway 1 ^
All from thy tomb now turn their eyes away; V
Thy memory, like thyself, is sinking to decay.” }
/
120 ENGLISH LITERATURE.
The Muse or the poet, to whom we are in-
debted for Eleonora, indulged in reverie upon
the same rocks, where Paul, resting his head
upon his hand, saw the vessel sail away, which
contained Virginia. The cloistered Elo'isa re-
vived all her sorrows and all her love by even
thinking of Abelard. Recollections are the
echo ot the passions ; and the sounds, which this
echo repeats, acquire, from distance, a vague
and melancholy character, which makes them
more seductive than the accents of the passions
themselves.
It remains for me to speak of religious sad-
ness. Except Gray and Hervey, I know only
one protestant writer (M. Necker) who infused a
degree of tenderness into sentiments drawn from
religion. It is known that Pope was a catholic,
and thatDryden was the same at intervals. It
is believed too that Shakspeare belonged to the
Roman church. A father burying his daughter
by stealth in a foreign land — what a beautiful
subject for a Christian minister ! Not withstand-
’ng this, but few affecting passages are to be
found in Young’s Complaint called Narcissa.
A
r
YOUNG.
121
He sheds fewer tears over the tomb ot his only
daughter than Bossuetover the coffin of Madame
Henriette.
« Sweet harmonist, and beautiful as sweet !
And young as beautiful, and soft as young 1
And gay as soft, and innocent as gay t
And happy (if aught happy here) as good 1
For Fortune fond had built her nest on high.
Like birds quite exquisite of note and plume
Transfix’d by Fate (who loves a lofty mark)
How from the summit of the grove she fell.
And left it unharmonious ! All its charms
Extinguish’d in the wonders of her song !
Her song still vibrates in my ravish’d ear,
Still melting there, and with voluptuous pain,
Oh to forget her !) trilling thro’ my heart.”
This passage, all prejudice apart, I think
intolerable, though it is one of the most beautiful
in the French translation of Young’s Night
Thoughts by M. Le Tourneur. Is this the
language of a father ? Sweet harmonist or musi-
cian, as beautiful as sweet, and young as beau-
tiful, and soft as young, and gay as soft, and
innocent as gay ! Is it thus that the mother of
Euryalus deplores the loss of her son, oi that
2
122
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
Priam utters lamentations over the body ofHec*
tor? M. de Tourneur has displayed much taste
by converting Young’s “ birds, transfixed by
Fate, who loves a lofty mark,” into a nightingale
struck by the fowler’s shot. It is a prodigious
improvement, as may be instantly perceived,
f he means should always be proportioned to the
object, and we ought not to use a lever for the
purpose of raising a straw. Fate may dispose
of an empire, change a world, elevate or throw
down a great man, but Fate should not be em-
ployed in killing a bird. It is the durus arator,
it is the feathered arrow which should be used
to kill nightingales and pigeons.
It is not in this way that Bossuet speaks of
Madame Henriette. “ She has passed,” says he,
“ from morning to evening like the herbs of the
field. In the morning she flourished— oh, with
what elegance! You know it. At night we
saw her withered, and those strong expressions,
by which the Scriptures almost exaggerate the
instability o< human affairs, were precisely and
literally verified in this Princess. Alas, we com-
posed her memoirs of all that we could fancy
young.
123
most glorious. The past and the present were
our guarantees for the future. Such was the
history, of which we had formed the outline,
and to complete our noble project, nothing was
requisite but the duration of her life, which we
did not think in any danger. For who could
have supposed that years would be refused to one
of such vivacity in her youth r By her death our
plan is totally destroyed in a moment. Behold
her — in spite of her great heart, behold this Prin-
cess lately so much admired and beloved ! See
to what a state death has reduced her ; and even
these remains, such as they are, will soon dis-
appear.”
I should have liked to quote some pages
of regularly supported beauty from the Night
Thoughts of Young. Such are to be found in
the French translation, but not in the original.
The Nights ofM. Le Tourneur, and the imita-
tion of M. Colerdeau are works in all respects
different to the English one. The latter only
possesses beauties scattered here and there, and
rarely supplies ten irreproachable lines together.
Seneca and Lucan may be sometimes traced in
I
I 24 INGUSH LITERATURE.
Young, but Job and Pascal never. He is not
a man of sorrow — he does not please the truly
unhappy.
^ oung declaims in several places against
solitude ; so that the habit of his soul was cer*
taiuly not an inclination to reverie.* The saints
pursued their meditations in the deserts, and
the Parnassus of poets is also a solitary moun-
tain. Bourdaloue intreated of the superior of
his order permission to retire from the world.
I feel,” wrote he, “ that my frame grows
feeble, and approaches towards dissolution. I
have run my course, and thank Heaven, lean
add that 1 have been faithful to my God.—Let
me be allowed to employ the remainder of my
* 1 he English reader will probably not have agreed
with M. de Chateaubriand on several points discussed in
this criticism. Young can never be said to have disliked
solitude. Let him speak for himself :
“ ° h lost t0 virtue . tost to manly thought,
■Lost to the noble sallies of the soul.
Who think it solitude to be alone !
Communion sweet, communion large and high I” &c.
1 Editor .
YOUN’G.
125
days in devotion to the Almighty, and in secu-
ring niv own salvation. In retirement I shall
forget the affairs of this world, and humhle my-
sell with contrition every day before my Maker."
If Bossuet, living amidst the magnificence of
Versailles was able to diffuse a genuine and
majestic species of sadness through his writings,
it was because he found solitude in religion ;
because though his body was in the world, his
soul was in a desert ; because his heart had found
a sanctuary in the secret recesses of the taber-
nacle, because, as he himself said of Maria The-
resa of Austria, he ran to the altar toenjoy humble
repose with David ; because he shut himself, as
that Princess did, in his oratory, where, in
spite of the tumuli of the court, he found the
carmel of Elias, the desert of Saint John, and
the mountain, which so often witnessed the sor-
rows of Jesus.”
Dr. Johnson, after having severely criticized
Young’s Night Thoughts, finishes by comparing
them to a Chinese garden. For my own part,
all I have wished to say is, that if we impartially
compare the literary works of ether nations with
126
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
those of France, we shall find an immense su-
periority in favour of our own country. We
always at least equal others in strength of
thought, while we are certainly superior in point
of taste ; and it should ever be remembered that
though genius produces the literary offspring,
taste preserves it. Taste is the good sense of
genius, and without it the latter is only a silly
species of sublimity. But it a singular circum-
stance that this sure criterion, by which every
thing yields the exact tone it ought to yield, is
still less frequently found than the creative fa-
cility. Genius and wit are disseminated in about
equal proportions, at all times ; but there are ,
only certain nations, and among these only par-
ticular moments, at which taste appears iu all
its purity. Before and after this moment, every
thing fails either from deficiency or excess. It
is for this reason that perfect works are so rare;
for it is necessary that they should be produced
in the happy hours of united taste and genius.
This great junction, like that of certain heavenly
bodies, appears only to take place after thelapse of
several ages, and then endures oulyfor a moment.
127
II.— SHAKSPEARE.
After having spoken of Young, I proceed to a
i| man who has made a schism in literature, who is
idolized by the country which gave him birth,
admired throughout the North of Europe, and
a placed by some Frenchmen at the side of Cor-
’I neille and Racine.
It was Voltaire, who made France ac-
quainted with Shakspeare. 1 he opinion, which
a he at first formed of English tragedy, was, like
most of his early opinions, replete with justice,
isi taste, and impartiality. In a letter to Lord Bo-
'li lingbroke, written about the year 1730, he ob-
served : ** With what pleasure did I see, while in
ji London, the tragedy of Julius Ctesar, which has
ii, ; been the delight of your nation for a century
and a half !” On another occasion he said :
“ Shakespeare created the English stage. He
had a genius abounding with vigorous con cep*
,j tion; he was natural and sublime, but he did
not possess a single spark of taste, or the least
knowledge of rules. I shall make a bold asser-
r tion, but a true one, when I state that this
128 ENGLISH LITERATURE.
author spoiled the English stage. There are
such beautiful scenes, such grand and terrible
passages in his monstrous farces, which are
called tragedies, that his pieces have always
been performed with great success.”
Such were the first decisions of Voltaire
as to Shakspeare; but when an attempt was
made to set up this great genius as a model of
perfection, when the masterpieces of the Greek
and French drama were declared inferior to his
writings, then the author of Merope perceived
the danger. He perceived that by elevating the
beauties of a barbarian, he had misled those, who
were unable, like himself, to separate the pure
metal from the dross. He wished to retrace his
steps, and attacked the idol he had worshipped;
but it was then too late, and he in vain repented
that he had opened the gate to mediocrity , and
assisted , as he himself said, in placing the
monster on the altar. Voltaire had made Eng-
land, which was then but little known, a sort
of marvellous country to supply him with such
heroes, opinions, and ideas as he wanted.
Towards the close of his life he reproached
SHAKSPEARE.
129
himself with this false admiration, of which he
had only availed himself to support his doctrines.
He began to discover its lamentable consequen-
ces, and might unfortunately exclaim: “ Et
quorum pars magna fui."
M. de la Harpe, an excellent critic, in his
analysis of Slukspeare’s Tempest, which was
translated into French by M. Le Tourneur,
exposed to full view the gross irregularities of
Shakspeare, and avenged the cause of the French
stage. Two modern authors, Madame de Stael
Holstein and M. de Rivarol have also passed
sentence on the great English tragic poet ; but
it appears to me that notwithstanding so much
has been written on this subject, several interest*
ing remarks may yet be made.
As to the English critics, ihey have seldom
spoken the truth respecting their favourite poet.
Ben Jonson, who was first the disciple, and then
the rival of Shakspeare, shared with him at first
their good opinion. Pope observes that “ they
endeavoured to exalt the one at the expense of
the other. Because Ben Jonson had much
the more learning it was said, on the one hand,
vol. i. K
u
130 ENGLISH LITERATURE.
that Shakspeare had none at all ; and because
Shakspeare had much the most wit and fancy, it
was retorted on the other that Jonson wanted
both. Ben Jonson is only known at the present
day by his Fox and his Alchymist.*
Pope displayed more impartiality in his
criticisms. “ Of all English poets,” says he,
“ Shakspeare must be confessed to be the fairest
and fullest subject for criticism, and to afford
the most numerous, as well as most conspicuous
instances, both of beauties and faults of all
sorts.”
If Pope had abided by this judgment, he
would have deserved praise for his moderation;
but soon afterwards he is hurried away by the
prejudices of his country, and extols Shakspeare
above every genius ancient and modern. He
* Surely at present better known by Every Man in his
Humour than any of the pieces mentioned by the author.
The Fox is never performed, and the Alchymist, which
Garrick reduced to a farce, under the title of the Tobacco,
nist, for the purpose of displaying his own inimitable powers
in the character of Abel Drugger, has been also laid on the
shelf, noneof our modern performers havingattempted that part
except Mr. Emery. The great actor of the present day, how-
ever, Mr. Kean is about toappear in the character.— EditoB.
SHAKSPEARE.
131
goes so far as even to excuse the lowness of
some characters in the English poet by this
ingenious comparison. “ in these cases,” says
he, “ Shakspearc’s genius is like some prince of a
romance in the disguise of a shepherd or peasant ;
a certain greatness of spirit now and then breaks
out, which manifest his higher extraction and
qualities.”*
* M. de Chateaubriand has here been guilty of a great
oversight, for I will not suppose that he has wilfully perverted
Pope s meaning to support his own philippic against our
immortal bard. He seems to think that the above quotation
was made upon tragedy, whereas it was made upon comedy ,
and every oue must be aware that strictures upon the one are
very unlikely to he just as to the other. That the reader
may judge for himself I will quote the whole passage from
Pope. “ In tragedy ,” says he, “ nothing was so sure to
surprise and cause admiration, us the most strange, lines*
petted, aud consequently most unnatural events and inci-
dents ; the most exaggerated thoughts ; the most verbose
and bombast expressions ; the most pompous rhimes, and
thundering versifications. In comedy , nothiug was so sure
to please as mean buffoonery, vile ribaldry, aud unmannerly
jests of fools and clowns. Yet even in these our author’s
wit buoys up, and is borne above his subject; his genius in
those low parts is like some prince of a romance in the dis**
132
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
Theobald and Sir Thomas Hanmer follow
in their turn. Their admiration is without
bounds. They attack Pope for having made
some trifling corrections in the works of the
great poet. The celebrated Dr. Warburton,
who undertook the defence of his friend, informs
us that Mr. Theobald was a poor man, and Sir
Thomas Hanmer a poor critic ; that he gave
money to the former, and notes to the latter.
Even the good sense and discrimination of Dr.
Johnson seems to forsake him when he speaks of
Shakspeare. He reproaches Rymer and Voltaire
for having said that the English tragic poet does
not sufficiently preserve a verisimilitude of man-
ners — that Shakspeare’s Romans are not suffi-
ciently Roman, and his kings not completely
royal. “ These,” says he, “are the petty cavils
guise erf a shepherd or peasant; a certain greatness and spirit
now and then break out, which manifest his higher extraction
and qualities.” Surely Pope distinctly alludes, in these last
lines, to comedy. As an excuse for the introduction of low
parts among those of a graver cast, he merely says that Shak-
speare “writ to the people,” that" the audience was generally
composed of the meaner sort,” and that he was obliged to hit
the taste and humour of the times, in order to gain a subsis*
tence. — Editor.
SHAKSPEARE.
133
of petty minds. A poet overlooks the casual
distinctions of country and condition, as a
painter, satisfied with the figure, neglects the
drapery.” It is useless to descant upon the bad
taste and falsity of this criticism. The veri-
similitude of manners, far from being the drapery,
is the leading feature of the picture itself. All
those critics, who incessantly dwell on nature,
regarding the “ casual distinction of country and
condition” as prejudices of the art, are like those
politicians who plunge states into barbarity, by
wishing to annihilate social distinctions.
I will not enter into the opinions of Rowe,
Steevens, Gildon, Dennis, Peck, Garrick, &c.
Mrs. Montague has surpassed them all in point
of enthusiasm. Hume and Blair are the only
persons, who keep within tolerable bounds.
Sherlockhas dared to say (and it required courage
even for an Englishman to go so far) that there is
nothing in Shakspeare, which can be called
mediocrity ; that all he has written is either
excellent or detestable; that he never followed
nor even conceived a plan, excepting, perhaps,
that of the Merry Wives of Windsor ; but that
134
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
he often writes a scene very well. This critique
very nearly approaches the truth.
Mr. Mason, in his Elfritla and Caractacus,
has tried, but without success, to transplant the
tragedy of Greece into England. The Cato of
Addison is now hardly ever played. At the
Theatres of Great Britain the audience is only
diverted by the monstrosities of Shakspeare, or
the horrors of Otway.
Were we contented to speak vaguely of
Shakspeare, without deliberately weighing the
question, and without reducing criticism to some
particular points, we should never arrive at any
proper explanation; for by thus confounding
the age in which he wrote with the genius of the
individual, and the dramatic art itself, every one
might praise or censure the father of the English
Theatre according to his inclinations. It ap-
pears to us that Shakspeare should be considered
with reference to all the three points, which 1
have just stated.
First, then as to the age in which he lived,
Shakspeare cannot be very much admired. He
was perhaps superior to his cotemporary Lope
SHAKSPEARE.
135
de Vega, but he can, by no means, be compared
with Gamier and Hardy, who at that time
“ lisped in numbers” among us, and uttered the
first accents of the French Melpomene. It has
been ascertained too that the prelate Trissino
had, at the same period caused regular tragedy
to re-appear in Italy by the production of his
Sophonisba. Curious researches have been made
for the translations of ancient authors, which
existed in Shakspeare* s time. I do not find in the
catalogue any other dramatic pieces than one
called Jocasta, taken from the Phoenicians of
Euripides, the Andria and Eunuch of Terence,
the Menechmi of Plautus and the tragedies of
Seneca. It is doubtful whether Shakspeare
had any knowledge of these versions, for he has
not borrowed the foundation of his plays from
these original authors, even when they were
translated into English, but has worked upon
some English imitations of the ancient sources.
For instance, with regard to Romeo and Juliet,
he has neither taken the story from Girolamo de
la Corte, nor the novel of llandello, but from a
small English poem called the Tragical History
136
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
of Romeo anil Juliet. In like manner, he does
not owe the story of Hamlet to Saxo Gramma-
ticus, because he did not understand Latin.*
It is known that, generally speaking, Shaks-
peare was an uneducated illiterate man.. He was
obliged to abscond from the county in which he
resided, for having killed deer in a gentleman’s
park, and before he became an actor in London,
took care of horses at the door of the theatre,
while the owners of them attended the repre-
sentation. It is a memorable circumstance that
Shakspeare and Moliere were performers ; both
these men though so highly endowed with men-
tal qualifications, were forced to tread the boards
for the purpose of obtaining a livelihood. The
one regained the dramatic art lost in the lapseof
ages ; the other brought it to perfection. Like
two philosophers of antiquity they shared the
empire of smiles and tears ; and both, perhaps,
* See Saxo Grammaticus from page 48 to 59, Am-
lethus ne prudentius agendo patruo suspectus reddereturj
stoliditatis simulationem amplexus, extremum mentis vitium
finxit.
SHAKSPEARE.
13 7
consoled themselves for the injustice of fortune,
the one in painting the follies, and the other
the sorrows of mankind.
As to the second point, his genius, or natu-
ral talents, Shakspeare is not less prodigious
that Moli£re. I do not know, indeed, that any
man ever examined human nature with deeper
penetration. Whether he treats of the passions,
whether he speaks of morals or policy, whether
he deplores or foresees the misfortunes of states
he has a thousand sentiments to cite, a thousand
thoughts to introduce, a thousand applications
to make with regard to all the circumstances of
life. It is with reference to genius that the fine
isolated scenes of Shakspeare should be consi-
dered, and not merely as to their dramatic cor-
rectness In this consists the principal error of
the poets’ admirers in England : for if these
scenes be considered according to the rules of
art, it would be necessary to ascertain whether
they are necessary, and whether they are proper-
ly connectedwith the subject. The “ non erat
his locus occurs to the reader in every page of
Shakspeare.
138
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
Reverting, however, to the works of the
great author himself, how beautiful is his third
scene of the fourth act of Macbeth !
Enter Rosse.
Macduff. See, who comes here ?
Malcolm . My countryman, but yet I know him not.
Macduff. My ever welcome cousin, welcome hither !
Malcolm. I know him now. Good God, betimes remove
The means that make us strangers.
Rosse • Sir, amen !
Macduff. Stands Scotland where it did ?
Rosse ♦ Alas, poor country.
Almost afraid to know itself ! It cannot
Be call’d our mother, but our grave; where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once seeu to smile
Where sighs and groans, and shrieks that rend theair
Are made, not mark’d ; where violent sorrow seems
A modern ecstacy. The dead man’s knell
Is there scarce ask’d for who ; and good men’s lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps.
Dying or ere they sicken*
Macduff. Oh relation
Too nice, and yet too true !
Malcolm . What is the uewest grief ?
Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,
SHAKSPEARE. 139
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound
That ever yet they heard.
Your castle is surpris’d, your wife and babes
Savagely slaughter’d. To relate the manner
Were on the quarry of these murder’d deer
To add the death of you.
Malcolm . Merciful heaven !
Macduff. My children too !
Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all
That could be found.
Macduff. And 1 must be from thence !
My wife kill’d too ?
Rosse. 1 have said.
Malcolm . Be comforted.
Macduff. He has no children. — All my pretty ones ?
Did you say all ? — O hell-kite, all !
What, all my pretty chickeus and their dam
At one fell swoop ?”
What truth and energy in the description
pf Scotland’s misfortunes ! The smile, which
is described to be only upon the countenance of
infants, the cries of anguish which no one dares
to observe, the deaths so frequent that no one
inquires for whom the passing bell is tolling —
140
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
does not each Frenchman fancy that he sees the
picture of his native land during the sway of
Robespierre ? Xenophon has given almost a
similar description of Athens during the reign
of the thirty tyrants. “ Athens,” observes he,
“ was only one vast tomb, inhabited by terror
and silence. A look, a motion, a thought be*
came fatal to the unfortunate citizens. The
countenance of the victim was studied, and the
wretches sought there for candour and virtue,
as the judge endeavours to discover the marks of
guilt in the countenance of a culprit
The dialogue of Rosse and Macduff calls
to mind that of Flavius and Curiatius in Cor-
neille, when the former announces to the lover
of Camilla that he has been fixed upon to fight
the Horatii.
Curiatius. Has Alba of three warriprs made her choice ?
Flavius . She has, and I announce it.
Curiatius . Who the three ?
Flavius » Your brothers and yourself.
Curiatius. Who ?
Flavius. I have said.
You and your brothers*
Xenoph. Hist. Graec. Lib, 2.
SHAKSJREARE.
141
The interrogations of Macduff and Curia-
tins are beauties of the same order. “ My chil-
dren too ?”• — “ Wife, children.” — “ My wife
killed too ?” — “ I have said . . — “Who the
three?” — “ Your brothers and yourself.” —
“ Who ?”• — “ You and your brothers.” But
Shakspeare’s expression : — “ He has no chil-
dren," remains without a parallel.
The same artist, who painted this picture,
wrote the charming farewell scene in Romeo
and Juliet. Romeo, who is condemned to exile,
is surprised by the morning while with Juliet, to
whom he is secretly married.
Juliet . Wilt thou be gone ? It is not yet near day ;
It was the nightingale, and not the lark
That pierc’d the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings in yon pomegranate tree.
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
Romeo . It was the lark; the herald of the morn.
No nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east ;
Night’s candles are burnt out, aud jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain top9.
I mu6t be gone and live — or stay and die,
Juliet . Yon light is not day light — I know it, 1 :
It is some meteor that the sun exhales.
142
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua : . ,.ji
Therefore stay yet ; thou needst not to be gone,
Romeo . Let me be ta’en, let me be put to death,
I am content* so thou wilt have it so.
I’ll say yon grey is not the morning’s eye,
’Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia’s brow ;
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
The vaulty heav’n so high above our heads :
I have more care to stay than will to go,
Come, death, and welcome — Juliet wills it so.
How is't, my soul ? — Let’s talk — it is not day,
Juliet . It is, it is. Hie hence — begone — away !
It is the lark that sings so out of tune.
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps.
Oh now be gone — More light and light it grows,”
How affecting is this contrast of the charms
of morning and the last pleasures of a newly
married couple, with the horrible catastrophe
which is about to follow ! It is of a nature
still more innocent than the Grecians can
boast, and less pastoral than Amintas or Pastor
l ido. I know only one parting scene, which
can bear a comparison with Romeo and Juliet.
It is to be found in an Indian drama, translated
from the Sanscrit language ; and even this arises
2
SHAKSPEARE. 143
» -g
from the novelty of the image, not at all from
tile interest of the situation. Sacontala, when
on the point of quitting the paternal roof, finds
herself stopped ;
“ Sacontala. Ah ! what is it that clings to the skirts of my
robe, and detains me ?
Canna. It is thy adopted child, the little fawn, whose
mouth, when the sharp points of Cusa grass had wounded
it, has beeu so often smeared by thy hand with the healing
oil of Ingudi ; who has been so often fed by thee with a
handful of Syamaka grains, and now will not leave the
footsteps of his protectress.
Sac. Why dost thou weep, tender fawn, for me, who
must leave our common dwelling place ? — As thou wast
reared by me when thou hadst lost thy mother, who died
soon after thy birth, so will my foster-father attend thee,
when we are separated, with anxious care. Return, poor
thing, return — we must part. [ She bursts into tears ,
Can . Thy tears, my child, ill suit the occasion. We shall
all meet again ; be firm. See the direct road before thee,
and follow it. — When the big tear lurks beneath thy beauti-
ful eye-lashes, let thy resolution check its first efforts to dis-
engage itself. — In thy passage over this earth, where the
paths are now high, now low, and the true path seldom dis-
tinguished, the traces of thy feet must needs be unequal ;
but virtue will press thee right onward.”
. Published Translation of Sacantala .
144
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
The parting scene of Romeo and Juliet is
not pointed out by Bandello, and belongs en-
tirely to Shakspeare. The fifty-two commenta-
tors on this author, instead of acquainting us
with a number of useless things, should have
employed themselves in discovering the beauties
which appertain to this extraordinary man as
his own property, and those which he has bor-
rowed from others. Bandello thus records the
parting of the lovers in few words :
<e A la fine, cominciando l’aurora a voler uscire, si
basciarono, estrettamente abbraciarono gli araanti, e piena
di lagrimeesospiri si dissero adio.” *
“ At last, morning beginning to break, the two lovers
kissed and closely embraced each other, then full of tears
and sighs bade farewell.”
It may be remarked that Shakspeare gene-
rally makes great use of contrasts. He likes to
exhibit gaiety at the side of sadness, to mix di-
version and the shout of joy with funeral pomp
and the voice of sorrow. The musicians, sum-
moned to the marriage of Juliet, arrive precisely
in time to follow her to the grave. Indifferent
Novelle del Bandello, Seconda Parte.
SHAKSPEARE.
145
as to the afflictions of the honse, they proceed to
indecent pleasantries, and discuss matters totally
irrelevant to the fatal event. Who does not in
this recognize a true delineation of life r Who
does not feel the bitterness of the picture? Who
has not witnessed similar scenes ? These effects
a were by no means unknown to the Greeks, and
L several traces of them are to be found in Euri-
pides ; but Shakspeare works them up to the
highest pitch of tragedy. Phaedra has just ex-
IS
pired, and the persons forming the chorus do not
know whether they ought to enter the apartment
fo of the princess.
FIRST DEMI- CHORUS
Tt fyufxlv ri doxfi jrigay Sofxo 1?,
'■ A vttu Txnarr av Si errim atrrwi/ (3 oo^uv.
ft
SECOND DEM I -CHORUS.
TiJ’a tt^o-ito 0A01 i/tancu,
ill To TroXAa Tfa<TT£*V IK tVOL<T<p<i\ii (3 hS.
a First Demi- Chorus. Companions, what shall we do ?
Ought we to enter into the palace, and assist in disengaging
ii the queen from her narrow confines ?
^ Second Demi-Chorus . That care belongs to her slaves.
Why are they not present ? Those, who meddle with too
many affairs, have no safety in life.”
VOL. I. L
l46 ENGLISH LITERATURE.
In Alcestes, Death and Appollo are jokers.
Death wishes to seize Alcestes, while yet young,
because he does not like an old victim, or as
Father Brurnoy translates it, a wrinkled victim.
These contrasts should not be entirely rejected,
for they sometimes produce an effect bordering
on the terrible, though a single shade of ex.
pression, whether too strong or too weak, is
sufficient to make them immediately low or
ridiculous.
Sbakspeare, like all tragic poets, has some-
times succeeded in displaying genuine comedy,
whereas comic poets have never achieved
the point of writing good tragedy ; a circum»
stance which perhaps proves that there is
something of a vaster nature in the genius of
Melpomene than in that of Thalia. Whoever
paints with skill the mournful side of human
nature, is also able to represent the ridiculous
one ; for ne who attains the greater object can
command the less.* But the mind, which
* This 1 conceive to be what the lawyers term a non
sequitur. It cannot be said that all tragic poets have been
shakspeake.
147
particularly employs itself in the delineation of
pleasantries, allows severer ideas to escape,
because the faculty of distinguishing objects
infinitely minute, almost always supposes the
impossibility of embracing objects, which are
infinitely grand ; whence it must be concluded
that the serious is the true criterion of human
genius, and exhibits our true nature. “ Man
that is born of a woman, hath but a short time
to live, and is full of misery/’
There is only one comic writer, who walks
at the side of Sophocles and Corneille — it is
Molifere ; but it is remarkable that his comedies,
entitled Tartuffe and the Misanthrope, greatly
approach towards tragedy from their sentiment,
and if I may be allowed the expression in such a
case, from their gravity.
The English highly esteem the comic
character of Falstaft, in the Merry Wives of
Windsor. In fact it is well designed, though
able to write comedy. Rowe, for instance, whose tragic
powers are indisputable (witness his Fair Penitent and Jane
Shore) completely failed in the Biter, which was the only
comedy he ever wrote. — Editor.
14S
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
often unnatural, low, and outr6. There are two
ways of laughing at the faults of mankind. The
one is first to bring forward the ridiculous
foibles of our nature, and then to point out its
good qualities. This is the mode adopted by
English writers ; it is the foundation of the
humour displayed by Sterne and Fielding, which
sometimes ends in drawing tears from the reader.
The other consists in exhibiting praiseworthy
features at first, and adding in succession, a
display of 60 many ridiculous follies as to make
us forget the better qualities, and lose at last all
esteem for the noblest talents and the highest
virtues. This is the French manner — it is the
comedy of Voltaire — it is the Nihil mirari
which disgraces our dramatic productions.
The partisans of Shakspeare, who so much
extol his genius both in tragedy and comedy,
appear to me as if they much deceived themselves,
when they boast that his style is so natural. He
is, 1 grant, natural in sentiment and thought, but
never in expression, some few fine scenes ex-
cepted, in which he rises to his greatest height;
and even in these his language is often affected.
3
SHAKSPEARB.
149
Hi He has all the faults of the Italians of his age,
A and is eminently defective in simplicity. His
fo descriptions are inflated and distorted, frequently
I: betraying the man of bad education, who is
ignorant of common grammar and the exact
if use of words, and who combines, at hazard,
poetic expressions with things of the most trivial
(15 nature. Is it not lamentable that such an
j, enlightened nation, which gave birth to cri-
f ,, tics like Pope and Addison, should be in exta-
,, cies with the character of the starved apothecary
in Romeo and Juliet ? It is the most hideous
q. and disgusting burlesque ; though I allow that
... a ray of light peeps through it, as is the case
j, with all the shadows of Shakspeare. Romeo
(i makes a reflection upon this miserable man, who
jji clings so closely to life though loaded with all
9 i* s miseries. It is the same sentiment which
Homer puts with so much simplicity into the
mouth of Achilles, while in (lie regions of
jj Tartarus. “ I would rather be the slave of a
labourer on earth, and lead a life of penury,
i. tl,an rc 'gn the sovereign of the land of shades.”
150 ENGLISH LITERATURE.
It remains to consider Shakspeare with
reference to the dramatic art, and after having
been an eulogist, I may now be allowed to be-
come a critic.
All that has been said in praise of Shak-
speare, as a dramatic author, is comprised in
this passage of Dr. Johnson : “ Shakspeare has
no heroes. His scenes are occupied only by
men, who act and speak as the reader thinks that
he should himself have spoken or acted on the
occasion. Even where the agency is supernatu-
ral, the dialogue is level with life. Shakspeare’s
plays are not, in the critical and rigorous sense,
either tragedies or comedies, but compositions of
a distinct kind ; exhibiting the real state of
subluuary nature, which partakes of good and
evil, joy and sorrow, mingled with endless
variety of proportion, and innumerable modes
of combination; and expressing the course of
the world, in which the loss of one is the gain
of another ; in which, at the same time, the
reveller is hastening to his wine, and the
mourner burying his friend ; in which the nia-
SHAKSPEARE.
151
dignity of one is sometimes defeated by the frolic
of another ; and many mischiefs and benefits are
done and hindered without design.
Such is the literary paradox of Shakspeare’s
admirers, and their whole argument tends to
prove that there are no dramatic rules, or that
the art is not an art. When Voltaire reproached
himself with having opened the gate to medio-
crity, by too highly praising Shakspeare, he
doubtless meant to say that by banishing all
rules and returning to pure nature, nothing was
more easy than to equal the best plays of the
English nation. If, in order to attain the summit
of the dramatic art, it is only requisite to heap
together incongruous scenes, without conse-
quence or connexion, to blend the low with the
noble, to miugle burlesque with the pathetic, to
station a water-carrier near a monarch and a
vender of vegetables at the side of a queen, who
may not reasonably hope to become the rival of
Sophocles and Racine i Whoever finds himself
so situated in society as to see much of men and
things, if he will only take the trouble of re-
tracing the events of a single day, his conversa?
lo2
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
tions with the artisan or the minister, the soldier
or the prince — if he will only recal the objects
which passed under his eyes, the ball and the
funeral procession, the Inxnry of the rich and
the distress of the poor — if he will do this, I
%
say, he will at once have composed a drama in
Shakspeare’s style. It may perhaps be deficient
in genius, but if Shakspeare be not discovered
in the piece as a writer, his dramatic skill will
be exactly imitated.
It is necessary, therefore, to be first per-
suaded that there is an art in composition for
the stage or press, that this art necessarily con-
tains its genera 9 and that each genus has its rales.
Let no one say that these genera and rules are
arbitrary, for they are the produce of Nature
herself. Art has only separated that, which
Nature has confounded, selecting the most
beautiful features without swerving from the
likeness of the great model. Perfection tends
in no degree towards the destruction of truth;
and it may be said that Racine, with all the
excellence of his art 9 is more natural than Shak-
speare, as the Belvidere Apollo, in all his gran-
SHAKSPEARE.
153
rfeur of divinity, possesses more of the human
form and air than a coarse Egyptian statue.
But if Shakspeare, say his defenders, sius
against rules, confounds all the genera of the
art, and destroys verisimilitude, he at least pio-
duces more bustle in his scenes, and infuses more
teiror than the French.
I will not examine to what extent this
assertion is true, or whether the liberty of saying
or doing every thing is not a natural conse-
quence of this multitude of characters. I will not
examine whether, in Shakspeare s plays, all pro-
ceeds rapidly towards the catastrophe; whether
the plot is ravelled and unravelled with art, by
incessantly prolonging and forwarding the in-
terest excited in the minds ot the audience. I
will only say that if our tragedies be really de-
ficient as to incidents (which I by no means
allow) it is principally ascribable to the subjects
of them ; but this does not prove that we ought
to introduce upon our stage the monstrosities of
the man, whom Voltaire called a drunken savage .
A single beauty in Shakspeare does not atone
for his innumerable faults. A gothic monument
154
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
may impart pleasure by its obscurity, and even
by the deformity of its proportion ; but no one
would think of chusing it as a model for a
palace.
It is particularly contended that Shakspeare
is a great master in the art of causing tears to
flow. I do not know whether it is the first of
arts to make a person weep, according to the
way in which that expression is now understood.
Those are genuine tears which poetry produces,
but it is necessary that there should be as much
admiration as sorrow in the mind of the person
who sheds them. When Sophocles presents
to my view CEdipus covered with blood, my
heart is ready to break ; but my ear is struck
with a gentle melancholy, and my eyes are en-
chanted by a spectacle transcendantly fine. I
experience pleasure and pain at the same
moment. I have before me a frightful truth,
and yet I feel that it is only an ingenious imita-
tion of an action, which does not exist, perhaps
never existed. Hence my tears flow with de-
light. I weep, but it is while listening to the
accents of the Muses. Those daughters of
SHAKSrEARE.
1 55
Heaven weep also ; but they do not disfigure
their divine faces by grimace. The ancients
depicted even their Furies with beautiful counte-
nances, apparently because there is a moral
beauty in remorse.
While discussing this important subject, let
me be allowed to say a few words respecting the
quarrel which at present divides the literary
world. Part of our men of letters admire none
but foreign works, while the other part lean
strongly to our own school. According to the
former, the writers, who existed during the reign
of Louis XIV. had not sufficient vivacity in their
style, and betrayed a poverty of conception.
According to the others, all this pretended
vivacity, all these efforts of the present day,
towards the attainment of new ideas, are only
decadence and corruption. One party rejects
all rules, the other recals them all.
To the. former it may be observed that an
author is lost beyond redemption if he abandons
the great models, which can alone keep us within
the delicate bounds of taste, and that it is erro-
neous to ihink a style possessed of vivacity which
/
156 ENGLISH LITERATURE.
proceeds ad infinitum in exclamations and inter-
rogations. The second age of Latin literature had
the same pretensions as ours. It is certain that'
Tacitus, Seneca, and Lucan possess a more
varied style of colouring than Livy, Cicero and
Virgil. They affect the same conciseness of
ideas and brilliancy of expression, which we at
present endeavour to attain. They load their
descriptions; they feel a pleasure in forming
pictures to the “ mind’s eye they abound in
entiment, for it is always during corrupt times
that morality is most talked of. Ages, however,
have passed away, and without regard to the
thinkers of Trajan’s time, the palm is awarded
to the reign of Augustus, in which imagination
and the arts flourished at large. If examples
were instructive, I could add that another cause
of decay in Latin literature was the confusion of
dialects in the Roman empire. When the Gauls
sat in the Senate ; when within the walls of
Rome, which was become the capital of the
world, every jargon might be heard from the
Gothic to the Parthian, it may easily be sup-
posed that all taste for the beauties of Horace
SHAKSPEARE.
157
and Cicero was at an end. The similarity is
striking. At least, if it should still remain
fashionable in France to study foreign idioms,
and inundate us with translations, our language
will soon lose its florid simplicity, and those gal*
licisms, which constitute its genius and grace.
One of the errors, into which men of letters
have fallen, when in search of unbeaten roads,
arises from the uncertainty which they observed
to exist as to the principles of taste. A person
is a great author in one journal, and a miserable
scribbler in another. One calls him a brilliant
genius, ano*her a declaimer. Whole nations
vary in opinion. Foreigners deny that Racine
was a man of genius, or that his numbers are
possessed of harmony ; and we judge of Eng-
lish writers in a very different way to the Eng-
lish themselves. It would astonish the French
if I were to mention what French authors are
admired and despised in England.
All this, however, ought not to create an
uncertainty of opinion, and cause original prin-
ciples to be abandoned, under a pretext of there
being no established standard of taste. There is a
158
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
sure basis, which may always be relied upon,
namely, ancient literature. This remains an
invariable model. It is round those, who point
out such great examples, that we ought at once
to rally, if we would escape barbarism. If the
partisans of the old school go a little too far in
their dislike of foreign literature, it may be over-
looked. Upon this principle it was that Boileau
opposed Tasso, asserting that the age in which he
lived, had too strong a propensity to fall into
the errors of that author.
Still by ceding something to an adversary,
shall we not more easily bring public opinion
back to good models ? May it now be allowed
that imagination and the arts were indulged to
too great an extent in the reign of Louis XIV ?
W as not the art of painting nature , as it is now
termed, almost unknown at that time ? Why
should it not be admitted that the style of the
present day has really assumed a more perfect
form, that the liberty of discussing any subject
has brought a greater number of truths into cir-
culation, that the sciences have imparted more
firmness to the human mind, and more precision
SHAKSPEARE.
159
to human ideas ? 1 know that there is danger
in allowing all this, and that if one point be
yielded, it is difficult to know where to stop ;
but still is it not possible that a man, by proceed-
ing cautiously between the two lines, and always
leaning rather towards the ancient than the
modern one, may unite the two schools, and
create front them the genius of a new era ? Be
this as it may, every effort to produce so great a
revolution will be abortive if we remain irreli-
gious. Imagination and sentiment are essen-
tially combined with religion. A species of
literature, from which the charms of tenderness
are banished, can never be otherwise than dry,
cold, and merely possessed of mediocrity.*
* The reader will have found in the foregoing disser-
tation a considerable portion of genuine critical acumen,
mingled with no small share of the national partialities and
prejudices, which M.de Chateaubriand so freely ascribes to
others. When Voltaire’s earlier observations are against
Shakspeare it is declared that, while young, his criticisms
were “ replete with justice, taste, and impartiality,” but
when he is not sufficiently abusive, his later attacks are pre-
ferred* Shakspeare is placed, by M. de Chateaubriand,
i6o
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
III.— BEATTIE.
The genius of Scotland has, during the present (
age, sustained with honour the literature, which
Pope, Addison, Steele, Rowe, &c. had elevated
to a high degree of perfection. England can
boast of no historians superior to Hume and
Robertson, and of no poets more richly gifted
than Thomson and Beattie. The latter, who
never left his native desert, was a minister and a
professor of Philosophy, resident at a small town
below such crude authors as Gamier and Hardy. He is
allowed to have “ regained the dramatic art after it had been
lost in the lapse of ages,” but this is only for the purpose of
describing Moll ere as having brought it to perfection. Ra-
cine is declared to be more natural than Shakspeare, and it is
deemed literary treason that the latter should have been
elevated to the side of Corneille. I venture, however, to
doubt whether a competent judge, of any nation, can peruse
the scenes, from which M. de Chateaubriand himself has
made extracts to shew their comparative skill, without giving
a decisive preference to our countryman. In spite of “ the
monstrosities'’ of this “ barbarian’’ as M. de C. calls him,
or this drunken savage, if he prefers Voltaire’s expression to
his own, may the day soon arrive when Britain can boast of
possessing another dramatic genius equal to Shakspeare !
Epitor.
BEATTIE.
161
in the north of Scotland. He is distinguished a9
a poet by a character entirely novel, and when he
touched his lyre, he in some degree brought hack
the tones of the ancient bards. His principal
and as it were only work, is a small poem enti-
tled the Minstrel, or the Progress of Genius.
Beattie wished to pourtray the effects of the
Muse on a young mountain shepherd, and to re-
trace the inspirations which he himself had
doubtless felt. The original idea of the Minstrel
is charming, and most of the descriptions are
very agreeable. The poem is written in metrical
stanzas, like the old Scotch ballads,* a circum-
stance which adds to its singularity. It is true
that the author, like all foreigners, is sometimes
too diffuse, and sometimes deficient in taste. Dr.
* The stanza of Beattie’s Minstrel is au avowed copy of
the one used in the Fairy Queen. <( I have endeavoured,’*
says the author, “ to imitate Spenser in the measure of his
verse, and in the harmony, simplicity and variety of his com-
position. This measure pleases my ear, and seems, froru
its Gothic structure and original, to bear some relation to the
subject and spirit of the poem.” Editor .
voi,. i.
M
162
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
Beattie likes to enlarge on common maxims of
morality, without possessing the art of giving
them a new appearance. In general, men of
brilliant imagination and tender feeliugs'are not
sufficiently profound in their thoughts, or forci-
ble in their reasoning. Ardent passions or great
genius are necessary towards the conception of
great ideas. There is a certain calmness of heart
and gentleness of nature, which seem to exceed
the sublime.
A work like the Minstrel can hardly be ana-
lyzed ; but I will extract a few stanzas from the
first book of this pleasing production. I would
rather employ myself in displaying the beauties
of an author than in nicely investigating his
faults. I would rather extol a writer than de-
base him in the reader’s eyes. Moreover, in-
struction is better conveyed by admiration than
censure ; for the one reveals the presence of ge-
nius, while the other confines itself to a disco-
very of blemishes which all eyes could have per-
ceived. It is in the beautiful arrangements of
Heaven that the Divinity is perceived, and not
. . a*
by a few irregularities of nature.
2
BEATTIE.
163
B
“ Ah ! who can tell how hard it is to climb
The steep, where Fame’s proud temple shines afar ;
Ah ! who can tell how many a soul sublime
Has felt the influence of malignant star.
And waged with Fortune an eternal war;
Check’d hy the scoff of Pride, by Envy’s frown,
And Poverty’s unconquerable bar ;
In life’s low vale remote has pin’d alone.
Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown ?
And yet the langour of inglorious days
Not equally oppressive is to all :
Him, who ne’er listen’d to the voice of praise.
The silence of neglect can ne’er appal.
There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition’s call,
Would shrink to hear the obstreperous trump of Fame:
Supremely blest, if to their portion fall
Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim
Had he, whose simple tale these artless lines proclaim.
This sapient age disclaims all classic lore ;
Else I should here, in cunning phrase display
How forth The Minstrel fared in days of yore,
Right glad of heart, though homely in array ;
His waving locks and beard all hoary grey :
And from his bended shoulder decent hung
His harp, the sole companion of his way,
^ to the whistling wind responsive rung ;
Yod ever as he went some merry lay he sung.
M 2
164
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
Fret not thyself, thou glittering chUd of Pride,
That a poor Villager inspires my strain ;
With thee let Pageantry and Power abide :
The gentle Muses haunt the sylvan reign ;
Wherethrough wild groves at eve the lonely swain
Enraptur’d roams, to gaze on nature’s charms.
They hate the sensual, and scorn the vain ;
Nor him whose sordid soul the love of gold alarms.
Though richest hues the peacock’s plumes adorn,
Yet horror screams from his discordant throat.
Rise sons of harmony and hail the morn.
While warbling larks on russet pinions float ;
Or seek at noon the woodland scene remote.
Where the linets carol from the hill.
O let them ne’er with artificial note.
To please a tyrant strain their little bill.
But sing what Heaven inspires, aud wander where they will
Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature’s hand ;
Nor was perfection made for man below.
Yet all her schemes with incest are plann’d.
Good counteracting ill, and gladness woe.
With gold and gems if Chilian mountains glow ;
If bleak and barren Scotia’s hills arise ;
There plague and poison, lust and rapine grow :
Here peaceful are the vales, and pure the skies.
And freedom fires the soul, and sparkles in the eyes.’’
BEATTIE.
165
To this extract I will add a few more stanzas
towards the end of the first book :
« Oft when the winter storm had ceas’d to rave.
He roam’d the snowy waste at- even, to view
The cloud stupendous, from th’ Atlantic wave
High-tow’ring, sail along th’ horizon blue :
Where, midst the changeful scenery, ever new.
Fancy a thousand wond’rous forms descries.
More wildly great than ever pencil drew.
Rocks, torrents, gulfs, and shapes of giant size.
And glitt’ring cliffs on cliffs, and fiery ramparts rise.
Thence musing onward to the sounding shore.
The lone enthusiast oft would take his way.
List’ning, with pleasing dread, to the deep roar
Of the wide-welt’ring waves. In black array
When sulphurous clouds roll’d on th’ autumnal day.
Even then he hasten’d from the haunt of man.
Along the trembling wilderness to stray,
What time the lightning’s fierce career began.
And o’er heaven’s rending arch the rattling thunder ran.
Responsive to the sprightly pipe, when all
In sprightly dance the village youth were join’d,
Edwin, of melody aye held in thrall,
From the rude gambol far remote reclin’d,
f
166 ENGLISH XHTERATURE.
Sooth’d with the soft note6 warbling in the wind.
Ah then, all jollity seem’d noise and folly.
To the pure soul by Fancy’s fire refin’d.
Ah what is mirth but turbulence unholy.
When with the charms compar’d of heavenly melancholy!
Is there a heart that music cannot melt ?
Alas ! how is that rugged heart forlorn !
Is there, who ne’er those mystic transports felt
Of solitude and melancholy born?
He needs not woo the Muse ; he is her scorn.
The sophist’s rope of cobwebs he shall twine;
Mope o er the schoolman’s peevish page ; or mourn.
And delve for life in Mammon’s dirty mine ;
Sneak with the scoundrel fox, or grunt with glutton swiue.
For Edwin, F ate a nobler doom had plann’d ;
Song was his favourite and first pursuit*
The wild harp rang to his advent’ rous hand.
And languish’d to his breath the plaintive flute.
His infant muse, though artless, was not mute :
Of elegance, as yet he took no care ;
For this of time and culture is the fruit ;
And Edwin gain’d at last this fruit so rare ;
As m some future verse I purpose to declare.”
It will be seen from the last stanza that Beat-
BEATTIE.
]67
tie intended to continue his poem, and he did in
fact write a second canto sometime afterwards,
but it is very inferior to the first. Edwin hav-
ing attained manhood, takes walks “ of wider
circuit” than before.
' “ One eveniug, as he fram’d the careless rhyme.
It was his chance to wander far abroad,
And o’er a lonely eminence to climb.
Which heretofore his foot had never trod ;
A vale appear’d below, a deep retired abode.
Thither he hied, enamour’d of the scene.
For rocks on rocks pil’d, as by magic spell,
Here scorch’d with lightening, there with ivy green.
Fenc’d from the north and east this savage dell.
Southward a mountain rose with easy swell.
Whose long long groves eternal murmur made;
And toward the western suu a streamlet fell.
Where, thro’ the cliffs, the eye, remote, survey’d.
Blue hills, and glitt’ring waves, and skies in gold array'd.
Along this narrow valley you might see
The wild deer sporting on the meadow ground^
And, here and there, a solitary tree.
Or mosey stone, or rock with woodbine crown’d.
168
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
Oft did the cliffs reverberate the sound
Of parted fragments tumbling from on high ;
And from the summit of that craggy mound
The perching eagle oft was heard to cry.
Or on resounding wings to shoot athwart the sky.
One cultivated spot there was, that spread
Its flow’ry bosom to the noon-day beam.
Where many a rose-bud rears its blushing head.
And herbs for food with future plenty teem.
Sooth’d by the lulling sound of grove and stream,
Romantic visions swarm on Edwin’s soul :
He minded not the sun’s last trembling gleam,
Nor heard from far the twilight curfew toll ;
When slowly on his ear these moving accents stole.”
It is the voice of an aged hermit, who
after having known the illusions of the world, has
buried himself in this retreat, for the purpose of
indulging in meditation, and singing the praises
of his Creator. This venerable old man instructs
the young troubadour, and reveals to him the
secret of his own genius. It is evident that this
was a most happy idea, but the execution has
not answered the first design of the author. The
BEATTIE.
169
hermit speaks too long, and makes very trite ob-
servations with regard to the grandeur and mi-
sery of human life Some passages are, how-
ever, to be found in this second book which
recal the charm created by the first. The last
strophes of it are consecrated to the memory of
a friend, whom the poet had lost. It appears
that Beattie was often destined to feel the weight
of sorrows. The death of his only son affected
him deeply and withdrew him entirely from the
service of the Muses. He still lived on the
rocks of Morven, but these rocks no longer in-
spired his song. Like Ossian, after the death
of Oscar, he suspended his harp on the branches
of an oak. It is said that his son evinced great
poetical talents ; perhaps he was the young
minstrel, whom a father had feelingly described,
and whose steps he too soon ceased to trace
%
upon the summit of the'mountain.
RECOLLECTIONS
AMERICA.
173
ON THE ISLAND OF GRACIOZA,
ONE OF THE AZORES.
In the spring of 1791 I made a voyage to
America. Before the vessel, which conveyed me,
reached her destination, we were in want of water,
as well as provisions; and finding ourselves near
the Azores, resolved to touch there. Several
priests were passengers in the same ship ; they
were emigrating to Baltimore, under the guid-
ance of the superior St.. . M. N. Among these
priests were some foreigners, particularly Mr.
T« . a young Englishman of an excellent family,
who had lately become a convert to the Homan
faith.
The history of this youth is too singular
not to be recorded, and will perhaps be more
particularly interesting to the English reader.
Mr. T.. . was the son of a Scotch woman
and an English clergyman, who was, I believe,
174 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
the rector of W. though I have in vain tried to
find him, and may possibly have forgotten the
right names. The son served in the artillery,
and would no doubt have soon been distinguished
by his merit. He was a painter, a musician, a
mathematician, and master of several languages.
He united with the advantages of a tall and
elegant person the talents which are useful, and
those which make us court the society of their
possessor.
M. N. superior of St. .... having visited
London on business, 1 believe in the year I79O,
became acquainted with young T.. . This monk
had that warmth of soul which easily makes
proselytes of men possessing the vivid imagi-
nation by which T.. . was distinguished. It was
determined that the latter should repair to Paris,
send the resignation of his commission from
that place to the Duke of Richmond, embrace
the Catholic religion, and, after entering into
holy orders, accompany M. N. to America,
ihe project was put in execution, and T... in
spite of his mother’s letters, which he could not
read without tears, embarked for the new world.
THE ISLAND OF GHACIOZA. 175
One of those chances, which decide our
destiny, caused me to sail in the same vessel as
this young man. It was not long before I dis-
covered his good qualities, and I could not cease
to be astonished at the singular circumstances,
by which a wealthy Englishman of good birth
should have thus been thrown among a troop of
Catholic priests. T.. . perceived, on his part,
I understood him ; but he was afraid of M. N.
that who seemed averse to too great an intimacy
between his disciple and myself.
Meanwhile we proceeded on our voyage,
and had not yet been able to open our hearts to
each other. At length we were one night upon
deck without any of the other priests. T.. . re-
lated to me his adventures, and we interchanged
assurances of sincere friendship.
T.. . was, like myself, an admirer of nature.
We used to pass whole nights in conversation
upon deck, when all were asleep on board the
vessel, except the sailors upon duty, when all the
sails were furled, and the ship rolled dully
through the calm, while an immense sea ex-
tended all around us into shade, and repeated the
,1
■
176 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
roaguificient illumination of the star-sprinkled
sky. Our conversations, at such times, were per-
haps not quite unworthy of the grand spectacle
which we had before our eyes ; and ideas escaped
us which we should be ashamed of expressing in
society, but which I should be happy to recal and
- write down. It was in one of these charming
nights when we were about fifty leagues from the
coast of Virginia, and scudding under a light
breeze from the west, which bore to us the aro-
matic odour of the land, thatT.. . composed fora
French Romance, an air which exhaled the very
' spirit of the scene that inspired it. I have pre-
served this valuable composition, and when I
happen to repeat it, emotions arise in my breast
which few people can comprehend.
Before this period, the wind having driven
us considerably to the north, we found ourselves
» tinder the necessity of then also taking in water,
*&c. which we did at. Saint Peters Island, on the
vcoast of Newfoundland. Duringthe fortnightwe
were on-shore, T.. . and I used to ramble among
the mountains of this frightful island, and lose
1. ourselves amidstthe fogs that perpetually prevail
THE ISLAND OF GRACI02A. 177
there. The sensitive imagination of my friend
fonud pleasure in these sombre and romantic
scenes. Sometimes, when we wandered in the
midst of clouds and storms, listening to the roar-
ing waves which we could not discern, and lost
ourselves upon a bleak desolate heath, or
gazed at the red torrent which rolled among the
locks, T. . . . would imagine himself to be the bard
of Cona, and in his capacity of Demi-Scotchman,
begin to declaim from Ossian, or sing to wild
airs, composed upon the spot, passages from that
work. His music often led me back to ancient
times ct Twas like the memory of joys that
are past, pleasing and mournful to the soul.” I
am extieraely sorry that 1 did not write down
the notes of some of these extraordinary songs,
which would have astonished amateurs and
artists. I remember that we passed a whole
afternoon in raising four large stones, to the
memory of an unfortunate man, in a little episode
after the manner of Ossian, taken from my
Pictures of Nature ,— a production, known to
some men of letters, which has been destroyed.
'' e thought of Rousseau, who amused himself
VOL. I.
178 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
with overturning the rocks in his island, that
he might see what was under them. If we
had not the genius of the author of Emily, we
had at least his simplicity. At other times we
botanized.
On our arrival at Baltimore, T. . . . without
bidding me farewell, and without appearing to
feel the intimacy which had subsisted between
us, left me one morning, and I have never seen
him since. When 1 retired to England, I en-
deavoured to discover his family, but in vain.
] had no wish but to ascertain that he was happy,
and take my leave ; for when l knew him I was
not what I now am. At that time I rendered
him some service, and it is not congenial with
my disposition to remind a person of the obliga-
tions conferred by me when rich, now that mis-
fortunes have overtaken me. 1 waited upon the
Bishop of London, but in the registers, which he
permitted me to examine, 1 could find no clergy*
man of TVs name. I must have mistaken the
prthography. All I know is that he bad a
brother, and that two of his sisters had places at
court. 1 have met with few men, whose hearts
1
THB ISLAND OF GRACIOZA. 179
harmonized more with mine than that of T»
He had, nevertheless an expression in his eye
of some concealed thought, which I did not like. ^
On the 6th of May, about eight o’clock in
the morning, we discovered the Peak of the
island bearing the same name, which is said to
surpass in height that of Teneriffe. Soon after-
wards we perceived lower land, and towards
noon cast anchor in a bad road, upon a rocky
bottom, and in forty-five fathoms water.
The island of Gracioza, before which we
lay, is composed of small hills, that swell out
towards their summits, so as to resemble the
graceful curving form of Corinthian vases.
1 hey were, at the period of which I am speak-
ing, covered with the fresh verdure of grain ;
and it shed a pleasant odour peculiar to the
Azores. In the midst of these undulating car-
pets, appeard symetricul divisions of the fields,
formed of volcanic stones, in colour black and
white, heaped one upon another to the height of
a man s breast. Wild fig-trees, with their violet
leaxes and little purple figs arranged upon the
branches like knots of flowers upon a chaplet,
K 2
ISO RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA#
were scattered here and there through the eoun-
try. An abbey was visible at the top of a moun-
tain, and at its base in a nook the red roofs ot
the little town Santa Cruz. The whole island,
with all its bays, capes, creeks and promontories,
was reflected from the waves. Great naked
rocks constituted its exterior boundary, and
formed a contrast, by their smoky colour, to the
festoons of spray hanging to them, and ap-
pearing in the sun like silver lace. The peak
of Peak Island, beyond Gracioza, majestically
raised its head above a mass of clouds, and
formed the background of the picture. A sea
of emerald and a sky of the purest azure supplied
the main tints of the scene, while the numerous
sea-fowl and the grey crows of the Azores flew
screaming and croaking round our vessel as she
lay at anchor, or cut the surface of the billow
with their wings expanded in the shape of a
sickle, augmenting around us noise, motion and
life.
It was decided that I should land as inter-
preter with T. another young man, and the second
captain. The boat was hoisted out, and the
THE ISLAND OF GRACIOZA.
181
sailors began to row us towards the shore, which
was about two miles from the ship. It was not
long before we observed a bustle on the coast,
and a pinnace approaching us. The moment it
came within hail, we distinguished in it a num-
ber of monks. They addressed us in Portngueze,
Italian and English ; and we replied in these
three languages, that we were Frenchmen.
Great alarm prevailed in the island. Our vessel
was the first of large bulk that had ever appeared
there, and ventured to anchor in the dangerous
road where she now was. The new tri-coloured
flag had likewise never been seen fn this part of
the world before; and the inhabitants knew not
but that we might be from Algiers or Tunis.
When they saw that we wore the human form,
and understood what was said to us, their joy
was universal. The monks invited us into their
pinnace, and we soon reached Santa Cruz,
where we landed with difficulty on account of
a violent surge which continually beats there.
All the inhaoitants of the island' ran to
see us. Four or five unhappy men, who had
been hastily armed with pikes, formed our guard.
J82 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
The uniform of his Maje'ty attracting particular
notice, I passed for the important man of the
deputation. We were conducted to the Cover*
nor’s miserable house, where his Excellency, who
was attired in an old gieen dress which had for
inerly been ornamented with gold lace, gave us
an audience of reception, and graciously per-
mitted us to purchase the articles we wanted.
After this ceremony we were dismissed, and
the honest monks conducted us to a large hotel,
which was neat, commodious and much more
like the Governor’s palaee than the one heiuha-
bited.
T. . . . had found a fellow countryman.
The brother, who was most active for us, was a
Jersey sailor, whose vessel had been wrecked at
Gracioza several years before. He was the only
one of the crew who escaped death, and being
not deficient, as to intelligence, he perceived that
there was only one trade in the island, that of
the monks. He resolved, therefore, to become
one, listened with great docility to the instruc-
tions of the holy fathers, learnt Portugueze as
well as a few words of Latin, and being recom 1
THS ISLAND OF GRACIOZA. 183
»
mended by the circumstance of bis belonging
to England, this wandering sheep was admitted
into the sacred fold.
As it was long since he had spoken his own
language, he was delighted to find any one that
understood it. He walked with us in the island,
and took us to his convent.
Half Gracioza appeared to me, without
much exaggeration, to be peopled with monks,
and the following circumstance may serve to
convey an idea of the ignorance, in which these
good fathers remained at the close of the
eighteenth century.
We had been mysteriously conducted to
a small organ in the parish church, under the
idea that we had never seen so curious an instru-
ment. The organist took his seat with a trium-
phant air, and played a most miserable discordant
sort of litany, trying all the time to discover
our admiration in our looks. We appeared to
be extremely surprised. T. . . . then modestly
approached, and seemed just to touch the keys
with great respect. The organist made signs to
him, as if saying : “ Take care.” All at on<;e
/
184 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
T. ... displayed the harmony of a celebrated
passage in the compositions of Pleyel. It would
be difficult to imagine a more amusing scene.
The organist almost fell to the earth ; the monks
stood openrnouthed with pale and lengthened
visages, while the brothers in attendance made
the most ridiculous gestures of astonishment
around us.
Having embarked our provisions on the
following day, we ourselves returned on board,
accompanied by the good fathers, who took
charge of our letters for Europe, and left us with
great protestations of friendship. The vessel
had been tndangered, during the preceding night,
by a brisk gale from the East. We wished to
weigh anchor, but, as we expected, lost it. Such
was the end of our expedition. . i( j
A few words concerning the Cataract of Canada.
This famous cataract is the finest in the
known world. It is formed by the river Nia-
gara, which proceeds from Lake Erie, and
throws itself into tbe Ontario. The fall is about
THE CATA RACT OF CAJfADA^ IS'S
nine miles from the latter lake. Its perpendicu-
lar height may be aboat two hundred feet ; but-
the cause of its violence is that, from Lake Erie
to the cataract, the river constantly flows with a
rapid declination for almost six leagues : so that,
at the place of fall, it is moie like an impetuous
sea than a river, and a hundred thousand torrents
seem to be rushing towards the gaping gulph.
The cataract is divided into two branches, aud
1 forms a curve, in the shape of a horse-shoe, the
length of which is about half a mile. Between
the two falls is an enormous rock hollowed out
below, which hangs with all its firs, over the
chaos of the waters. The mass of the river,
which precipitates itself on the south side, is^
collected into the form of a large cylinder at
the moment it quits the brink, then rolls out in
snowy whiteness, and shines in the sun with
every variety of prismatic colours. That, which
falls on the northern side, descends in a terrific
cloud like a column of water at the deluge. '
Innumerable bows are to be seen in the sky,
curving and crossing over the abyss, and from it
proceeds a horrid roar which is heard to the -
1S6 RBCOILECTIQ-NS Of AMERICA,
distance of sixty miles around. I he water, -thus
furiously falling* on the rock beneath, recoils in
clouds of whirling spray, which mount above
the summits of the forest, and resemble the thick
smoke of a tremendous conflagration. Enor-
mous rocks, towering upwards like gigantic
phantoms, decorate the sublime scene. Wild
walnut trees, of a reddish and scaly appearance,
find the means of desolate existence upon these
fossil skeletons. Scarcely a living animal is seen in
the neighbourhood, except eagles, which, as they
hover above the cataract in search of prey, are
overpowered by the current of air, and forced
with giddy fall to the bottom of the abyss.
The spotted Carcajou , suspended by its
long tail from the extremity of a lower branch,
tries to catch the fragments of drowned carcases
which are thrown ashore by the boiling surge,
such as those of elks and bears ; while rattle-
snakes announce, by their baleful sound, that
they are lurking on every side.
18 7
VISIT
TO THE COUNTRY OF THE SAVAGES.
I took my departure for the country of the
Savages in a packet boat, which was to convey
me from New-Yoik to Albany by Hudson’s river.
The passengers were numerous and agreeable,
consistingof several women and some American
Officers. A fresh breeze conducted us gently
towards our destination. Towards the evening
ot the first day, we assembled upon deck, to
partake of a collation of fruit and milk. The
women seated themselves upon the benches, and
the men were stationed at their feet. The con-
versation was not long kept up. I haye always
remarked that when nature exhibits a sublime
or beautiful prospect, the spectators involunta-
rily become silent. Suddenly one of the com-
pany exclaimed : “ Near that place Major Andr6
was executed.” My ideas instantly took another
turn. A very pretty American lady was intreated
to sing the ballad, which describes the story of
188 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
that unfortunate young man. She yielded to
cmr solicitation ; her voice evidently betrayed
her timidity, but it was exceedingly replete with
sweet and tender sensibility.
The sun now set, and we were in the midst
of lofty mountains. Here and there huts were
seen, suspended over the abysses, but they soon
disappeared among tlie clouds of mingled white
and rosy hue, which horizontally flitted past
these dwellings. When the summits of the
rocks and firs were discovered above these clouds,
one might have fancied them to be islands float*
ing in the air. The majestic river, the tides of
which run North and South, lay outstretched
before us in a strait line, inclosed between two
exactly parallel banks. Suddenly it took a turn
to the West, winding its golden waves around a
mountain which overlooked the river with all its
plants, and had the appearance of a large bou-
quet, tied at its base with azure riband. We
preserved a profound silence ; for my own part,
1 hardly ventured to breathe. Nothing inter-
rupted the plaintive song of the fair passenger,
except the sound (of which we were hardly sen-
sible) made by the vessel, as it glided before a
VISIT TO THE SAVAGES.
18 i>
light breeze through the water. Sometimes the
voice acquired an additional swell when we
steered near the bank, and in two or three places
it was repeated by a slight echo. 1 he ancients
would have imagined that the soul of Andre, at-
tracted by this impressive melody, felt a pleasure in
murmuring its last notes among the mountains.
The idea of this brave and unfortunate man, who
was a lover and a poet, who died for bis country
in the flower of his age, regretted by his fellow
citizens and honoured by the tears of Wash-
ington, spread over this romantic scene a softer
tint. The American officers and I had tears in
our eyes — 1 from the effect of the delicious state
of mind into which 1 was plunged— They no
doubt from the recollection of their country’s
past troubles, which doubled the calmness of
the present moment. They could not, without
a sort of ecstacy, contemplate a district, lately
covered with battalions in glittering arms, and
resounding with the noise of war, now buried in
profound tranquility, lighted by the last fires of
day, decorated with all the pomp of nature,
animated by the soft whistle of Virginian night-
igO RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERfCA.
ingales, and the cooing of wild pigeons;
while the simple inhabitants were seated on the
point of a rock, at some distance from their
cottages, and quietly observed our vessel as it
passed along the river beneath them.
The tour, which I made on this occasion,
was in fact only a prelude to a journey of
much greater importance, the plan of which I
« 1 - i * #
communicated, on my return, to M.de Males-
herbes, who was to have laid it before govern-
ment. I intended nothing less than to decide,
by a land investigation, the great question of a
passage from the South sea mto the Atlantic by
the North. It is known that, in spite of the efforts
made by Captain Cook, and subsequent naviga-
tors, this point has always remained doubtful.
In 1/86 a merchantman pretended to have en-
tered an interior sea of North America at 48
lat. N. and those on board asserted that all,
which had been considered as continental coast
to the North of California, was a long chain of
islands extremely close to each other. On the
other hand, a traveller from Hudson’s Bay saw
the sea at 72 lat. N. at the mouth of the river
...VISIT TO THE SAVAGES. 191
Cnivre. It is said that a frigate arrived last
summer, which had been sent by the British Ad-
miralty to ascertain the truth or fallacy of the
discovery made by the merchantman above men-
tioned, and that this frigate confirms the truth
of Cook’s reports. Be this as may, I will just
state what was my plan.
If government had favoured the project, I
should have embarked for New-York. There I
should have had two immense covered waggons
made, to be drawn by four yoke ot oxen. I
should have also procured six small horses, such
as those which I used on my first expedition. I
should have taken with me three European ser-
vants, and three savages of the Five-Nations.
Reasons operate to prevent the mention of some
particulars of the plan which it was my intention
to follow ; the whole forms a small volume in my
possession, which would not be useless to those
who explore unknown regions. Suffice it to say
that I would have renounced all ideas of tra-
versing the deserts of America, if it would have
cost the simple inhabitants a single tear. I
should have wished that among the savages, the
Ip 2
RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
man with a long beard might, long after my
departure, be spoken of as the friend and benefac-
tor of the human race.
When I had made every preparation, I
should have set out directly towards the West,
proceeding along the lakes of Canada to the
source of the Mississippi, which I should have
ascertained. Then descending by the plains of
Upper Louisiana as far as the 40th degree of
Northern latitude, I should have resumed my
course to the West, so as to have reached the
coast of the South Sea a little above the head of
the gulph of California. Following the coast
and keeping the sea always in sight, I should
next have proceeded due North, thereby turning
my back on New Mexico. If no discovery had
altered my line of progress, I should have pur-
sued my way to the mouth of Cook’s Inlet, and
thence to the river Cuivre in 72 degrees lat. N.
Finally* if I had no where found a passage, and
could not double the most Northern Cape of
America, 1 should have re-entered the United
States by Hudson’s Bay, Labrador and Canada.
Such wa9 the immense and perilous voyage,
VISIT TO THE SAVAGES.
193
which I proposed to undertake for the service of
my country and Eniope. I calculated that it
would occupy (all accidents apart) five to six
years. There can be no donbt of its utility. I
should have given an account of the three king-
doms of Nature, of the people and their manners.
I should have sketched the principal views, &c.
As to the perils of the journey, they were
undoubtedly great, and those, who make nice
calculations on this subject, will probably not be
disposed to travel among savage nations. People
alarm themselves, however, too much in this
respect. When l was exposed to any danger, in
America, it was always local and caused by my
own imprudence, not by the inhabitants. For
instance, when I was at the cataract of Niagara,
the Indian ladder being broken which had for-
merly been there, I wished, in spite of my guide’s
representations, to descend to the bottom of the
fall by means of a rock, the craggy points of
which projected. It was about two hundred
feet high, and I made the attempt. In spite of
the roaring cataract, and frightful abyss which
gaped beneath me, my head did not swim, and I
VOL, 1. o
1<J4 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
desceuded about forty feet, but here the rock be*
came smooth and vertical ; nor were there anj
longer roots or fissures for my feet to rest upou.
I remained hanging all my length by my hands,
neither being able to reascend nor proceed, feel-
ing my fingers open by degrees from the weight
of my body, and considering death inevitable.
There are few men, who have, in the course of
their lives, passed two such minutes as I ex.
perienced over the yawning horrors of Niagara,
My hands at length opened and I fell. By most
extraordinary good fortune 1 alighted on the
naked rock. It was hard enough to have dashed
me in pieces, and yet I did not feel much injured.
1 was within half an inch of the abyss, yet had
not rolled into it ; but when the cold water be-
gan to penetrate to my skin, I perceived that I
had not escaped so easily as I at first imagined.
I felt insupportable pain in my left arm ; I had
broken it above the elbow. My guide, who ob-
served me fiom above, and to whom I made
%
signs, ran to look for some savages, who with
much trouble drew me up by birch cords, and
carried me to their habitations.
VISIT TO THE SAVAGES.
195
Thiswa 9 not the only risk I ran at Niagara.
On arriving at the cataract, I alighted and
fastened my horse’s bridle round my arm. As I
leaned forward to look down, a rattle-snake
moved in the neighbouring bashes. The horse
took fright, reared on his hind legs and ap-
proached the edge of the precipice. I could not
disengage my arm from the bridle, and the
animal, with increasing alarm, drew me after
him. His feet were already on the point of slip-
ping over the brink of the golph, and he was
kept from destruction by nothing bnt the rein9.
My doom seemed to be fixed, when the animal,
astonished at the new danger which he all at once
perceived, made a final effort, and sprung ten
leet from the edge of the precipice.
o St
A NIGHT
AMONG THE SAVAGES OF AMERICA.
It is a feeling, natural on the part of the unfor-
tunate, to aim at the illusions of happiness by
the recollection of past pleasures. When I feel
weary of existence, when I feel iny heart torn by
the effects of a commerce with mankind, I invo-
luntarily turn aside, and cast a look of regret.
Enchanting meditations ! Secret and ineffable
charms of a soul which enjoys itself, it was
amidst the immense deserts of America that I
completely tasted you ! Every one boasts of loving
liberty, and hardly any one has a just idea of it.
When I travelled among the Indian tribes of
Canada — when I quitted the habitations of Eu-
ropeans, and found myself, for the first time,
alone amidst boundless forests, having all nature,
as it were prostrate at my feet, a strange revolu-
tion took place in my sensations. I was seized
with a sort of delirium, and followed no track,
A NIGHT AMONG THE SAVAGES. 197
but went from tree to tree, and indifferently to
the right or left, saying to myself : “ Here there
is no multiplicity of roads, no towns, no confined
houses, no Presidents, Republics and Kings, no
laws and no human beings. — Human beings !
Yes — some worthy savages, who care nothing
about me, nor I about them ; who, like myself
wander wherever inclination leads them, eat
■when they wish it, and sleep where they please.
To ascertain whether I was really in possession of
my original rights, I put in practice a thousand
acts of human will, as fancy suggested them.
These proceedings highly enraged the great
Dutchman, who accompanied me as a guide,
and who in his soul believed me to bea madman.
Released from the tyrannical yoke of society,
I comprehended the charms of that natural inde-
pendence, far surpassing all the pleasures of
which civilized man can have an idea. I compre-
hended why a savage was unwilling to become
an European, why several Europeans had become
savages, and why the sublime discussion on the
inequality of conditions was so little understood
by most of our philosopher^. It is incredible to
what a state of littleness nations and their highly
198 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
boasted institutions were reduced in my eyes. It
appeared to me that 1 was looking at the king-
doms of the earth with an inverted telescope,
or rather that 1 myself was enlarged, exalted,
and contemplating, with the eyes of a giant, the
remains of my degenerate fellow creatures.
You, who wish to write of mankind, trans-
port yourselves into the deserts. Become for an
instant the children of nature-— then, and not
till then take the pen.
Among the innumerable enjoyments, which
I experienced during these travels, one in parti-
cular made a lively impression upon my heart*
* Almost all that follows is taken from the manuscript
of my Travels in America, which perished together with
several other incomplete works. Among them I had begun
one, Les Tableaux de la Aature, which was the history of
a savage tribe in Canada, moulded into a sort of romance.
The frame, which inclosed these pictures of nature, was
entirely new, and the paint ngs themselves, being strange
to our climate, might have merited the indulgence of the
reader. Some praise has been bestowed upon my man-
ner of delineating nature, but if the public had seen the
work now mentioned, written as it was by fragments on
my knee among the savages themselves, in the forests and
on the banks of American lakes, I presume to state thst
a.kight ^mong THE SAVAGES. 199
I was going* to see the celebrated cataract of'
Niagara, and had taken my road through the
Indian nations, which inhabit the wilds west of
the American plantations. My guides were the
sun, a pocket compass, and the Dutchman whom
I have mentioned. This man perfectly under-
stood five dialects of the Huron language. Our
equipage consisted of two horses, to the necks oi
which we fastened a bell at night, and then al-
lowed them to go at large in the forest. At first
I was rather afraid of losing them, but my guide
removed this apprehension by pointing out the
admirable instinct, which causes these sagacious
animals never to wander out of sight of OUT. fire.
One evening, when we conceived that we
they would probably have found matter more deserving their
notice. Of all this work only a few detached leaves remain
in my possession, and among them is the Night, which T
now insert. I was destined to lose by the revolution for-
tune, parents, friends, and what is never to be regained wheft
once lost, the detail of reflections as they naturally arose
during my travels. Our thoughts are perhaps the only pro-
perty to he called really our own — even these were taken
from me.
200 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
had proceeded so far as to be only about eight or
nine leagues from the cataract, we were just
about to alight from our horses, that we might
prepare our hovel, and light our fire according
to the Indian custom. At this moment we per-
ceived ablaze in the woods, and soon afterwards
espied some savages seated on the bank of the
same stream, which flowed past us. We ap-
proached them, and the Dutchman having, by
my order, asked permission to pass the night
with them, it was granted on the spot. Accord-
ingly we all began our labours together. After
having cut branches from the trees, fixed stakes
in the ground, stripped off bark to cover oor
palace, and performed some other general ser-
vices, each of us turned his attention to his own
affairs. I fetched my saddle, which faithfully
served as my pillow during the whole journey,
"lhe guide attended to our horses, and with
regard to his preparations for the night, he was
not so delicate as myself, and generally availed
himself ot some old trunk of a tree for his bed.
Our work being finished, we seated ourselves in
a circle, with our legs crossed like tailors. In
A NIGHT AMONG THE SAVAGES. 201
the centre of us was an immense fire, at which
•we prepared our maize for supper. I had a
bottle of brandy too, which not a little increased
the gay spirits of the savages. They produced
in return some legs of bear, and we made a royal
repast.
The party was composed of two women with
infants at the breast, and three warriors. Two
of the latter might be about forty to forty-five
years of age, though they appeared to be mnch
older ; the third was a young man.
The conversation soon became general, that
is to say, by some broken expressions on iny
part, and by many gestures, an expressive kind
of language, which the Indian tribes comprehend
with astonishing readiness, and which I learnt
among them. The young man alone preserved
an obstinate silence, keeping his eyes stedfastly
fixed on me. in spite of the black, red, and blue
streaks, with which he was disfigured, and the
further mutilation of having no ears, it was easy
to perceive the noble and sensible expression
which animated his countenance. How favor-
ably did 1 think of him for not liking me! He
222
RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
appeared to be mentally reading the history of
all the calamities, with which Europeans had
overburthened his country.
The two little children, which were entirely
naked, had fallen asleep at our feet, before the
file. The women took them gently in their
arms, and laid them upon skins, with that ma-
ternal care which it was delicious to observe
among these pretended savages. The con versa-
tion at length died away by degrees, and each
person sunk to rest in the place which he had
hitherto occupied.
I was, however, an exception, being unable
to close my eyes. Hearing the deep breathing
of my companions on all sides, I raised my head,
and resting on my elbow, contemplated, by the
red light of the expiring fire, the sleeping Indians
stretched around me. I acknowledge that I
found it difficult to refrain from tears. Good
young man ! How affecting did thy repose ap-
pear to me ! Thou, who didst seem so feelingly
alive to the misfortunes of thy country, wert of
too lofty and superior a disposition to suspect a
stranger of evil intentions. Europeans, what a
A NIGHT AMONG THE SAVAGES. 203
lesion is this For us ! These savages, whom we
have pursued with fire and sword, whom our
avarice has not even left in possession of a shovel
full of earth to cover their dead bodies on all this
vast continent heretofore their patrimony—
these very savages received their enemy in their
hospitable hnts, shared with him their miserable
repast, and their conch to which remorse was
a stranger, enjoying close to, him, the sleep
of the virtuous. Such virtues are as much
above our conventional ones, as the souls of
these uncultivated people are superior to those
i of man in a state of society.
The moon was blight. Heated by my ideas
I rose and took a seat at some distance, upon
the root of a tree which crept along the side of
the rivulet. It was one of those American nights,
which the pencil of man never will be able to
pourtray, and which 1 have remembered a hun-
dred times with delight.
The moon had reached the highest point
of the Heavens, and a thousand stars glittered
in the great clear expanse. At one time the
tjueen of night reposed upon a group of clouds.
204 .RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
which resembled the summit of lofty mountains
crowned with snow. By slow degrees these
clouds stretched themselves out, assuming the
appearance of waving transparent zones of
white satin, or transforming themselves into
light frothy flakes, of which countless numbers
wandered through the blue plains of the firma-
ment. At another time the aerial vault appeared
as if transformed into the seashore, where hori-
zontal beds, and parallel ridges might be disco-
vered, apparently formed by the regular flux and
reflux of the tide. A gust of wind then dispersed
the clouds, and they formed themselves into large
masses of dazzling whiteness, so soft to the eye
that one almost seemed to feel their delicate elas-
ticity. The landscape around me was not less
enchanting. The cerulean velvety light of the
moon silently spread over the forest, and at inter-
vals descended among the trees, irradiating in
some degree even the deepest thickets. The
brook, which flowed at my feet, hiding itself
now and then under the umbrageous oaks, sal-
lows and sngar-trees, and re-appearing a little
blither off, all brilliant from the constellations of
A NIGHT AMONG THE SAVAGES* 205
the night, resembled an azure ribband studded
with diamonds, and transversely marked with
black lines. On the other side of the stream,
in a large natural meadow, the clear light of the
moon shone without motion on the turf, extend-
ing like a curtain over it. At one moment the
birch-trees, which were scattered here and there
through the Savanna, were, by the caprice of
the breeze, confounded with the soil on which
they grew, and enveloped in a sort of grey gauze ;
at another they ceased to retain this chalky ap-
pearance, and buried themselves in obscurity,
forming, as it were, islands of floating shade
upon a motionless sea of light. Silence and
repose prevailed throughout the scene, except
when a few leaves fell here and there, or a sud-
den gust of wind swept past, accompanied occa-
sionally by the dismal note of the owl. At a
distance and at intervals too I heard the solemn
sound of the cataract at Niagara, which, in the
calmness of night, was lengthened out from one
desert to another, and expired among the solitary
forests.
The astonishing grandeur of this picture
206 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
and the melancholy, which it inspired, are not
to be expressed by human language. The most
beautiful nights in Europe can convey no idea
of it. In vain does the imagination try to roam
at large amidst our cultivated plains, for every
where the habitations of mankind oppose its
wish ; but in this deserted region the soul de-
lights to bury and lose itself amidst boundless
forests — it loves to wander, by the light of the
stars, on the borders of immense lakes, to hover
on the roaring gulplr of terrific cataracts, to
fall with the mighty mass of waters, to mix and
confound itself, as it were, with the wild sublimi-
ties of Nature.
These enjoyments are too exquisite. Such
is our weakness that excess of pleasure becomes
painful, as if Nature were afraid of our forgetting
that we are men. Absorbed in my existence, or
rather wandering entirely from myself, having
no distinct sentiment or idea, but an ineffable
indescribable sensation, resembling the mental
happiness which we are told that we shall feel
in another world, I was suddenly recalled to
the one which I inhabit. I felt ill, and was con-
A NIGHT AMONG TilE SAVAGES. 207
viuced that 1 must indulge my reverie no further.
I now returned to our Ajouppa , and lying down
near the savages, soon sunk into profound sleep.
On awaking in the morning, I found my
companions ready for departure. My guide had
saddled our horses ; the warriors were armed,
and the women busy in collecting their baggage ;
which consited of skins, maize, and smoked bear.
I arose, and taking from my portmanteau some
powder and ball, and a box made of red wood,
distributed these among my associates of the
night, who appeared to be pleased with my
generosity. We then separated not without
signs of mutual regard and regret, each touching
Iris forehead and breast, according to the custom
of these children of nature, which appeared to
me very superior to the ceremonies practised by
us. Even to the young Indian, who cordially
took the hand which I offered, we all parted with
hearts full ot each other. Our friends pursued
their way to the North, being directed by the
mosses, and we to the West under the guidance
of my compass. The warriors departed first,
the women followed, carrying the baggage and
infants on their backs, suspended in furs. The
203
RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
little creatures looked back at us and smiled.
My eyes for a long time followed this affecting
and maternal spectacle, till at length the group
entirely disappeared among the thickets.
Benevolent savages, who so hospitably enter-
tained ine, and whom I doubtless shall never
again behold, let me be here permitted to pay
the tribute of my gratitude. May you long
enjoy your precious independence in those de-
lightful solitudes, where my wishes for your
happiness will ever follow you. What corner,
my friends, of your immense deserts, do you at
present inhabit ? Are you still together, aud
always happy ? Do you sometimes talk about
the stranger of the forest ? Do you picture to
yourselves the kind of country which he inha-
bits ? Do you utter wishes for his happiness,
while you recline upon the banks of your solitary
rivers? Generous family! His lot is much
changed since ihe night he passed with you;
but it is at least a consolation to him, while per-
secuted by his countrymen beyond the seas, that
his name is, in some unknown wilderness at the
other extremity of the world, still pronounced
with tender recollection by the poor Indians.
209
ANECDOTE
Of a Frenchman , who dwelt among the Savages.
Philip de Coca, who was born in a little
village of Pitou, went to Canada in his infancy,
served there as a soldier, at the age of twenty
years, during the war of 17-54, and after the
battle of Quebec retired to the country of the
Five Nations, where, having married an Indian
woman, he renounced the customs of his native
land to adopt the manners of the savages. When
I was travelling through the wilds of America, I
was not a little surprised to hear that I had a
countryman established as a resident, at some
distance in the woods. I visited him with
eagerness, and found him employed in pointing
some stakes at the door of his hut. He cast a
look towards me, which was cold enough, and
continued his work ; but the moment I ad-
dressed him in French, he started at the recollec-
tion ol his country, and the big tear stood in his
VOL. i. p
C\
210 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
eye. These well-known accents suddenly roused,
in the heart of the old man, all the sensations of
his infancy. In youth we little regret the plea-
sures of our first years; but the further we
* advance into life the more interesting to us
becomes the recollection of them ; for then every
one of our days supplies a sad subject for com-
parison. Philip intreated me to enter his dwell,
ing, and 1 followed him. He had considerable
difficulty in expressing what he meant. 1 saw
him labour to regain the ancient ideas of civilized
man, and I watched him most closely. For
instance, 1 had an opportunity of observing that
there were two kinds of relative things absolutely
effaced /‘from his mind, viz. tnat of any super-
fluity being proper, and that of annoying others
without an absolute necessity for it. I did not
chuse to put my grand question, till after some
hours of conversation had restored to him a
sufficiency of words and ideas. At last I said to
him : “ Philip, are yon happy ? ” He knew not
at first how to reply. — “ Happy,” said he, re-
flecting — “happy! Yes; but happy only since
1 became a savage.— “ And how do you p& s
ANECDOTE. 211
your lifer” asked I. — He laughed. — “ I under-
stand you,” continued I. “ You think such a
question unworthy of an answer. But should
you not like to resume your former mode of
living, and return to your country'” — “ My
country ! France ! If I were not so old, I
should like to see it again.” — “ And you would
not remain there?” added I. — The motion of
Philip’s head answered my question sufficiently.
" But what induced you,” continued I, “ to be-
* come what you call a savage ? ” — “ I don’t
know,” said he,— “ instinct.” This expression
put an end to my doubts and questions. I re-
mained two days with Philip, in order to observe
: him, and never saw him swerve for a single mo-
ment from the assertion he had made. His soul,
I. free from the conflict of social passions, appeared
to me, in the language of the savages with whom
he dwelt, calm as the field of battle after the war-
It riors had smoked together the calumet of peace.
cl
212
ON MACKENZIE’S TRAVELS
In the interior of North America.
The general interest, with which travels are read,
may perhaps be caused by the inconstuqcy and |
satiety of the human heart. Tired of the society
with which we live, and of the vexations which I
surround us, we like to lose ourselves in the
contemplation of distant countries, and among
unknown nations. If the people, described to us,
are happier than ourselves, their happi ness
i diverts us ; if more unfortunate, thc-ir afflictions
are consolitary to us. But the interest, attached
to the recital of travels, is every day dimiuishiug
-in proportion to the increase of travellers. A
-philosophical spirit has caused the wonders of
the desert to disappear,
■** The magic woods have lost their former charm,”
i.as Fantanes says,
When theiirst Frenchmen, who investigated
the shores q£ Canada, spoke of lakes similar to
Mackenzie’s travels.
213
seas ; cataracts which fail from Heaven, and fo-
rests the depth of which could not beexplored, the
miud is much more strongly moved than when-an
English merchant, or a modern Savant tells you
that he has penetrated to the Pacific Ocean, and
that the fall of Niagara is only a hundred and
forty-four feet in depth. ,
What we gain in knowledge, by such infor-
mation, we lose in sentiment. Geometrical trutlts
have destroyed certain truths of the imagination,
which are more important to morality than is
supposed. Who were the first travellers of
antiquity ? The legislators, poets, and heroes—
Jacob, Lycurgus, Pythagoras, Homer, Hercules,
Alexander. The “ dies peregrinationis" , are
mentioned in Genesis. At that time every thing
was prodigious without ceasing to be real, and
the hopes of these exalted men burst forth in
the exclamation of “ Terra ignota I Terra
immensa ! ” *
We naturally dislike to be confined within
bounds, and 1 could almost say that the globe
* Oh land unknown, oh land of vast extent 1 >
214 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
is become too small for man since he has sailed
round it. If the night be more favourable than
the day to inspiration and vast conceptions, it
is because it conceals all limits, and assumes
the appearance of immensity. The French and
English travellers seem, like the warriors of
those two nations, to have shared the empire of
the earth and ocean. The latter have no one,
whom they can oppose to Tavernier, Chardin,
Parennin, and Charlevoix, nor can they boast
of any great work as the “ Lettres Edifiantes
but the former, in their turn, possess no Anson,
Byron, Cook, or Vancouver. The French
travellers have clone more than those of the
rival nation towards making us acquainted with
the manners and customs of foreign countries—
vooir cyi/u — mores cognovit ; but the English have
been more useful as to the progress of universal
geography — tv irovru ttaMi v,* in mari passus est,
They share with the Spaniards and Portuguese
the honour of having added new seas and new
* Odyssey.
Mackenzie’s travels 1 215
continents to the globe, and of having fixed the
limits of the earth.
The prodigies of navigation are perhaps
those, which afford the highest idea of human
genius. The reader trembles, and is foil of ad-
miration when he sees Columbus plunging into
the solitudes of an unknown ocean, Vasco de
Gama doubling the cape of Tempests, Magellan
emerging from a vast ocean to enter one vaster
still, and Cook flying from one pole to the other,
bounded on all sides by the shores of the globe,
and unable to find more seas for his vessels.
What a beautiful spectacle does this navi-
gator afford, when seeking unknown lands, not
to oppress the inhabitants, but to succour and
enlighten them ; bearing to poor savages the re-
quisites of life ; swearing, on their charming
banks, to maintain concord and amity with these
simple children of nature; sowing among icy
regions the fruits of a milder climate, and thus
imitating Providence, who foresaw the fall and
the wants of man !
Death having not permitted Captain Cook
to complete his important discoveries, Captain
2
216 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
Vancouver was appointed by the British Go verm
ment to visit all the American coast from Cali-
fornia to Cook’s River or Inlet, as it is sometimes
called, and to remove all doubts, which might
yet remain concerning a passage to the North
West of the New World. While this able
officer fulfilled his mission with equal intelligence
and courage, another English traveller, talcing
his departure from Upper Canada, proceeded
across deserts and through forests to the North
Sea and Pacific Ocean.
Mr. Mackenzie, of whose travels I am
about to speak, neither pretends to the honour
ol being a scientific man, nor a writer. He was
simply carrying on a traffic with the Indians in
lujs, and modestly gives his account to the
public as only the journal of his expedition.
Sometimes, however, he interrupts the threadof
hi? narrative to describe a scene of nature, or
the manners of the savages ; but he never pos-
sessses the art of turning to his advantage those
little occurrences, which are so interesting i„ the
recitals of our missionaries. The reader is
scarcely informed who were the companions of
1
vu
Mackenzie’s travels. 217
the author’s fatigues. No transport is exhibited
on discovering the ocean, which was the wished-
91 for object of his enterprize, no scenes of tender-
ness at his return. In a word, the reader is
never embarked in the canoe with the traveller,
and never partakes of his fears, his hopes and his
if perils.
Another great fault is discoverable in this
work. It is unfortunate that a simple journal
1 ) should be deficient in method and perspicuity,
but Mr. Mackenzie manages his subject in a
ij confused way. He never states where Fort
1 Chepewyan is, from which he first sets out;
what discoveries had been made in the regions
he was about to visit, before he undertook to
explore them ; whether the place, at which he
j stops near the entrance of the Frozen Sea, was a
bay, or merely an expansion of the river, as one
is led to suppose. How can the traveller too be
certain that this great river of the West, which
he calls i acoutche Tcss6 is the river of Colum-
bia, since he did not go dowp to its mouth ?
How happens it that part of the course of this
218
RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
river, which he did not visit, is nevertheless
marked upon his map ? & c. &e.
In spite of these numerous defects, the merit
of Mr. Mackenzie’s journal is very great, but it
requires commentaries, at one time to give an
idea of the deserts which the traveller is crossing
and impart a little spirit to the meagre dryness
of his narrative, at another to explain some
point of geography left in an obscure state by
the author. These omissions I will attempt to
supply.
Spain, England, and France owe all their
American possessions to three Italians, Colum-
bus, Cabot, and Verazani. The genius of Italy,
buried under its ruins, like the giants under the
mountains which they had piled upon each
other, appears now and then to awake, for the
purpose of astonishing the world. It was about
the year 1523 that France employed Verazani
to go in quest of new discoveries. This naviga-
tor examined more than 600 leagues of the
North American coast, but he founded no
colonies.
V
Mackenzie’s travels. 219
* James Cartier, his successor, visited all the
country called Kannataby the savages, that is to
15 say, the mass of huts.* He ascended the great
river, which received from him the name of St.
I! Lawrence, and advanced as far as the island of
‘ Montreal, which was then called Ilochelaga.
n In 1540 M. de Roberval obtained the vice-
royalty of Canada. He transported several
!j families thither, with his brother, whom Francis
As I. distinguished by the appellation of Hannibal s
gen d'arme, on account of his bravery ; but
[i being shipwrecked in 1540, “ with them sunk,’
i( said Charlevoix, “ all the hopes which had been
K conceived of forming an establishment in Ameri-
ca, no one daring to flatter himself with the idea
of being more skilful or fortunate than these two
brave men.”
. The disturbances, which soon afterwards
began in France, and continued fifty years,
it
* The Spaniards had certainly discovered Canada before
James Cartier and Verazani. There are some who assert
that the name of Canada is derived from two Spanish word*
Acca nada.
/
* u
tor* ijaVAH'C
220 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA*
prevented the attention of government to any
events at a distance. The genius of Henry IV.
having stifled civil discord, the project of found-
ing a colony in Canada ivas resumed with ardour.
The Marquis de la Koche embarked in 1598 to
try his fortune . again, hut his expedition had a
disastrous end. M. Chauvin succeeded to his
projects and misfortunes, and lastly the Commo-
dore de Catte, being employed on the same
enterprize about the year 1603, confided the
direction of it to Samuel de Champelain, whose
name brings to our recollection the founder of
Quebec, and the father of French colonies iu
North America.
From this time the Jesuits were entrusted
with the care of continuing the discoveries iu the
interior of the Canadian forests. Then begau
those famous missions, W'hick extended the
French Empire from the borders of the Atlantic,
and the icy region of Hudson’s Bay, to the
shoes of the gnlph of Mexico. Fathers Biart
and Enemond Masse traversed the whole o!
Nova Scotia ; Father Joseph penetrated to Lake
Nipiving • Lathers Brebceux and Daniel visited
Mackenzie’s travels. 221
tte magnificient deserts of the Htuons, between
the lake of that name, Lake Micliighan, and
Lake Erie ; while Father de Lamberville caused
Lake Ontario, and the five cantons of the Iro-
quois to be known. Attracted by the hope of
martyrdom, and the recital of the sufferings
which their companions had endured, other
lobourers in the evangelical vineyard arrived
from all parts, and spread themselves into every
dreary region. <l They were sent,” says the
historian of New France,” and they went with
joy. They accomplished the promise of the Sa-
viour of mankind, by making his gospel known
throughout the world.”
The discovery of the Ohio and the Mis*
sissippi in the West of Lake Superior, the
Lake of the Woods in the North West of the
River Bourbon, and the interior coast of James
Bay in the North, was the result of these apos-
tolic travels. The Missionaries had even a
knowledge of those Rocky Mountains ,* which
Mr. Mackenzie crossed on his way to the Pacific
* They called this chain the mountain of Brilliant Stones.
5222
RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
Ocean, and of the great river flowing to the
West, that is to say, the Columbia. — If anyone
should wish to convince himself that I advance
only what is true, it will be sufficient to cast an
eye over the ancient charts of the Jesuits.
All the great discoveries, therefore, in the
interior of North America, were made or pointed
out when the English became masters of Canada.
By giving new names to the lakes, mountains,
rivers and streams, or by corrupting the old
French names, they have only thrown geography
into disorder. It is not even sufficiently proved
that the latitudes and longitudes, which they
have given to certain places, are more exact
than those fixed by our learned missionaries.*
In order to form a correct idea of the point
Mr. Arrowsmith is at present the most celebrated
geogiapher in England. If any one will take his great
map ot the United States, and compare it with I m ley’s last
maps, he will find a prodigious difference, particularly in that
part which lies between the lakes of Canada and Ohio. The
charts of the Missionaries, on the contrary, much resemble
Imley’s maps.
Mackenzie’s travels.
223
from which Mr. Mackenzie took his departure,
and of his general course, it is perhaps essential
to observe the following particulars.
The French missionaries and the ramblers
through Canada had pushed their discoveries as
far as Lake Ouinipie, or Oninipigon to the west,
and as far as Lake Assinibouls or Lac des Cris-
tinaux to the North. The first of these appears
to be the one called by Mr. Mackenzie the Slave
Lake.
The Anglo-Canadian Company, which car-
ries on the trade in furs, has established a factory
at Fort Chepewyan-f- or Chepawayan, on a lake
called the Lake of the Mountains, which com-
municates with the Slave Lake by a river.
From the Slave Lake proceeds a river which
flows to the North, and which Mr. Mackenzie
designates by his own name. The river Macken-
zie falls into the Polar Sea at fc>9* 14' North lati-
* The French maps place it in latitude 5° N. and the
ft
English in 53.
t 58° 40' l at. N. and 10° 30' long.W. meridian of Green-
ich.
/
2-14 RECOLLECTIONS Of AMERICA.
- •# • &A
tude, and ]3o* west longitude, meridian of
Greenwich. The discovery of this river and
its navigation to the northern Ocean are tbe
object of Mr. Mackenzie’s first travels.
He left Fort Chepewyan on the 3rd of
Jnne l7s<), and returned thither on the 1 2th of
September in the same year. He left it a second
time on the 10th of October 179'2 on a new expe-
dition, directing his course to the West He
crossed the Lake of the Mountains, and ascended
a river called Oungijah, or Peace river, which
takes its source in the Rocky Mountains. A
great river descends beyond these mountains,
and flows to the west where it loses itself in the
Pacific Ocean. It is called Tacoutche-Ttssc
or Columbia.
The passage from Peace River to that of
Columbia, and the facility of navigation in the
latter, at least to the point where Mr. Mackenzie
abandoned his canoe, were the discoveries which
resulted from Mr. Mackenzie’s second enterprize.
After an absence of eleven months he returned to
the place of his departure.
It must be observed that as Peace River
225
Mackenzie’s travels.
proceeds from the Rocky Mountains to throw
itself into an arm of the Lake of the Mountains;
Slave Lake by a river which bears this latter
name ; and as Slave Lake, in its turn, pours its
waters into the Northern Ocean by the river
Mackenzie, it follows that the Peace, Slave and
Mackenzie rivers are in fact only one, which
proceeds from the Rocky Mountains in the west,
and precipitates itself into the Polar Ocean. Let
us now take our departure with the traveller, and
descend the river Mackenzie in company with
him.
He crosses the Lake of the Mountains,
enters Slave River, which brings him to the
lake of the same name, coasts along the north
bank of the lake, and finally discovers Mac-
kenzie river. From the lake to this point the
country on the noith side is low and covered
with forests ; on the South it is more elevated
but also very woody. We here observe many
trees thrown down and blackened by fire in the
midst of which young poplars appear, having
risen there since the conflagration. It is worthy
VOL. i. Q
• • • 1
as the Lake of the Mountains communicates with
22 6 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
of remark that when a forest of firs and birches
is consumed by fire, poplars appear instead of
them, though there was previously no tree of
this genus in the space laid open by the devouring
element.
The naturalist will perhaps contest the ac-
curacy of this observation on the part of Mr.
Mackenzie ; for in Europe every thing, which
deranges our systems, is treated as ignorance,
or the wandering of imagination ; but no philo-
sopher can deny and no artist can depict the
beauty of the streams which water the New
World. Let the reader represent to himself an
immense river, flowing through the thickest
forests — let him figure to himself all the acci-
dental circumstances connected with the trees
upon its banks. The American oaks, falling
from old age, bathe their hoary heads in the
stream ; the plains of the West bend towards the
wave with the black squirrels and white ermines,
which are climbing up their trunks, or sporting
among their branches ; the Canadian sycamores
join in the group ; the Virginian poplars grow
in a solitary manner, or lengthen themselves out
Mackenzie’s travels. 227
into a moving avenue. Sometimes a river rush-
ing from the depths of a desert, forms a magni-
ficent junction with another river as it crosses
some noble forest. At other times a roaring
cataract covers the side of a mountain with its
azure veil. The banks seem to fly, to bend,
to enlarge, to diminish. Here are towering rocks
which overhang the stream, there groups of
young trees, the tops of which are flattened like
the plain that gave them birth. On all sides
murmurs are heard, which it would be difficult to
define. They proceed from frogs which low
like bulls* and from others which live in the
trunks of old willows. f The repeated cry of the
latter alternately resembles the tinkling of a
bell such as hangs about the neck of sheep, and
the barking of a dog.J The traveller, agreeably
* Bull-frog,
1 Tree-frog.
% “ They deposit their young in the stumps of decayed
trees. They do not croak like the frogs in Europe, but du-
ring the night bark like dogs.” Le Pere du Tertre, His-
toire Natur. des Antilles. Tom. Ill, No. 317-
%
Q 2
228
RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
deceived in these wild regions, fancies that he is
approaching the cottage of a labourer, aud that
he hears the distant motion of a flock.
Harmonious warblings swell upon the breeze,
and fill the woods, as if the Hamadryads joined
in universal chorus ; but the concert soon grows
weaker, and gradually dies away among the ce-
dars and the rushes, so that you can hardly say,
at the moment the sounds diminish into silence,
whether they still exist , or are only continued
by imagination.
Mr. Mackenzie, continuing to descend the
river, art ived ere long at the country inhabited
by the savages called Indian Slaves. They in-
formed him that he would find lower down, on
tbebanksof the same stream, another tribe called
Hare Indians ; and still lower, as he approached
the sea, the Esquimaux.
“ During our short stay with these people,
they amused us with dancing, which they ac-
companied with their voices. They leap about
and throw themselves into various antic postures.
The women suffer their arms to hang, as with-
out the power of motion.”
2
I
Mackenzie’s travels. 229
The songs and dances of savages have al-
ways something in them, which is melancholy or
voluptuous. “ Some play the flute,” says the
it;
father do Tertre, “ others sing, and form a kind
of music which has to them much sweetness.”
|Q|;
According to Lucretius attempts were made to
imitate the singing of birds by the human voice,
in
long before poetry, accompanied by the lyre,
charmed the ears of mankind.
At liquidas avium voces imitarier ore
Ante jinit multb, quam Ice via carmina cantu
SW • Concelebrare homines possent 9 auresque juvare.
Sometimes you see a poor Indian, whose
^ body, quite bent by excessive labour and fatigue,
and a hunter, whose appearance breathes a spirit
of cheerfulness. When, they dance together,
f you are struck with an astonishing contrast ; the
former becomes at once straight and balances
1? himself with unexpected ease ; the latter sings
j the most melancholy airs. The young female
f appears as if she wished to imitate the graceful
undulations of the birches in her desert, and the
youth theplaintive murmurs which creep through
their branches.
250 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
When these dances take place on the margin
of a river, and in the recesses of a forest, where
unknown echoes for the first time repeat the
sound of the human voice; and where the bear
of the desert looks from the heights of some
rock at these pastimes of savage man, we cannot
but acknowledge that there is something grand
in the very rudeness of the picture ; we cannot
but be affected when we reflect upon the destiny
of this child of nature, which is born unknown
to the world, dances for a moment in the valleys
through which it will never pass again, and soon
reposes in the grave, under the moss of these
deserts which has not even preserved the impres-
sion of its footsteps. “ Fuissen quasi non essem .”
Passing under sopie sterile mountains, the
traveller steered to land and climbed the steep
rocks with one of his Indian hunters. Four
chains of mountains form the grand divisions of
North America.
The first proceeds from Mexico, and is
only ; a prolongation of the Andes, which cross
the Isthmus of Panama. It stretches from
South to North along the great South Sea, al-
231
Mackenzie’s travels.
ways inclining towards Cook’s Inlet. Mr. Mac-
kenzie calls this ridge the Rocky Mountains,
and passed them between the source of Peace
river and the river Columbia, where it falls
into the Pacific Ocean.
The second chain begins at the Apalaches,
on the Eastern borders of the Missisippi, extends
to the North-East under the name of the Alle-
gani.es, the Blue Mountains , and the Laurel
Mountains , passing behind the Floridas, Virginia
and New England, through the interior of Nova
Scotia to the gulph of St. Lawrence. It de-
vides the waters, which fall into the Atlantic,
from those which swell the Missisippi, the Ohio,
and the lakes of Lower Canada.
It is probable that this chain formerly ex-
tended to the Atlantic, and served as a barrier
to it, in the same way as the first ridge still
borders on the Indian Ocean. The ancient con-
tinent of America, therefore, apparently began
at these mountains ; for the three different level
tracts of country, so regularly marked, from the
plains of Pensylvania to the Savannahs of Flo-
rida, indicate that the part in question was
232
RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
covered with water, and afterwards left bare at
different periods.
Opposite the bank of the gulph of St. Law-
rence (where, as I have said, the second chain
terminates) rises, on the East of Labrador, a
third ridge almost as long as the two former. '
It extends at first on the South-East to the Ou-
taouas, forming the double source of the riven
which precipitate themselves into Hudson’s Bay, I
and those which pay the tribute of their waters ,
to the gulph of St. Lawreuce ; then turning to the 1 1
North-West, aud stretching along the Northern j
coast of Lake Superior, it arrives at Lake St. j
Anne, where it takes the shape of a fork, to the |
North-West and South-West.
Its Southern arm passes to the South of
great lake Ouinipic, between the marshes which
feed the river Albany to James Bay and the I
fountains, from which the Missisippi receives
its floods destined to fall into the gulph of
Mexico.
Its Northern arm touches on Swan’s Lake I
and the factory of Osnaburgh ; then crossing
the river Severn, reaches Port Nelson river, j
Mackenzie’s travels.
233
passing to the North of Lake Ouinipic. It
finally unites with the fourth chain of moun-
tains.
This is of less extent than any of the others.
It begins at the borders ot the river Saskatchi-
tvine, stretches to the Noith-East between the
rivers Erlan and Churchhill, then extends North-
ward to latitude 57. where it is divided into two
branches, of which the one, continuing its
Northern direction, reaches the coast ot the
Frozen Sea; while the other, running to the
West, meets with Mackenzie river. The eternal
snow, with which these mountains are crowned,
feeds, on the one hand, the rivers which tall
into Hudson’s Bay, and on the other, those
which are swallowed by the Northern ocean.
It was one of the mountains of this last
chain which Mr. Mackenzie wanted to climb
with his attendant. Those, who have only seen
the Alps and Pyrenees, can form no idea of these
hyperborean solitudes, these desolate regions
where strange animals are wandering on un-
known mountains, as was the case after the
general deluge. “ Rara per ignotos errent ani-
234
RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
malia monies." Clouds, or rather humid fog*
incessantly hang on the summits of these dismal
elevations. Rocks, which are beaten with per-
petual rains, pierce with their blackened crags
through the whitish vapour, resembling in their
forms and immobility phantoms, which are
gazing at each other in frightful silence!
Between these mountains, deep vallies of
granite are perceptible, clothed in moss and
watered with torrents. Stinted firs, of the spe-
cies called by the English spruce, and small
ponds of brackish water, far from varying the
monotony of the scene, augment its uniformity
and gloominess. These regions resound with
the extraordinary cry of the bird, which inhabits
the North. Beautiful swans that swim on these
wild waters, and clusters of raspberry bushes
growing under the shelter of some rock, seem as
if sheltered there to console the traveller, and to
remind him of that Providence, which knows
how to spread graces and perfumes even through
the most desolate country. But it is at the bor-
ders of the ocean that the scene is beheld in all
ns horrors. On one side extend vast fields of
Mackenzie's travels. 235
ice, against which break the discoloured waves,
and no sail is ever beheld upon them ; ontheother
rises a district, mountainous, barren, and calcu-
lated to inspire the most melancholy ideas. Along
the coast nothing is to be seen but a sad suces-
sion of dreary hays and stormy promontories.
At night the traveller takes refuge in some cleft
of a rock, driving from it the sea eagle, that flies
away with clamorous shrieks. All night he
listens with terror to the roaring of the winds
re-echoed in his cavern, and the cracking of the
ice upon the shore. Mr. Mackenzie arrived at
the coast of the Frozen Ocean on the 12th July,
1789, or rather at a bay of ice where he observed
whales, and perceived a flux and reflux of tide;
He landed on an island, the latitude of which he
fixed at 69 ° 14' N. This was the boundary of
his first expedition. The ice, want of provisions,
and the depression of spirits exhibited by bis
people, did not allow him to descend as far as the
sea, which was doubtless only at a short distance
from him. For a long time the sun had never
set to the eye of the traveller, but appeared pale
236 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
and enlarged, as it mournfully moved through
the frozen expanse.
Miserable they •
Who, here entangled in the gath’ring ice.
Take their last look of the descending sun l
While, full of death, and fierce with tenfold frost,
The long, long night, incumbent o’er their head,
Falls horrible.
Thomson's Winter .
On quitting the bay to re-ascend the river,
and return to Fort Chipewyan, Mr. Mackenzie
passed four Indian establishments, which ap-
peared to have been recently inhabited.
We then landed,” says (he traveller,
upon a small round island which possessed
somewhat of a sacred character. On the top ofit
seemed to be a place of sepulture, from the nu-
merous graves which we observed there. We
found the frame of a small canoe, with various
dishes, troughs and other utensils, which had
been the living property of those who could
now use .them no more, and form the ordinary
accompaniments of their last abodes.”
Mr. Mackenzie often speaks of the religion
Mackenzie’s travels.
237
of these nations, and their veneration for the
tomb. The unfortunate savage blesses God in
these icy regions, and deduces from his own
misery the hopes of another life, while civilized
man, in a mild climate and surrounded by all the
gifts of Providence, denies his Creator.
Thus we have seen the inhabitants of these
countries, dancing at the source of the river
which our traveller has traced, and we now find
their tombs near the sea, at the mouth of this
same river — a striking emblem of the course of
our years, from the fountains of joy in which we
are plunged during infancy, to the ocean of eter-
nity which swallows us. These Indian ceme-
teries, scattered among the American forests, are
in fact glades, or small inclosnres cleared of the
wood that grew upon them. The scite of them
is entirely covered with mounds of a conical form ;
while carcases of buffaloes and elks, buried among
the herbage, are here and there intermingled with
human skeletons. I have sometimes seen in
these places a solitary pelican, perched upon the
whitened moss -covered bones, resembling, in its
silence and pensive attitude, some old savage.
238 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
weeping and meditating over the remains of
his fellow creatures. The people, who carry on
a commerce in furs, avail themselves of the land
thus half cleared by death, to sow there, as they
pass, different sorts of grain. The traveller all
at once finds these colonies of European vege*
tables, with their foreign air, their foreign dress,
and their domestic habits, in the midst of those
wild plants which are natives of this distant
climate. They often emigrate over the hills,
and extend through the woods, according to
the inclinations which they brought from their
indigenous soil. It was thus that exiled families
preferred, in the desert, those situations which
recalled the idea of their country.
On the lath of September 1789, after an
absence of a hundred and two days, Mr. Mac-
kenzie again arrived at Fort Chipewyan. — Three
years after his first undertaking, he left this
Fort a second time, crossed the Lake of the Hills,
and reached Peace River. He pursued his way
upon this stream for twenty days, and arrived
on the first of September 1792 at a place, where
he proposed to build a house and pass the win*
Mackenzie’s travels.
239
ter. He employed all the cold season in carrying
on a commerce with the Indians, and making
preparations for his expedition.
“ On the 20th of April the river was yet
covered with ice, the plains were delightful, the
trees were budding and many plants in blossom.”
That, which is called in North America
the great thaw, affords to the eye of the Euro-
pean a spectacle not less magnificent than extra-
ordinary. During the first fortnight of April,
the clouds, which till then came rapidly from
the North West, gradually cease their course in
the Heavens, and float for some time, as if un-
certain what direction to take. The colonist
leaves his hut, and goes over his cultivated land
to examine the desert. Suddenly he exclaims :
‘ There comes the South-East breeze ! ” At
this instant a luke-warm air is felt playing on the
hands and face, while the clouds begin to return
slowly towards the North. Every thing in the
valley and woods undergoes a complete change.
The mossy point of the rocks first display them-
selves, amidst the uniform whiteness of hoar
frost ; then appear the firs ; and among them
3
240
RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
forward shrnbs, which are now hung with fes-
toons of flowers, instead of the frozen chrystah
of late pendent from their branches. Nature
gradually opens her veil of snow as the sun ap-
proaches. The American poets will, perhaps
at some future day, compare her to a bride,
who takes off her virgin robe timidly and as if
with regret, half revealing and yet trying to
conceal her charms from her husband.
It is then that the savages, whose deserts
Mr. Mackenzie was exploring, joyfully issue
from their caverns. Like the birds of their
climate, winter collects them together, and spring
disperses them. Every couple returns to its
solitary wood, to build a new nest, and sing of
renovated love.
This season, which puts all in motion
through ’the ’American forests, gave our tra-
veller the signal of departure. T)n Thursday
the 9th of May, 1793, Mr. Mackenzie set out
with six Canadians and two Indian hunters, in
a canoe made of bark. If he could, from the
borders of the Peace River, have seen what was
passing in Europe at that time, in a great ci*
Mackenzie’s tuavels.
241
vilized nation, the hut of the Equimaux would
have appeared, in his estimation, preferable to
the palaces of kings, and solitude to a commerce
with mankind.
The French translator of Mr. Mackenzie’s
travels observes that the companions of the
English merchant were, with one exception, all
of French origin. The French easily accustom
themselves to savage life, and are much beloved
by the Indians. When Canada fell into the
hands of the English in 172 9 , the natives soon
perceived the difference. “The English,” says
Father Charlevoix, “ during the short time that
they were masters of the country, did not suc-
ceed in gaining the affections of the Indians.
The Hurons never appeared at Quebec. Other
tribes which were nearer to this city, and seve-
ral of which had, from taking individual offence
at different matters, openly declared against us,
at the approach of the English squadron, like-
wise shewed themselves but rarely. They had
all been not a little disconcerted at finding that
when they wished to take the same liberties
with the new comers, which the Trench had
242
RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
without any difficulty allowed, their manners
had not pleased. It was still worse in a short
time, when they were driven with blows out of
the houses, which they had hitherto entered with
the same freedom as their own huts. They re-
solved, therefore, to withdraw; and nothing so
much attached them to our interest afterwards,
as this difference of manners and character in
the two nations which had established themselves
these. The missionaries, who were soon aware
of the impression made upon the Indians, availed
themselves of it to convert these savages to
the Christian faith, and attach them to the
French nation.” The French never attempt to
civilize them, for that would cost too much
trouble ; they like better to become savages
themselves. The forest can boast of no hunters
who are more adroit, no warriors who are more
intrepid. I hey have been seen to endure the
infliction of torture with a degree of firmness
that astonished even the Iroquois, and unfortu-
nately they have been also seen to become as
barbarous as their torturers. Is it that the ex-
tremes of a circle meet, and that the highest
1
243
Mackenzie’s travels.
degree, of civilization, being the perfection of
the art, touches closely upon nature ? Or rather,
is it not a sort of universal talent and pliability
of manners, that adapt the Frenchman to every
dimate and to every sphere of life ? Be this as
it may, he and the American Indian possess the
same bravery, the same indifference as to life,
the same improvidence as to what will happen
to-morrow, the same dislike to work, the same
inclination to be tired of the good things which
they possess, the same inconstancy in love, the
same taste for dancing and for war, the fatigues
of the chace and the pleasures of the feast.
These similarities of disposition in the French-
man and Indian cause in them a great inclination
i towards each other, and easily convert the in-
habitant of Paris into the rambler of the Cana-
dian woods.
Mr. Mackenzie re-ascended the Peace Ri-
ver with his French savages, and thus describes
the beauty of nature around him.
“ From the place which we quitted this
morning, the West side of the river displayed a
succession of the most beautiful scenery I had
R 2
/
244 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
ever beheld. The ground rises at intervals to a
considerable height, and stretching inwards to a
Considerable distance, at every interval or pause
in the river, there is a very gently ascending
space or lawn, which is alternate with abrupt
precipices to the summit of the whole, or at least
as far as the eye could distinguish. T his mag-
nificent theatre of nature has all the decorations
which the trees and animals of the country can
afford it. Groves of poplars, in every shape, vary
the scene, and their intervals are enlivened with
vast herds of elks and buffaloes; the former
choosing the steeps and uplands, the latter pre-
ferring the plains. At this time the buffaloes
were attended with their young ones, who were
frisking about them, and it appeared that the
elks would soon exhibit the same enlivening cir-
cumstance. The whole country displayed an
exuberant verdure. The trees, that bear a
blossom, were advancing fast to that delightful
appearance, and the velvet rind of their branches,
reflecting the oblique rays of a rising or setting
sun, added a splendid gaiety to the scene, which
no expressions of mine are qualified to describe.”
Mackenzie’s travels.
245
These amphitheatrical spectacles are com-
mon in America. Not far from Apalavhucla ,
in the Floridas, the land gradually rises on
leaving the liver Chataleche, and towers into the
air as it verges to the horizon ; but it is not an
ordinary inclination, like that of a valley ; it is
by natural terraces ranged one above another,
like the artificial gardens of some mighty poten-
tate. These terraces are planted with different
trees, and watered by a multitude of fountains,
the streams of which, exposed to the rising sun,
sparkle amidst the verdure, or flow with golden
lustre past the mossy rocks. Blocks of granite
surmount this vast structure, and are themselves
topped by lofty pines. When you discover this
superb chain of terraces from the margin of the
river, and the summit of the rocks which crown
them enveloped in clouds, you think that you
are beholding the columns of Nature’s temple,
and the magnificent steps which lead to it.
The traveller reached the Rocky Moun-
ains, and began to wind among them. Obstacles
and dangers increased on all sides. Here his
people were obliged to carry the baggage by
246 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
land, in order to avoid the cataracts and rapids ;
there they found it necessary to resist the im-
petuosity of the current by laboriously drawing
the canoe with a cord, Mr. Mackenzie’s whole
passage through these mountains is very interest-
ing. At one time he is compelled to hew down
trees and cut his way into the forest; at another
he leaps from rock to rock at the risk of his life,
and receives his companions, one after another,
upon his shoulders. The cord breaks — the
canoe strikes upon the shelves — the Canadians
are discouraged, and refuse to go any further.
It is in vain that Mr. Mackenzie wanders in tha
desert for the purpose ot discovering the passage
to the river in the West. Some reports of fire
arms, which he hears in this desolate region,
alarm him with the supposition that hostile
savages approach. He climbs up a high tree,
but can discern nothing except mountains
covered with snow, in the midst of which are
some stinted birches, and below, woods extend-
ing apparently ad infinitum.
Nothing is so dreary as the appearance of
these woods, when surveyed from the summits
Mackenzie’s travels.
247
of mountains in the New World. The valleys,
which you have traversed, and which you com-
mand on all sides, appear in regular undulations
beneath you, like the billows of the ocean after a
storm. They seem to diminish in size
according to the distance, at which you
gradually leave them. Those that are nearest
to you are of a reddish green tint, the next are
slightly coloured with azure, and the remotest
form parallel belts ot sky blue.
Mr. Mackenzie descended from his tree and
endeavoured to find his companions. He no
longer saw the canoe at the hank of the river.
He fired his gnu, hut no answer was given to his
signal. He went first one way and then
another, alternately walking up and down the
side of the river. At length he found his
friends, but not till after he had passed four-and-
twenty hours in excessive anxiety and uneasiness.
Soon afterwards he met some savages. When
interrogated by the traveller, they pretended at
first to be ignorant of any river in the West,
but an old man was induced, by the caresses and
presents of Mr. Mackenzie, to become, at
248 ' RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
length, more communicative. “ He knew,”
observes Mr. M. “ of a large river that runs
towards the mid-day sun, a branch of which
flowed near the source of that whicli we were
now navigating, and said that there were only
three small lakes, and as many carrying places,
leading to a small river which discharges itself
into the great one.”
The reader may imagine what were Mr.
Mackenzie's transports on hearing this happy
intelligence. He hastened to embark, accom-
panied by an Indian, who undertook to act as
his guide to the unknown stream. He soon
quitted the Peace River, and entered another of
a more contracted width, which proceeded from
a neighbouring lake. He crossed this lake, and
pioceeded from one lake to another, from one
s river to another, till, after being wrecked and
encountering various other accidents, he found
himself, on the 18th of June, 1793 , upon the
facontche 1 esse, or Columbia, which falls into
the Pacific Ocean..
Between two chains of mountains lay a
g»and valley, shaded by forests of poplars,
Mackenzie’s travels.
249
cedars, and bircbes. Under these forests the
traveller descried columns of smoke, announcing
to him the dwellings of the invincible savages
who inhabit this region. The red and white
clay, here and there, on the steep sides of the
mountains, conveyed the idea of ancient ruins.
The river Columbia pursues its winding course
through these beautiful retreats, and on the
numerous islands, which divide its stream, large
huts were seen, half concealed among the groves
of pines, where the natives pass their summers.
Some savages having made their appearance
upon the bank, the traveller approached them,
and succeeded in obtaining from them valuable
information.
" According to their account, this river,
whose course is very extensive, runs toward the
mid-day sun ; and at its mouth, as they had
been informed, white people were building
houses. They represented its current to be uni-
formly stiong, and that in three places it was
altogether impassable, from the falls and rapids
which poured along between perpendicular rocks
that were much higher and more rugged than
'230 RECOLLECTIONS OE AMERICA.
any we had yet seen, and would not admit of
any passage over them. But besides the diffi.
cnlties and dangers of the navigation, they
added, that we should have to encounter the
inhabitants of the country, who were very
numerous.”
This account threw Mr. Mackenzie into
great perplexity, and again discouraged his
companions. lie concealed his uneasiness,
however, as well as he could, and for some time
still followed the course of the waters, lie met
with other natives, who confirmed the report
he had previously received, but who told him
that if he chose to quit the river, and proceed
directly to the West, he would arrive at the sea
in a few days by a very easy road, which was
well known to the savages.
Mr. Mackenzie immediately determined to
act upon this suggestion. He re-ascended the
river till he readied the mouth of a small stream
that had been pointed out to him, and leaving
his canoe there, penetrated into the woods, on
the faith of an Indian who acted as his guide,
and who, on taking the slightest offence, might
Mackenzie’s travels.
251
deliver him to hostile hordes, or abandon him
in the midst of the deserts.
Each Canadian carried on his shoulders a
package weighing ninety pounds, exclusive of
his gun and ammunition, the last of which was
in no great quantity. Mr. Mackenzie himself
carried, in addition to his arms and telescope, a
load of provisions and trinkets, weighing seventy
pounds.
The necessity of enduring what they had
undertaken, fatigue, and an indescribable sensa-
tion of confidence, which is acquired by being
accustomed to dangers, soon removed all un-
easiness from the minds of our travellers. After
a long day’s journey through thickets, after
being at one time exposed to a scorching' sun,
and at another drenched with heavy rains, they
quietly fell asleep at night to the sound of the
Indian’s song.
Mr. Mackenzie describes this song as con-
sisting of soft melancholy sounds, tolerably
melodious, and in some degree resembling
church music. When a traveller awakes under
a tree at midnight, in the deserts of America,
252
RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
and Lears the distant concert of some savages,
interrupted at intervals by long pauses and the
murmur of the wind through the forest, nothing
can impart to him a more perfect idea of that
aerial music mentioned by Ossian, which de-
parted bards cause to be heard by moonlight on
the summit of Slimora. Our travellers now
arrived at districts inhabited by Indian tribes,
whose manners Mr. Mackenzie describes in a
manner that much affects the feelings of the
reader. He saw a woman, who was almost
blind, and much oppressed by age, carried
alternately by her own parents, because her
infirmities would not allow her to walk. On
another occasion, a young woman, with her
child, presented to him a vessel full of water, at
the passage of a river, as Rebecca filled her
pitcher for the servant of Abraham at the wells
of Isiahor, and said to him: “ Drink, and I will
draw water for thy camels also.”
I myself was once among an Indian tribe,
where several of them wept at seeing a tra-
veller, because it reminded them of friends, who
Mackenzie’s travel?
2J3
were gone to the Land of Souls, and had set
out long ago upon their Travels.
Every thing is important to the tourist
of the desert. The print of a man’s foot, recent-
ly made, in some wild spot is more interesting
to him than the vestiges of antiquity in the
plains of Greece. Led by the indications of a
neighbouring population, Mr. Mackenzie passed
through the village of a hospitable people, where
every hut is accompanied by a tomb. Leaving
this place, he arrived at the Salmon River, which
discharges itself into the Pacific Ocean. A nu-
merous tribe more polished, better clad, and
better accommodated as to their dwellings, re-
ceived him with cordiality. An old man forced
his way through the crowd, and clasped him in his
arms. A banquet was prepared to ■welcome him,
and he was supplied with provisions in abundance.
A youth took a mantle from his own shoulders,
and placed it on those of Mr. Mackenzie. It is
almost like a scene in Homer. M. Mackenzie
passed several days among this tribe. He exa-
mined the cemetery, which was only a great
wood of cedars, where the dead were burnt and
/ )
254 RECOLLECTIONS OF AMERICA.
which constituted a temple for the celebration
of two annual festivals, the one in spring and the
other in autumn. When he walked through
the village, sick people were brought to him
that he might cure them, an affecting trait of
simplicity on the part of a people, among whom
man is still dear to man, and who perceive only
one advantage in superior knowledge — that of
relieving the unfortunate.
The chief of the nation finally appointed
his own son to accompany M. Mackenzie to
the sea in a canoe made of cedar, which he pre-
sented to the traveller. This chief informed
M. Mackenzie that ten winters previous to
the time at which he spoke, while embarked in
the same canoe, with forty Indians, he found on
the coast two vessels full of svhite men. It was
the good Tooler*, whose memory will be long
dear to the people dwelling on the borders of
the Pacific Occean.
On Saturday, the 20th July, 1793, at
eight o’clock in the morning, M. Mackenzie
* Captain Cook.
Mackenzie's travels.
2.55
left the Salmon River, and entered into the arm
of the sea, where this river discharges itself
from several mouths. It would be useless to fol-
low him in his navigation of this hay, where
he constantly found traces of captain Vancou-
ver. He observed the latitude at 52 ° 2 1' 33 ",
and says : “ I now mixed up some vermilion
in melted grease, and inscribed, in large charac-
ters, on the South East face of the rock, on
which we had slept last night, this brief me-
morial — Alexander Mackenzie, from Canada,
by land, twenty second of July, one thousand,
seven hundred and ninety three.”
The discoveries of this traveller supply
us with two great results, the oue important
to commerce, the other to geography. It is
thus that England, by the various researches of
her enterprizing inhabitants, sees before her
new sources of wealth, and a new road to her
establishments in the Indies and China.
As to the progress in geography, which in
fact tends also to the advantage of commerce,
Mr. Mackenzie’s expedition to the West is less
important than the one to the North. Captain
256 RECOLLECTIONS OP AMERICA.
Vancouver had sufficiently proved that there jj
no passage on the western coast of America,
from Nootka sound to Cook’s River. Thanks
to the labours of Mr. Mackenzie, but little re-
mains to be done in the North. The extremi-
ty of Refus Bay is situated about 68° lat. N. and
85° long. W. meridian of Greenwich. Iu 1771
Mr. Hearne, who went from Hudson’s Bay,
saw the sea at the mouth of the river of the
Cuivre Mines , nearly at 69° lat. and 110° long.
I here are then only five or six degrees of lon-
gitude between the sea observed by M. Hearn,
and the sea at the extremity of Hudson’s Bay.
In a latitude so elevated, the degrees of
longitude are very minute. Suppose them to be a
dozen leagues each, and there remain hardly more
than seventy -two leagues to be discovered be-
tween the two points mentioned.
In t>° long, at the West of the mouth, by
which the river of the Cuivre Mines discharges
itself, Mr. Mackenzie discovered the sea at 69*
7 lat. N. by following our first calculation,
therefore, we shall have no more than sixty
leagues of unknown coast between the sea obser-
Mackenzie’s travels. S&7’
ved by Mr. Hearn and that by Mr. Macken-
zie.
Continuing towards the We9t, we find
Behring’s strait. Captain Cook advanced beyond
this straight to 6<)° or 70° lat. N. and 141° long.
W. a distance of seventy -two leagues, so that
there are no more than 6° of longitude between
the Northern Ocean of Cook and that of Mac-
kenzie.
Here then is a chain of established points
at which the sea has been perceived round the
Pole on the northern coast of America, from
the extremity of Behring’s Strait to the extre-
mity of Hudson’s Bay. It remains only to
travel by land through the three intervals,
which divide these points, and which cannot
together extend beyond two hundred and fifty
leagues. We shall then ascertain that the con-
tinent of America is bounded on every side by
the ocean, and that there is, at its northern ex-
tremity, a sea which is perhaps accessible to
vessels.
May I be allowed to make one remark ?
Mr. Mackenzie has effected, for the advantage
VOL. I. *S
258 RECOLLBCTION9 OF AMERICA.
of England, what l undertook and proposed to
the French government. My project will, at all
events, no longer seem chimerical. While others
were in search of fortune and repose, 1 solicited
the honour of bearing the French name into un-
known seas, at the peril of my life ; of founding
for my country a colony upon the Pacific Ocean,
of wresting the profits, attendant on a wealthy
branch of commerce, from her rival ; and of pre-
venting that rival’s use of any new roads tothe
Indies.
In giving an account of Mr. Mackenzies
travels, I have been justified in mingling my
own observations with his, because the design
of both was the same, and because, at the moment
that he was employed on his first expedition, 1
was also wandering through the forests of Ame-
rica. But he was supported in his undertaking;
he left behind him happy friends and a tranquil
country. I was not so fortunate.
END OF VOL. I.
LONDON : PRINTED BY BCHULZE AND DEAN; 13; POLAND STREW’
v_>
BE COLLECTIONS
OF
ITALY,
ENGLAND AND AMERICA,
WITH
lEggagas on Yavtoujs
IN
MORALS AN© LITERATURE
BY
F. A. DE CHATEAUBRIAND,
AUTHOR OF
TRAVELS IN GREECE AND PALESTINE, THE BEAUTIES OF
CHRISTIANITY, AN ESSAY ON REVOLUTIONS, &C. &C.
VOL. II.
LONDON :
PRINTED FOR HENRY COLBUHN,
FUBMC LIBRARY, CONDUIT SttTEET, HANOVER SQUARE.
1815.
see
LONDON*. PRINTED BY SCHULZE AND DEAN, IS, POLAND STREET.
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
Essays on various Subjects in Literature
and Morals.
Page.
Letter of M. de Font ones on Madame de
Stael- Holstein's System of Morals . . 3
On the Poet Gilbert 43
Bonalds Primitive Legislation 70
On M. Michaud's Poem , — The Spring of a
Proscript 129
On the History of the Life of Jesus Christ,
by Father de Ligny . . . . . . l6l
On the new Edition of Rollin' s IVorhs . . 182
On the Memoirs of Louis XIV . . ... 202
On Men of Letters . . , 235
Speech for the Reception of M. de Chdteau-
briand at the Institute of France . . 259
Defence of the Beauties of Christianity . . 279
ESSAYS
VARIOUS SUBJECTS
IN
LITERATURE & MORALS.
RECOLLECTIONS, &C. VOL. II.
B
ESSAYS
ON
VARIOUS SUBJECTS
IN
LITERATURE & MORALS.
LETTER TO M. DE FONTANES
UPON MADAME DE STA EL-HOLSTEIN’s SYSTEM
OF MORALS.
I waited with impatience, my dear friend, for
the second edition of Madame de Stael’s work,
on literature. As she had promised to answer
your criticisms I was curious to know what a
a woman of her talents would say in defence of
‘perfectibility. As soon as her work reached my
solitude, l hastened to read the preface and
notes ; but I saw that not one of your objec-
tions was removed, she had only endeavoured to
explain the word upon which the whole system
is founded. Alas! it would be very gratifying
b 2
4
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. •
to believe that we are from age to age advancing
progressively towards perfection, and that the
son is always better than the father. If any
thing could prove this excellence! in the human
character it would be to see that Madame deStad
has found the principle of this illusion in her
own heart. Yet I cannot help always enter-
taining apprehensions that this lady who so
often laments over mankind, in boasting of their
yerfectability is like those priests who do not
believe in the idol to whom they offer incense at
the altars.
1 will say also my dear friend, that it seems
to me altogether unworthy a woman of the
authors merit to have sought, by way of answer
to you, to raise doubts with respect to your politi-
cal opinions. What concern have these pre-
tended opinions with a dispute purely literary ?—
Might one not justly retort her own argument
upon Madame de Stael and say that she has very
much the air of not loving the present govern-
ment and regretting the days of greater liberti/?
Madame de Stael was too much above these
means to have made use of them ; she ought to
SYSTEM OF MAt). DB STAEL. 5
have left them to those who, in a spirit of philan-
thropy, prepare the road to Cayenne for certain
authors if ever the good times should return.
Now then, my dear friend, 1 must tell you
my mode of thinking upon this new course of
literature. But in combating the system I shall
perhaps appear to you as little reasonable as my
adversary. You are not ignorant that my pas-
sion is to see Jesus Christ evfery where, as
Madame de Stall’s is to see perfectibility. I
have the misfortune of believing, with Pascal,
that the Christian religion alone can explain the
problem of man. You see that l begin by
sheltering myself under a great name, in order
that you may spare iny contracted ideas, and
my anti-philosophic superstitions. For the rest,
I find myself emboldened, in thinking with
what indulgence you have already announced
my work. But when will this work appear? —
It has even now been two years in the press —
for two years the printer has been indefatigable
in creating delays, and I have been no less inde-
fatigable in correcting the work. What I am
going to say in this letter will then be taken
6
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECT9.
almost entirely from my future work on the
Genius of Christianity , or on the Moral and Poe-
tical Beauties of the Christian Religion. It will
be amusing to you to see how two minds, set-
ting out from two opposite points, have some-
times arrived at the same results. Madame de
Stael gives to philosophy what I ascribe to
religion.
To begin with ancient Literature. I agree
perfectly with the ingenious author whom you
have refuted, that our theatre is superior to the
theatre of the ancients; I see yet more clearly
that this superiority arises from a more profound
study of the human heart. But to what do we
owe this knowledge of the passions ? — to Christi-
anity entirely, in no way to philosophy. You
smile, my friend, listen to me. If there existed
in the world a religion, the essential qualities of
which were to plant a barrier against the passions
of men, it would necessarily augment the play of
the passions in the Drama and the Epopoea;
it would be by its very nature much more fa-
vourable to the developeinent of character than
any other religious institution, which, not rain-
?
SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL.
gling itself with the affections of the soul, Would
only act upon us by external scenes. Now the
Christian Keligioa has this advantage over the
religions of antiquity ; ’tis a celestial wind which
swells the sails of virtue, and multiplies the
storms of conscience around vice.
All the bases of vice and of virtue are
changed among men, at least among Christians,
since the preaching of the Gospel. Among the
ancients, for example, humility was considered
as baseness, and pride as a noble quality. Among
us the reverse is the case ; pride is the first ot
vices and humility the first of virtues. This
transmutation of principles alone makes a change
in the entire system of morals. It is not diffi-
cult to perceive that Christianity is in the right,
— that Christianity aloue rests upon the funda-
mental truths of nature. But it results from
thence that we ought to discover in the passions,
things which the ancients did not see, yet that
these new views of the human heart, cannot
justly be attributed to a growing perfection in
the genius of man.
To us the root of all evil is vanity ; the root
8
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
of all good charity ; thus vicious passions are
always a composition of pride, virtuous ones are
a composition of love. Setting out with these
extreme terms, there are no medium terms that
cannot easily be found in the scale of our pas-
sions. Christianity has carried morality to such
a length, that it has, as it were, subjected the
emotions of the soul to mathematical rules.
I shall not enter here, my dear friend, into
an investigation of dramatic characters, such as
those of father, of husband, &c. &e. — neither
shall I treat of each sentiment separately; all
this you will see in my work. I shall only ob-
serve with respect to friendship, in thinking of
you, that Christianity has developed its charms
most eminently, because the one, like the other,
consists altogether of contrasts. In order for
two men to be perfect friends, they ought inces-
santly to attract and repel each other by some
place; they ought to possess equal powers of
genius, but directed to different objects ; op-
posite opinions, similar principles ; different loves
and hatreds, but the same fund of sensibility;
humours that cross each other, but tastes that
&
STSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL. 9
ll I M
assimilate ; in one word, great contrast of cha~
\
racter, with great harmony of soul.
In treating the subject of love, Madame de
Stael has entered upon a commentary on the
story of Phaedra. Her observations are acute,
' and we see by the lesson of the scoliast that she
1!; perfectly understands her text. But if it be only
in modern times that this passion has been
r> formed from a combination of the soul and the
1 senses, and we have seen that species of love of
which friendship forms the moral basis, is it not
F to Christianity that we are indebted for this sen-
timent being brought to perfection ? — is it not
~ this mild religion which, tending continually to
i purify the heart, has carried spirituality even into
those inclinations which appear the least sus-
lit ceptible of it ? — how much has it redoubled their
ii$ energy by crossing them in the heart of man.
Christianity alone has given rise to those terrible
jp combats between the flesh and the spirit which
ity£ are so favourable to grand dramatic effects. See
in H41oise the most impetuous of passions strng-
D against a menacing religion. H41o'ise loves,
0 H61o'ise burns, but religion raises up walls of ice
w*
u
10 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
to check the raging fever ; there, every warmer
feeling is extinguished under insensible marble;
there, eternal chastisements or rewards attend her
fall or her triumph. Dido only loses an un-
grateful lover ; Helo'ise, alas ! endures far other
torments : she must choose between a faithful
lover and her God; nor must she hope that
the least particle of her heart can be secretly de-
voted to the service of her Abelard. The God
whom she serves is a jealous God ; a God who
must be preferred before every other object ; a
God who punishes the very shadow of a thought,
A mere dream alone addressed to any other than
himself.
For the rest, we cannot but feel that these
cloisters, these vaults, these austere manners,
contrasted with unfortunate love, must at once
increase its power and its sorrow's. I lament
exceedingly that Madame de Stafil has not deve-
loped the system of the passions religiously.
Perfectibility was not, at least according to my
opinion, the instrument which ought to have
been employed to measure weakness ; I would
rather have appealed to the very errors of my
11
SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL.
life. Obliged to give the history of dreams, I
would have interrogated my dreams, and if 1 had
found that our passions are really more refined
than the passions of the ancients I should only
have concluded that the illusion we are under is
more complete.
If the time and place permitted, my dear
friend, T should have many other remarks to
T
make on ancient literature ; I should take the
H-
liberty of combating many of Madame de Stael’s
literary opinions. I must, however, observe,
that I cannot agree with her respecting the meta-
physics of the ancients ; their dialectic was more
verbose and less impressive than ours, but in
metaphysics they knew quite as much as we do.
Has mankind advanced a single step in the mo-
ral sciences ? — No ; it has advanced only in the
j physical ones ; nay, how easy would it be to
l dispute even the principles of our sciences. Cer-
tainly Aristotle with his ten categories, which
included all the powers of thought, knew as
much as Boyle or Condillac with their idealism.
But we might pass eternally from one system to
another in these matters ; in metaphysics all is
12
ESSAYS OK VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
doubt, obscurity, and uncertainty. The reputa*
tion and the influence of Locke are already <le-
dining in England ; his doctrine, which goes to
proving very clearly that there are no such
things as innate ideas, is nothing less than cer-
tain, since it cannot stand against mathematical
truths, which could never have passed into tbe
soul through the medium of the senses. Is it
smell, taste, feeling, hearing, seeing, which could
demonstrate to Pythagoras that in a rectangular
triangle the square of the hypotenuse is equal
to the sum of the squares made on the other two
sides. All the arithmeticians, and all the geo-
metricians will tell Madame de Stad, that the
numbers and the relations of the three dimen-
sions of matter are pure abstractions of the
thought, and that the senses, far from having
any concern in this kind of knowlege, are its
greatest enemies. Besides, mathematical truths,
if f dare say it, are innate in ns for this very
reason, that they are eternal, unalterable. If
then these truths be eternal, they can only be
emananations from a fountain of truth which
exists somewhere ; and this fountain of truth
HI SYSTEM OS' MAD. DE STAKL. 13
It can only be God. The idea of God is then, in
its turn; acr innate idea in the human mind ; and
our soul which contains these eternal truths must
,,, bean immortal essence.
Observe, my clear friend, this connection of
things, and then judge how very little Madame
... de Stacl has examined into the depths of her
argument. I shall be constrained here, in spite
of myself, to pass a very severe judgment. This
lady, anxious to invent a system, and imagining
she perceived that Rousseau had reflected
HI
k »>ore profoundly than Plato, and Seneca more
than Livy, thought she was in possession of all
the clues to the soul, and to the principle of in-
telligence. But pedantic spirits, like myself, are
h .
not at all satisfied with this precipitate march;
ion
they would have had her dive deeper into the
subject, not have been so superficial. They
would have had her, in a book which treats of
! the most important subject in the world, the fa-
culty of thought in man, given way less to ima*
- gination, to a taste for sophism, to the versatile
and changeable fancy of the woman.
You know with what we religious people
are charged by the philosophers they say that
14
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
we have not very strong heads, and shrug tbeir
shoulders with pity when we talk to them of the
moral sentiment; they ask what all this proves?
— Indeed 1 must own to my confusion, that I
cannot tell that myself, for I have never sought
to demonstrate my heart to myself, I have left
that task to my friends. Do not take any un-
fair advantage of this confession, and betray me
to philosophy. I must have the air of under-
standing myself, even though 1 do not in reality
understand myself at all. 1 have been told in
my retreat that this manner would succeed; but
it is very singular that all those who overwhelm
us with this contempt for our want oj argumen-
tation, and who regard our miserable ideas as
things habituated to the house *, themselves for-
get the very foundation of things on which they
treat. Thus we are obliged to do violence to
ourselves, and to think, at the hazard of our
lives, in contradiction to our religious disposi-
tions, in order to bring back to the recollection
of these thinkers, what they ought to have
thought.
* A phrase used by Madame de Stael iu her new Preface-
SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL.
15
Is it not altogether incredible that in speak-
|L
ing of the degradation of the Roman empe-
rors, Madame de Stael has neglected to point
out the influence that growing Christianity had
te: upon the minds of men. She has the air of never
recollecting the religion which changed the face
of the world, till she comes to the moment when
114 the inroads of the barbarians commenced. But
lif t long before this epoch the cries of justice and
liberty had resounded through the empire of the
Caesars. And who was it that had uttered these
ffi cries r — 1 he Christians. Fatal blindness of sys-
0/ terns ! Madame de Stael applies the epithet of
ti(< the madness of martyrdom to acts which her
it.i generous heart, on other occasions, would have
KBft extolled with transport. I speak here of young
it virgins who preferred death to the caresses of
i» tyrants, of men refusing to sacrifice to idols, and
m sealing with their blood, before the eyes of the
astonished world, the dogmas of the unity of
it God and tlle immortality of the soul. Here
is, in my opinion true philosophy.
^Yhat must have been the astonishment of
the human race when in the midst of the most
16 ESSAYS .ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS,
shameful superstitions when every thing , as Bos*
suet says, was God except God hirriself — how
much must the world have been astonished at
such a time on a sudden to hear from Tertullian
the following abstract of the Christian Faith
“ The God whom we adore is one only God who
created the Universe with the Elements, the bo-
dies, and the minds of which it is composed;—
who by his word, his reason and his Almighty
power called out of nothing a world to betheor
nament of his greatness. — He is invisible, al-
though he is every where to be seen, impalpable,
although we form to ourselves representations of
him, incomprehensible although obvious to all the
lights of reason. — Nothing can make us so well
comprehend the supreme Being, as the impossibi-
lity of conceiving him; his immensity at the
same time conceals him, and discloses him to the
eyes of mankind.*”
And when the same apologist dared alone
speak the language of freedom amid the silence
of the rest of the world, was not this philosophy.
* Tertul. Apologet» Chop, 1
2
SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL.
17
Who would not have thought that he heard the
fiist Brntus roused from the tomb, menacing the
throne of Tiberius when listening to these fiery
accents which shook the porticoes whither
enslaved Rome came to breathe her sighs. “ I
am not the slave of the Emperor ; I have only
one master, the all-powerful and eternal God
who is also the master of Caesar.* It is for this
reason that you exercise all sorts of cruelties to-
wards us. Ah if it were permitted to us to
render evil for evil, a single night and a few
torches would suffice for our vengeance. We
are but of yesterday, and we are every where
among you — your cities, your islands, your for-
tiesses, your camps, your colonies, your tribes,
your councils, the palace, the senate, the forum,
in all these we abound, we leave you nothing
free except your temples.’!
I may be mistaken, my dear friend, but it
seems to me that Madame de Stael in sketching
the history of the philosophic mind should not
have omitte d such things. The literature of the
* Apologet, Cap. 37.
RECOLLECTIONS, &C. VOL. II.
c
18
ESSAYS OV VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
Fathers which fills up the ages from Tacitus to
Saint Bernard offered an immense career for
reflections and observations. One of the most in*
jurious appellations for example, which thepeaple
could give to the first Christians was that of
philosophers.* They called them alo Atheists,^
&nd forced them to abjure their religion in these
terms : cage rou? ’AOeur confusion to the atheists, \
Strange fate of Christians ! burnt under Nero
for atheism, guillotined under Robespierre for
over- credulity !— Which of the two tyrants was
in the tight ? — According to ihe law of perfec-
tibility Robespierre.
Throughout the whole of Madame de Stael's
book, from the otie end to the other, there are
nothing but the most singular contradictions.
Sometimes she appears almost a Christian, and
I am ready to rejoice in the idea; but, in an
instant after, philosophy resumes the ascendancy.
Sometimes, inspired by her natural sensibility
* St. Just. Apolog. — Tert. Apotoget, &c.
t Athenogor. Legat. pro Christ. — Arnob. lib. t.
X Euseb. lib, 4, Cap. 15.
SYSTEM OF MAD. .DE 5TAEL. 19
which tells her that there is nothing fine,
nothing affecting without religion, she suffers
her soul to have its free course; but suddenly
argumentation awakes and checks in an instant
the effusions of her soul. Analysis then takes
the place of that vague infinite in which thought
loves to lose itself, and the understanding cites, to
| its tribunal, causes which formerly went before
that old seat of truth called by our Gaulish
fathers the entrails of man. Hence it results
that Madame de Stael’s book appears to be a
singular mixture of truths and errors. When
she ascribes to Christianity the melancholy that
reigns in the genius of the moderns, I am entirely
of her opinion ; but when she joins to this cause
I know not what malignant influence of the
north, I no longer recognise the writer who
before appeared so judicious. You see, my dear
friend, that 1 am led on by my subject ; but I
proceed now to modern literature.
The religion of the Hebrews, born amidst
thunderings and lightnings, in the deserts of
Horeb and of Sinai, had in it a sadness truly
formidable. The Christian religion in retaining
c 2
30
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
all that was sublime in that of Moses, softened
its other features. Formed to soothe the miserie»
and relieve, the wants of our hearts, it is es-
sentially tender and melancholy. It represents
man always as a traveller who passes here below
through a valley of tears and only finds repose
in the tomb. The God whom it offers to our
adoration is the God of the unfortunate; helm
himself been a sufferer ; children and weak
persons are the objects of his peculiar interest,
he cherishes those who weep.
The persecutions experienced by the first
among the faithful, undoubtedly increased their
disposition to serious meditation. The invasion
of the barbarians filled up the measure of their
calamities, and the human mind received
from it an impression of gloom which could
never be wholly effaced. All the ties which
attached them to life being broken at once,
God alone remained as their hope, the deserts as
their refuge. In like manner as at the deluge,
men sought to save themselves by flying to the
mountains ; but these new refugees carried with
them the spoils of the arts and civilization. The
SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL.
SI
most solitary places were filled with anchorites,
who, clothed with the leaves of the palm-tree,
devoted themselves to unceasing penitence, in
hopes of disarming the anger of the Deity. On
every side convents were raised, where those un-
fortunate beings who had been deceived by the
world sought a retreat ; where those souls who
preferred remaining in ignorance of certain
sentiments of existence, rather than exposing
themselves to seeing them cruelly betrayed, found
a refuge. An all-prevailing melancholy was the
necessary consequence, of this monastic life ;
for melancholy is principally engendered by a
vacuity of the passions ; it then most prevails
when these passions, being without an object,
consume away of themselves, a9 must happen in
a life of solitude.
This sentiment was besides increased by the
regulations which were adopted in the greater
part of the communities. In some these vota-
ries of religion dug their own graves by the light
ot the moon, in the cemeteries of their convents ;
in others they had no bed but a coffin ; many
wandered about like departed shades, over the
22 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
ruins of Memphis and Babylon, accompanied by
the lions whom they had tamed with the sounds
of the harps of David. Some condemned
themselves to a perpetual silence, others repeated
in an eternal canticle either the sighs of Job, the
lamentations of Jeremiah, or the penitential
hymns of the prophet king. The monasteries
were built in the most desert spots ; they were
dispersed over the summits of Libanus, they
were to be found amid the arid sands of Egypt,
in the deepest recesses of the forests of Gaul, and
upon the strands of the British seas. Oh how
melancholy must have been the tinklings of the
bells which amid the calm of night called the
vestals to prayer and watching, and which
mingled themselves beneath the vaults of the
temples with the last sounds of the canticles,
and the feeble breaking of the distant waves.
How profound must have been the meditations
of the solitary who from between the bars of
his window contemplated the sublime aspect of
the sea, perhaps agitated by a storm !— a tem-
pest amid the waves, calm in his retreat, men
dashed to pieces upon the rocks at the asvluni of
SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEt. 23
peace!— infinite space on the other side the walls
of a cell, like as the stone of the tomb alone
separates eternity fionj life. All these different
powers, misfortunes, religion, varied recollec-
tions, the manners of the times, even the scenes
of nature, combined to makethe genius of Chris-
tianity the genius of Melancholy itself.
It appears to me useless then to have re-
course to the barbarians of the North to explain
this character of gloominess which Madame de
Stacl finds more particularly iu the literature of
England and of Germany, but which appears
to me not less remarkable among the masters of
the French school. Neither England nor Ger-
many produced Pascal or Bossnet, those two
great models of melancholy in thoughts and in
sentiments. Bat Ossian, my dear friend, is not
he the great fountain of the North, whence all
the bards have intoxicated themselves with
gloom, as the ancients painted Homer under the
likeness of a great river at which all the petty
rivers came to fill their urns. I confess that
th'.sidea of Madame de Sta€l pleases me much ; I
love to represent to myself these two blind men,
24
7 J
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
the one seated upon the summit of a rugged moun*
tain in Scotland, with his head bald, his beajd
wet with the dew, the harp in his hand dictating
his Jaws from the midst of his fogs to allthe
poetic tribes of Germany; the other exalted
upon the heights of Pindus surrounded by the Mu-
ses, who hold his lyre, raising his venerable head
towards the azure heavens of Greece, and with
a sceptre of laurels in his hand giving laws to the
country of Tasso and Racine. “ You abandon
my cause then,” you will perhaps here be
ready to exclaim. Undoubtedly, my friend, but
I must whisper you the reason in secret, it is
that Ossian was himself a Christian . — Ossian a
Christian ! — Grant that I am happy in having
converted this bard ; and that in pressing him
under the banners of religion I take from the
Age of Melancholy one of its first heroes.
None but foreigners are still the dupes of
Ossian ; all England is convinced that the poems
which bear the name of his are the works of
Mr. Macpherson himself. I was for a long
time deceived by this ingenious frand ; an
enthusiast in Ossian, like a young - man, as I was
25
SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL.
then, I was obliged to pass several years among
the literati of London before I could be entirely
undeceived. Bnt at length, conviction was no
longer to be resisted, and the palaces of Fingal
vanished away from before me like many other
ot my dreams. You know of the long-standing
controversy between Doctor Johnson and the
supposititious translator of the Caledonian bard.
Mr. Macpherson, pressed to the uttermost, never
could produce the manuscript of Fingal, con-
cerning which he told a ridiculous story that he
found it in an old coffer at the house of a peasant,
adding that the manuscript was written on
paper in Runic characters. Now Johnson has
clearly demonstrated that neither paper or the Ru-
nic Alphabet were in use in Scotland at the epoch
fixed on by Macpherson. As to the text, which
s we see printed with some of the poems by Smith,
or any that may hereafter be printed, it is well
known that these poems have been translated
from the English into the Caledonian tongue,
for several of the Scotch mountaineers have
j . raa de themselves accomplices in the fraud of
26
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
their fellow-countryman. This it was that de-
ceived Doctor Blair.*
It is indeed no very uncommon thing in
England for manuscripts to befound in this way,
We have lately seen a tragedy of Shakespeare;
and what is still more extraordinary ballads of
the time of Chaucer were so perfectly imitated in
the style, the parchment, and the ancient cha*
racter, that every body was deceived by the im-
posture. Many volumes were already prepared
and ready for the press developing the beauties,
and proving the authenticity of these miraculous
works, when the editor was detected composing
and writing himself these Saxon poems. The
admirers and commentators got out of the scrape
with only a laugh against them, and the trouble
of making a bonfire of their works, but, if 1
am not mistaken the young man who had given
* Some English Journals have asserted, and the asser-
tion has been copied iuto the French Journals, that the true
text ofOssian was at length about to appear; but it
never be any thing more than a Scotch version made from
the text of Mr, Macpherson himself.
27
SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL.
this extraordinary direction to his talents, in
despair, put an end to his own life.
It is however certain that there are ancient
poems, in existence, which bear the name of
Ossian ; they are of Irish or Erse origin, the
work of some monks of the thirteenth century.
Fingal is a giant who makes one step only over
from Scotland to Ireland, and the heroes go to
the Holy-Land to expiate the murders they have
committed.
To say the truth it seems now wholly incre-
dible how any one ever could have been deceived
with respect to the true author of OssFan’s
poems. The man of the eighteenth century
peeps through the thin veil at every moment.
I will only instance by way of example the apos-
trophe of the bard to the sun. ** O sun,” he
says, “ whence comest thou, whither dost thou
go, wilt thou not fall one day,” & c. &c.*
Madame de Stael who is so well versed in
the history of the human understanding will
* I write from memory and may be mistaken as to the
exact words, but 1 give the sense, and that is sufficient*
28 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
see that there are here so many complex ideas
under moral, physical, and metaphysical relations,
that they can scarcely without palpable absur-
dity be ascribed to a savage. Besides this, the
most abstract ideas on time, on duration, and
on eternity, occur at almost every page of Ossian.
I have lived among the savages of America, and
I have observed that they often talk of the times
that are past, but never of those that are to
come. Some grains of dust at the bottom ofthe
tomb, remain to them as a testimony of life in the
vacuum of the past, but what can indicate to them
existence in the vacuum of the future. This anti-
cipation of the future, which is so familiar to ns,
is nevertheless one of the strongest abstractions
at which the ideas of mankind have arrived.
Happy the savage who does not know like us,
that grief is followed by grief, and whose sonl
devoid of recollection or of foresight does not
concenter in itself, by a sort of painful eternity,
the past, the present, and the future.
But what proves incontestably that Mr,
Macpherson is the author of Ossian’s poems, is
the perfection or the beautiful ideal of morals
29
SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL.
which reigns in them. This deserves to be
somewhat dwelt upon. The beautiful ideal is
the offspring of society ; men nearly in a state of
nature have no conception of it. They content
themselves, in their songs, with painting exactly
what they see ; and as they live in the midst of
deserts, their pictures are always grand and poe-
tical ; for this reason no bad taste is to be found
in their compositions, but then they are and must
be, monotonous, and the sentiments they express
cannot arrive at true heroism.
The age of Homer was already some way
removed from this time. Let a savage pierce a
kid with his arrows, let him cut it in pieces in
the midst of the forests, let him extend his vic-
tim upon glowing coals made from the trunk of
a venerable oak, so far all is noble in this action.
But in the tent of Achilles we find basons, spits,
knives ; one instrument moie and Homer would
have sunk into the meanness and littleness of
German descriptions, or he must have had re-
course to the beautiful ideal by beginning to
Conceal. Observe this well ; — the following ex-
planation will make all clear.
30 ESSAYS* ON V ARIOUS SUBJECT'S.
In proportion as society, increasing in rel
finement, multiplied the wants and the conte*.
niences of life, the poets learnt that they mast
not, as before, place every thing before the eyes
bnt must veil over certain parts of the picture.
This first step taken, they next saw that in doing,
so, some choice must be made, and at length
that the thing chosen was susceptible of a finer
form, or a finer effect, in such, or such a posi-
tion. Thus always concealing, and always^
selecting, always retrenching and always adding,
they found themselves by degrees deviating into
forms which were not natural, but which were
more beautiful than those of nature, and to these
forms they gave the name of the beautiful ideal:
This beaut ful ideal may then be defined as the
art of choosing and concealing. ; 10
The beautiful ideal in morals was formed on
the same principles as the beautiful ideal inpHjw
sics, by keeping out of sight certain emotions
of the sonl ; for the soul has its degrading wants
and its meannesses as well as the body. Audi
cannot refrain from observing that man is of all
living beings the only one who is susceptible of
SYSTEM OV MAD. DE STAEL. 31
being represented more perfect than he is by
natore, and as approaching to divinity. No
one would think of painting the beautiful ideal
of an eagle, a lion, &c. If I dared carry my
ideas to the faculty of reasoning, my dear friend,
I should say, that I see in that a graud idea in
the author of all things, and a proof of our im-
mortality.
That society wherein morals have attained
with the greatest celerity all the developements
of which they are capable, must the soonest
attain the beautiful ideal of character. Now
this is what eminently distinguishes the societies
formed in the Christian religion. It is a strange
thing and yet strictly true, that through the
medium of the Gospel, morals had arrived among
our ancestors at their highest point of perfection,
while as to every thing else they were absolute
barbarians.
1 ask now where Ossian could have imbibed
those perfect ideas of morals with which he
adorns his heroes. It was not in his religion,
since it is agreed on all hands that there is no
religion among his savages. Could it be from
32 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
nature itself? — And how should the savage
Ossian seated upon a rock in Caledonia, while
every thing around him was cruel, barbarous,
gross aud sanguinary, arrive so rapidly at
those notions of morals which were scarcely
understood by Socrates in the most enlightened
days of Greece? — notions, which the Gospel
alone revealed to the world, as the result of
observations pursued for four thousand years
upon the character of man. Madame deStael’s
memory has betrayed her when she assets that
the Scandinavian poetry has the same charac-
teristics which distinguish the poetry of the pre-
tended Scotch bard. Every one knows that the
contrary is the fact, the former breathes nothing
but brutality and vengeance. Mr. Macpherson
has himself been careful to point out this differ-
ence and to bring the warriors of Morven into
contrast with the warriors of Lochlin. The ode,
to which Madame de Stuel refers in a note has
even been cited, and commented upon by Doctor
Blair, in opposition to the poetry of Ossian.
1 his ocle resembles very much the death-song
of the Iroquois : “ / do not Jear death , l d®*
SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL.
33
“ brave, why can I not again drink out oj the
skulls of my enemies, and devour their
hearts," 8$c. In fine, Mr. Macpherson has been
guilty of mistakes in Natural History, which
would alone suffice to betray the imposture ; he
has planted oaks where nothing but gorse ever
grew, and made eagles scream, where nothing was
ever heard but the voice of the barnacle, or the
whistling of the curlew.
Mr. Macpherson was a member of the Eno-.
&
hsh parliament, he was rich, he had a very fine
park among the mountains of Scotland where by
dint of much art, and of great care, he had suc-
ceeded in raising a few trees ; he was besides a
very good Christian and deeply read in the Bi-
ble ; he has sung his mountains, his park, and
his religion.*
* Several passages of Ossian are evident imitations from
the Bible, as are others from Homer. Among the latter is
that fine expression the Joy of Griefs yoo r 0
Book II. verse 211. I must observe that, in the original of
Homer there is a cast of melancholy which has not been
tttued by any of his translators. I do not believe, like
Madame de Stael, that there has ever been a particular Jge
recollections, &c. VOL. II. D
34 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
This does not undoubtedly derogate in any
way from the merit of the poems of Fmgal and
Temora ; they are not the less true models of
a sort of melancholy of the desert, which is
full of charms. I have just procured the small
edition which has been recently published in
Scotland, and you must not frown, my dear
friend, when I tell you that I never go out now
without ray Wetstein’s Homer in one pocket and
my Glasgow edition of Ossian in the other. It
results however from all I have said that Madame
de Stael’s system respecting the influence oi
Ossian upon the literature of the North moulders
away; and if she shall persist in believing
that such a person as this Scotch bard really
did exist, she has too much sense and reason
not to perceive that a system which rests upon a
basis so disputable must be a bad one. For my
part, you see that I have every thing to gaiu by
the fall of Ossian, and that in depriving the tra-
gedies of Shakespeare, Young’s Night 1 houghts,
of Melancholy , but I believe that all great geniuses have a
disposition to melancholy.
SYSTEM OF MAD. DE ST A EE. S5
Popes Eloisa to Abelard, and Richardson’s
Clarissa, of this gloomy perfectibility I establish
victoriously the melancholy of religious ideas.
AH these authors were Christians, it is even be-
lieved that Shakspeare was a catholic.
If I were now to follow Madame de Sta6l
into the age of Louis XIV, you would doubtless
repioach me with being altogether extravagant.
I will confess that, on this subject I, harbour a
superstition almost ridiculous. I fall into a holy
anger when people would compare the writers
of the eighteenth century with those of the
seventeenth; even at this moment, while 1
write, the very idea is ready to drive my reason
out of all bounds as Blaise Pascal used to say.
I must have been terribly led away by the talents
of Madame de Stael, if I could have remained
silent in such a cause.
We have no historians she says. 1 should
have thought that Bossuet was worth something.
Montesquieu himself is indebted to him for his
work on the Grandeur and fall of the Roman
Empire , the sublime abridgement of which he
found in the third part of Bossuet’s Essay
D 2
on
36 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
Universal History. Herodotus, Tacitus, and
Livy, are, according to my ideas little su com-
parison with Bossuet ; to say this, is sufficient
to say that the Guiccardini’s, the Marianas, tbe
Humes, the Robertsons, disappear before him.
What a survey dots he take of the whole earth,—
he is in a thousand places at once. • A patriarch
under the palms of Thophel, a minister at the
court of Babylon, a priest at Memphis, a legis-
lator at Sparta, a citizen at Athens and at Rome,
he changes time and place at his will, he passes
along with the rapidity and the majesty of cen-
turies ; holding in his hand the rod of the law
with an incredible authoritativeness he drives
Jews and Gentiles to the tomb ; he comes at last
himself at the end of this convoy of generations,
and marching forwards, supported by Isaiah and
Jeremiah, utters his prophetic lamentations amid
the dust and ruins of mankind.
Without religion a man may have talents,
but it is almost impossible to have genius. Hoff
little appear to me the greater part of men of
the eighteenth century who instead of the infinite
instrument employed by the Racines and the
SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAKE. 37
Bossuets as the fundamental note on which their
eloquence was rested, have recourse to the scale
of a narrow philosophy, which subdivides the
soul into degrees and minutes, and reduces the
whole universe, the Deity himself included, to a
simple subtraction from nothing.
Every writer who refuses to believe in oue
only God, the author of the universe and the
judge of man, whose immortal soul he created,
banishes infinity from his works. He restrains
his ideas to a circle of mud from which he cannot
free himself ; every thing operates with him by
the impure means of corruption and regeneration.
.The vast abyss is but a little bituminous water,
mountains are only petty protuberances of calca-
reous or vitrescible stone. Those two admirable
luminaries of heaven the one of which is extin-
guished when the other is lighted, for the pur-
pose of illuminating our labours and our watch-
ings, these are only two ponderous masses
formed by chance, by I know not what fortui-
tous combination of matter. Thus all is disen-
chanted, all is laid open by incredulity. These
people would even tell you that they know what
2
38
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
man is, and if you would believe them they
would explain to you whence comes thought,
and what makes the heart palpitate at hearing
the recital of a noble action ^ so easily do they
comprehend what never could be comprehended
by the greatest geniuses. But draw near and see
in what these mighty lights of their philosophy
consist. Look to the bottom of the tomb, contem-
plate that inhumed corps, that statue of annihila-
tion, veiled by a shroud — this is the whole man
of the Atheist.
You have here a very long letter, my dear
friend, yet 1 have not said half what I could say
upon the subject. I shall be called a capuchin,
but you know that Diderot loved the capuchins
very much. For you, in your character of poet,
why should yon he frightened at a grey beard;
Homer long ago reconciled the Muses to it. Be
this as it may, it is time to think of drawing
the epistle to a conclusion. But since you know
that we papists have a strong passion for making
converts, I will own to you, in confidence, that
1 would give much to see Madam deStael range
herself under the banners of religion. I bis is
SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAKE.
39
what I would venture to say to her had L the
honour of knowing her
“ You are, Madam, undoubtedly a woman
of very superior talents, you have a strong
understanding, your imagination is sometimes
full of charms, as witness what you say of Er-
tninia, disguised a9 a warrior ; and your turns
of expression are often at the same time brilliant
and elevated. But notwithstanding these advan-
tages your work is far from being all that it
might have been made. The style is monotonous,
it wants rapidity and it is too much mingled with
metaphysical expressions. The sophism of the
ideas is repulsive, the erudition does not satisfy*
and the heart is too much sacrificed to the
thoughts. Whence arise these defects ? — from
your philosophy. Eloquence is the quality in
which your work fails the most essentially, and
there is no eloquence without religion. Man has
so much need of an eternity of hope, that yon
have been obliged to form one to yourself upon
the earth, in your system of perfectibility , to
replace that infinite hope which you refuse to
see in heaven. If you be sensible to fame return
40
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
to religious ideas. I am convinced that you
have within you the germ of a much finer work
than any you have hitherto given us. Your
talents are not above half developed ; philoso-
phy stifles them, and if you remain in youropi-
nions you will not arrive at the height you
might attain by following the route which con-
ducted Pascal, Bossuet, and Racine, to immor-
tality.”
*
Thus would I address Madame de Stael, as
far as glory is concerned. In adverting to the
subject of happiness that my sermon might be
the less repulsive, I would vary my manner; 1
would borrow the language of the forests, asl
may well be permitted to do in my quality of a
savage, and would say to my neophite :
“ You appear not to be happy, you qften
complain in your work of wanting hearts that
can understand you. Know that there are cer-
tain souls who seek in vain in nature souls formed
to assimilate with their own, who are condemned
by the supreme mind to a sort of eternal widow-
hood. If this be your misfortune, jt is by religion
alone that it can be cured. The word philosophy
SYSTEM OF MAD. DE STAEL.
41
in the language of Europe, appears to me syno-
nimous with the word solitude, in the idiom of
savages. How then can philosophy fill up the
void of your days ? — can the void of the desert
be filled np by a desert.
“ There was once a woman in the Apala-
chean mountains, who said : ‘There are no such
things as good genii for I ain unhappy, and all
the inhabitants of our huts are unhappy. I
have not met with a man, whatever was the air
of happiness which he wore, that was not
suffering under some concealed wound. The
heart, the most serene to appearance resembled
the natural we'll of the Savannah of Alachua ;
the suiface appears calm and pure, but when
you look to the bosom of this tranquil bason you
perceive a large crocodile which the well che-
rishes in its waters.’
“ The woman went to consult a fortune-
teller of the, desert of Scambra, whether there
were such things as good genii. The Sage ans-
wered her : ‘ Heed of the river who would sup-
port thee if there were not good genii ; thou
o lightest to believe in them for the reason alone
42 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
that thou art unhappy. What wouldest thou
do with life if being without happiness, thou
wert also without hope. Occupy thyself, fill
up in secret the solitude of thy days by acts of
beneficence ; be the polar star of the untoitunate,
spread out thy modest lustre in the shade, be
witness to the tears that flow in silence, and
let all that are miserable turn their eyes to tliee
without being dazzled by it. These are the
sole means of finding the happiness you want.
The Great Mind has only struck thee to render
thee sensible to the woes of thy brethren, and
that thou mayest seek to soothe them. If thy
heart be like to the well of the crocodile, it is
also like those trees which only yield their balm
to heal file wounds of others when wounded
themselves by the steel.’ Thus spoke the fortune-
teller of the desert of Scambra, to the woman
of the Apalachean mountains, and retired again
into his cavern in the rock.”
Adieu, my dear friend, I embrace you, and
love you with all my heart.
ON THE POET GILBERT*.
When we see M. Gilbert poor and without a
name, attack the powerful faction of men of
letters, who in the last century dispensed
fame and fortune when we see him in this
unequal contest struggle almost alone against
the opinions most in fashion, and the highest
reputations, we cannot but acknowledge in his
success the prodigious empire of talent.
A collection of Heroics, of translations,
and fugitive pieces, under the title of the Lite-
rary Debdt, announced M. Gilbert to the world
of letters. A young man who seeks his own
talent, is very Ijable to mistake it ; the Juvenal
of the eighteenth century deceived himself with
respect to his. The epistle from Eloisa to Abe-
lard, had revived a species of poetry which had
* He died in the year J ;so. Seethe remarkable ac-
count of his death in the Historical and Literary Memoirs
and Anecdotes by Baron de Grimm, english translation
anno. 178O.
44 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS,
been almost forgotten since the days of Ovid.
The Her aide a poem, partly historic, partly
elegiac, has this strong objection that it rests on
declamation and common place expressions of
love. The poet, making his hero speak for him-
self, can neither elevate his language to the pro-
per inspired mark, suited to the lyre, nor des-
cend to the familiar tone of a letter. The sub-
ject of Eloisa alone permitted at once all the
na'ivetd of passion, and all the art of the Muse,
because religion lends a pomp to language with-
out depriving it of its simplicity. Love then
assumes a character at once sublime and formi-
dable, when the most serious occupations, the
holy temple itself, the sacred altars, the terrible
mysteries of religion all recal the idea of it, are
all associated with its recollections. *
The history of Madame de Gange did not
present M. Gilbert with as powerful an engine
as religion. Yet fraternal affection, contrasted
with jealousy, might have furnished him with
some very pathetic situations. In the Heroide
of Dido, the poet has translated some of the
f Massillon. The Prodigal Son.
ON THE POET GILBERT. 4$
verses of the Ene’id very happily, particularly
the non ignara mails.
In woe myself, I learned to weep for woe.
I know not however whether this sentiment
be in itself as just as it is amiable ; it is certain
at least that there are men whose hearts adver-
sity seems to harden ; they have shed all their
tears for themselves.
Nature had given M. Gilbert some fancy
and much assurance ; so that he succeeded
better in the Ode, than in Heroics. The exor-
dium of his Last Judgement is very fine.
What benefits have all your savage virtues produced
Justly you have said, God protects us as a father
Oppress’d on all sides, cast down, you crouch
Under the feet of the wicked whose boldness is prosperous.
Let this God come then if ever he existed l—
Since virtue is the subject of misfortune
Since the child of sorrow calls and is not heard
He must sleep in heaven beneath his silent thunders.
1 he sound of the trumpet which awakens
the dead from the tomb, answers alone to the
question of the wicked. It would be difficult
46
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
to find a turn more animated, more lyric. Every
one knows the lines which conclude this ode.
The Eternal has broken his useless thunder, —
And of wiugs and a scythe for ever depriv’d
Upon the world destroyed lime stands motionless.
The fine expression widow of a king people,
speaking of Rome, which is in the ode addressed
to Monsieur upon his journey to Piedmont
the apostrophe of the impious to Christ in the
Ode upon the Jubilee : we have irretrievably con •
meted thee of imposture oh Christ ! with the
poet’s reflexion in speaking again in his own
character, after this blasphemy : thus spoke in
past times a people of false sages ; — Thunder
personified which would select the head of the
blasphemer to crush it with its power, if the time
of mercy were not come ; — the people marching J
in the steps of the cross, those old warriors who
to appease the vengeance of the lord go to offer
laurels, and the sufferings of a body of which the
tomb already possesses the half; — all these
things appear to us in the true nature of the ode
which :
ON THE POET GILBERT.
47
Winging to heaven its ambitious flight
Holds in its measures, commerce with the gods.
Why then should M. Gilbert, who joins
boldness of expression to the lyric movement,
not be placer! in the same rank with Malherbe,
Racine, and Rousseau ? — It is that he fails
frequently in harmony of numbers, without
which there can be no real poetry. Poetic
imagery and thoughts, cannot of themselves
constitute a poet, there must be also harmony
of versification, a melodious combination of
sounds ; the chords of the lyre must be heard to
vibrate. Unfortunately the secret of this divine
harmony cannot be taught, a happy ear is the
gift of nature. M. Gilbert does not un-
derstand those changes of tone which cross each
other , and, by the mixture of their accords , often
communicate a heavenly transport a delicious
rapture to the soul.* In some few strophes he
has somewhat seized this harmony so necessary
to the lyric genius. In speaking of the battle
of Ushant he exclaims :
* Longinus, chap. 32-
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
Haste to revenge, the time’s arrived tli
When these our haughty foes so oft forsworn ,j
Their pride, their still enduring wrongs shallexpiate.
Too long with patience have our souls endur’d
The servile peace which they elate
With victory impos’d.
Dunkirk invokes you, hear you not her voice
Raise, raise again the towers that guard her shores,
Release her port, by slavery long restrain’d
F rom the harsh doom that bound her to obey
At once two sovereign lords.
M. Gilbert has sometimes laid down the
lyre, to assume the voice of the orator, “ There
was once a country,” says he,i n the peroration
of his eulogium of Leopold Duke of Lorraine,
‘’ there was once a country in which the subjects
had a right to judge their master, at the moment
when Providence calls monarchs to himself to
require from them an account of their actions.
They assembled in a throng around his body,
which was exposed on the side of the tomb,
when one insulted the unfortunate corpse by
saying : My innocent family were poisoned b\)
thy orders . — Another exclaimed : He plundered
me of all my property.— Another : Men were i«
ON THE POET GILBERT. 4Q
a • a n - r*U z j. va
his eyes no more than the Jtocks that graze the
_ fields ; all condemned him to become the prey of
ravenous birds. But if he had been just, then
the whole nation with hair dishevelled, ut-
tering dreadful cries, assembled to deplore their
loss, and to raise for him a superb mausoleum,
* while the orators made the temples resound with,
celebrating his glory. Well, my friend, the time
which has elapsed since the death of Leopold
gives us the same privilege that these people en-
1 joyed. We have nothing to apprehend from the
i resentment of his son, his sceptre is broken, his
* throne is annihilated. There are here citizens
(i of all ranks and descriptions ; some have lived
under his laws, others have learnt from their
it fathers the history of his reign. Let them rise.
It — And thou shade of Leopold, come forth from
the tomb, come and receive the tribute of praise
or of malediction which is owed to thee by this
s august assembly. Speak, citizens, speak, this
great shade is here present. Have ye any thing
wherewith to reproach Leopold ? — Not one
speak < — Have ye any thing , 1 ask, wherewith to
reproach Leopold, ? — Wherever I turn my eyes I
RECOLLECTIONS, &C. VOL. II. E
50 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
see countenances cast clown, I see vain tears
flow. Ungrateful men ! dare you wrong your
benefactor by this injurious silence ? Speak, 1
say once more, Have ye any thing wherewith to
reproach Leopold, ? — Alas ! I understand ye.—
You have no reproaches to make, unless to hea-
ven, that so soon cut short his days. — Let us
then weep.”
This is not indeed the eloquence of the Bi-
shop of Meaux, but if this passage had been
found in Flechier, it would long ago have been
cited with honour and distinction.
In many passages of his works, M. Gilbert
complains bitterly of his fate, “ What folly,’
said a woman once, “ to open our hearts to the
world ; it laughs at our weaknesses, it does not
believe in our virtues, it does not pity our sor-
rows.” The verses that follow, the effusion ofa
man under misfortunes, are only remarkable for
the accent of truth which they bear. The poet
shews himself struggling by turns against the
noble thirst of fame, and the chagrins insepa*
rable from the career of letters.
"M* ■ vr*.:
ON THE POET GILBERT.
51
Heaven placed my cradle in the dust of earth,
I blush not at It— .master of a throne
My lowest subject had my bosom envied.
Asham’d of owing aught to blood alone
1 had wished to be reborn, to raise myself.
This is truly the language of a young man
who feels, for the first time, a generous passion
for glory. But he is soon reduced to regretting
his primitive obscurity; he draws a picture of
the happiness of a friend whom he has quit-
ted in the country : “ Justice, peace, every
thing smiled around Philemon. Oh how should
I delight in that enchanting simplicity while
expecting the return of an absent husband, as-
sembles all the fruits of their tender love ; W'hile
directing the yet feeble steps of the elder, and
carrying the youngest in her arms, she hastens
with them to the foot of the path by which their
father is to descend.” Here the softened feel-
ings of misfortune have mingled themselves with
the accents of the poet, we no longer see the
satyrist armed with his bloody lines.
We are sorry to find M. Gilbert dwelling
so often upon his hunger. Society, who always
e 2
52 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
find indigence troublesome, that they may avoid
being solicited to relieve it, say that it is noble
to conceal our misery. The man of genius strug-
gling against adversity, is a gladiator who fights
for the pleasures of the world, in the arena of
life ; one wishes to see him die with a good
grace* M. Gilbert was not ungrateful, and
whoever had the happiness of alleviating liis sor-
rows received a tribute from his muse, how
small soever might have been the boon. Ho-
mer, who like our young poet, had felt indi-
gence, says, that the smallest gifts do rwt fail
to soothe and rejoice us.
In the piece entitled the Complaints of tk
Unhappy , we find a passage truly pathetic:
Woe, woe, to those alas ! who gave me birth!
Blind, barbarous father, mother void of pity,
Poor, must you bring an infant to the light
The heir to nought but your sad indigence?
Ah had ye yet but suffered my young mind
In iguorance to remain, 1 then had liv’d
In peace, tilling the earth ; but you must nurse
Those fire 9 of genius that have since consum'd me.
The last reproach which our unfortunate
poet addresses to the authors of his days fall’
1
53
0.N THE POET GILBERT.
very lamentably upon the manners of the age.
It is thus that we all aim at soaring above the
rank to which nature had destined us. Led on
by this universal error, the honest mechanic
restrains his scanty portion of bread that he may
give his children a learned education ; an educa-
tion which too often leads them only to despise
their families. Genius is besides very rare. Un-
douhtedly a man of superior talents is sometimes
to he found in the humbler walks of life, but
how many estimable artisans taken from their
mechanical labours would prove nothing but
wretched authors. Society then finds itself over-
charged with useless citizens, who, tormented by
their own self-love harass both the government
and the people at large with their vain systems
and idle speculations. Nothing is so dangerous
as a man of moderate talents whose only occu-
pation is to make books.
Nay, although a parent should be convinced
that his child is born with a decided talent for
letters is it certain that he seeks the happiness o f
that child in opening to him this barren career r
54 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
—Oh let him recollect these lines of the poet
now in question.
How many a hapless author, wretched doom !
Has want conducted to his unknown tomb.
Let him think of Gilbert himself, extended
upon the bed of death, breathing out his last
sigh with the following melancholy reflection.
At life’s fair banquet an unhappy guest
One day I sat, now see me on my bier.
While o’er the spot where my sad corse shall rest.
No mourner e’er shall come to drop one tear.
Would not Gilbert, a simple labourer, che-
rished by his neighbours, beloved by his wife,
dying full of years surrounded by his children,
under the humble roof of his fathers, have been
much more happy than Gilbert hated by men,
abandoned by his friends, breathing at the age
of thirty, his last sigh on the wretched bed of
an hospital, deprived through chagrin ot that
reason to which alone he looked for any claim
to superiority ; — of reason, that weak compen-
sation which heaven grants to men of talent, for
the sorrows to which they are subjected.
ON THE POET GILBERT.
55
ft will doubtless be here objected against
what I say, that if Gilbert was unhappy he had
no one but himself to reproach for it. 1 rue it
is indeed that satire is not the path which leads
to the acquisition of friends, and conciliates the
public esteem and beneficence. But, in our age,
this species of poetry has been too much decried.
While the reigning faction in literature has been
prodigal of the appellations of toad-eaters , sy-
cophants, fools, sneakers, and the like, to all
who were not of their own opinions, it has re-
garded the least attempt at retaliation as a
heinous crime ; complaining of it to the echoes,
wearying the ears of the sovereign with their
cries, wanting all who dared attack the apostles
of the new doctrine to be prosecuted as libellers :
" Ah, my good Alembert,” said the King of
Prusia, endeavouring to console this great man,
“ if you were King of England you would ex-
perience mortifications of a very different kind
which your good subjects would provide to exer-
cise your patience." And in another letter he
says: “ You charge me with a commission so
much the more embarrassing, as I am neither a
-fn hJk O I il*<£ . *V.
56 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
corrector of the press, nor a censor of the ga.
zettes. As to the gazetteer of the Lower Rhine,
the family of Mauleon must think it right that
* •
it should not be molested, since without freedom
in writing, men’s minds most remain in dark-
ness, and since the Encyclopaedists, whose zea-
lous disciple I am, deprecate all censure, and in-
• • > v. : il\f* l w ifjV
sist that the press ought to be entirely free, that
•*>*¥ V k * a* • ) c * Ol.it LI > 1. ait
every one should be permitted to write whatever
may be dictated by his peculiar mode of think-
mg.
One can never enough admire all the wit,
>
the talents, the irony, and the good sense that
reign throughout the letters of Frederick. Sa-
tire is not in itself a crime, it may be very
useful to correct fools and rogues, when it is res-
Vj - ,
trained within due bounds : Ride si sapis. But
it most be acknowledged that poets sometimesgo
too far, and, instead of ridicale, rnn into calum-
ny. Satire should be the lists in which each
champion, as in the pastimes of chivalry, should
aim determined strokes at his adversary, hut
avoiding to strike either at the head or the heart.
If ever the subject could justify the satire,
ON THE POET GILBERT. '&7
this undoubtedly, was the case in that chosen- by
M. Gilbert. The misfortnnes which have been
brought upon us by the vices and the opinions
with which the poet reproaches the eighteenth
century, shew how much he was in the right to
sound the cry of alarm. He predicted the
disasters we have experienced, and verses where
formerly we found exaggeration we are now
obliged to confess contain nothing but simple
tmths. “ A monster rises up, and strengthens
himself in Paris ; who, clothed in the mantle of
philosophy or rather falsely clothed under that
assumed garb, stifles talent and destroys virtue.
A dangerous innovator, he seeks by his cruel
system to chase the Supreme Being from heaven,
and dooming the soul to the same fate as the
expiring body, wonld annihilate man by a dou-
ble death. Yet this monster carries not with
him a fierce and savage air, and has the sound
of virtue always in his mouth.” ,
It is indeed a most remarkable thing iu his-
tory that the attempt should ever be made to in-
troduce atheism among a whole people under
the name of virtue. The word libetiyi was in-
58
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
cessantly in the mouths of these people who
crouched at the feet of the great, and who, not
satisfied with the con tempt of the first court in
the kingdom, chose to swallow large draughts
of it from a second. They were fanatics crying
out against fanaticism ; men triply wicked, for
they combined with the vices of the atheist, the
intolerance of the sectary, and the self-conceit 0 f
the author. -,- I9 -r
M. Gilbert was so much the more coura-
geous in his attacks upon philosophism, because
not sparing any party, he painted with energy
the vices of the great, and of the clergy, which
served as an excuse to the innovation, and which
they alleged in justification of their principles:
See where with steps enervated by sloth.
The great ones of the land scarce know to drag
Along their feeble limbs.
Could tve escape a fearful destruction.—
From the days of the regency, to the end of
the reign of Louis XV. intrigue every day made
and unmade statesmen. Thence that continua
change of systems, of projects, of views. These
ephemeral ministers were followed by a crowd of
ON THE POET GILBERT. 5ft
flatterers, of clerks, of actors, ot mistresses
all, beings of a moment, were eager to suck the
blood of the miserable, and were soon trampled
on by another generation ol favourites as fugitive
and as voracious as the former. 1 has, while
the imbecility and folly of the government ir-
ritated the minds of the people, the moral dis-
orders of the country reached their utmost height.
The man who no longer lound happiness in the
bosom of his family, accustomed himself to
seek his happiness in ways that were independent
of others. Repelled by the manners of the age
from the bosotn of nature, he wrapped himself
up in a harsh and cold egotism, which withered
all virtue in its very bud.
To complete our misfortunes, these sophists,
in destroying happiness upon the earth, sought
also to deprive man of the hopes of a better
life. In this position, alone in the midst of the
universe, having nothing to feed on but the cha-
grins of a vacant and solitary heart, which
never felt another heart beat in unison with it,
was it very astonishing that so many Frenchmen
were ready to seize the first phantom which pre-
60
ESSAYS ON VAlilOUS SUBJECTS.
sented a new world to their imaginations. For
the rest, was M. Gilbert the only person who
saw through the innovators of his age?— was
he to be singled out as a mark against which all
their cries of atrocity were to be directed be-
cause he had given so faithful a picture of them
in his verses. If some severe strokes were aimed
against that passion of thinking and that geo-
metrical rage which had seized all France, did
he go farther than Frederick II, whose words
may well be quoted here as a commentary upon,
and an excuse for our poet.
In a dialogue of the dead, where this royal
author brings together Prince Eugene, General
Lichtenstein, and the Duke of Marlborough,
he draws this picture of the Encyclopaedists.
“ These people,” he says, are a sect which have
arisen in our days assuming themselves to be phi*
losophers. To the effrontery of Cynics they add
the noble impudence of putting forth all the
paradoxes that come into their heads ; they pride
themselves upon their geometry, and maintain
that those who have not studied this science
cannot have correct idea9, consequently that
ON THE POET GILBERT.
6l
they themselves alone have the faculty of reason*
ing. If any one dares to attack them, he is
soon drowned in a deluge of ink and abuse;
the crime of treason against philosophy is
wholly unpardonable. They decry all sciences
except their own calculations ; poetry is a frivo-
lity, the fictions of which ought to be banished
the world : a poet ought not to think any thing
worthy of his rhymes but algebraic equations.
As to history, that they would have studied in
the reverse, beginning at our own times, and
mounting upwards to the deluge. They would
fain reform all governments, making France a
democratic state, with a geometrician as its
legislator, to be governed entirely by geometri-
cians who shall subject all the operations of the
new government to infinitesimal calculations.
This republic would maintain a constant peace,
and would be supported without an army.”
Posthumous Works of Frederick II, vol; VI.
It was above all things a primary object
among the literati of that time, to depreeiate
the great men of the seventeenth century ; 'to
62 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
diminish the weight of their example and au-
thority. Let us again hear the King of Prussia
on this subject. Thus does he speak in his
examination of the System of Nature .
It is a great error to believe that perfec-
tion is to be found in any thing human,; the
imagination may form such chimeras to itself,
but they will never be realized. In the number
of centuries that the world has now endured,
different nations have made experiments on all
sorts of governments, but not one has been
found that was not subject to some inconve-
niences. Of all the paradoxes which the
would-be philosophers of our days maintain
with so much self-complacency, that of de-
crying the great men of the last century ap-
pears to be what they have the most at heart.
How can their reputations be increased by ex-
aggerating the faults of a king, all whose faults
were effaced by his splendour and greatness.
The foibles of Louis XIV are well known, these
philosophers have not even the petty merit of
having been the first to discover them. A
prince who should reign only a week would
ON THE POET GILBERT.
63
doubtless be guilty of some errors, how many
must be expected from a monarch who passed
nearly sixty years of his life upon the throne. ’
This passage is followed by a magnificent
eulogium of Louis XIV, and Frederick often
recurs to the same subject in his correspondence
with M. d’Alembert. “ Our poor century,” he
says, “ is no less lamentably barren of great
men, than of good works. Of the age of
Louis XIV, which does honour to the human
mind, nothing remains to us but the dregs, and
soon not even that will be left.” The eulogium
of Louis the Great, from the pen of the Great
Frederick, — a King of Prussia defending French
glory against French literati, is one of those
precious strokes at which a writer ought to catch
very eagerly.
I have already remarked, that if M. Gil-
bert had only attacked the sophists, he might
have been suspected of partiality ; but he equally
raised his voice against every vicious character,
whatever might be his rank and power. With-
out any idea of apprehension of doing injury
to religion) he abandoned to contempt those
64 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
ecclesiastics who are the eternal shame of their
order.
Religion, matron driven to despair,
By her own children mangled and defaced
Weeping their ways, iu her deserted temples,
In vain with words of pardon does she stretch
Her arms toward them, still reviled, derided.
Her precepts are forgot, her laws profaned.
See there, amid a circle of gay nymphs.
That youthful Abbe ; — saintly in his garb.
In mind a sophist, he directs his wit
Against that God, by serving whom he lives.
I do not think that a more despicable cha-
racter exists, than that of a priest who, consider-
ing Christianity as an abuse, yet consents to feed
on the bread of the altar, and lies at once to
God and to man. But we would fain enjoy the
honours of philosophy without losing the riches
of religion ; the first being necessary to oor
self-love, the second to our manners.
Such was the deplorable success which in-
fidelity had obtained, that it was not uncommon
to hear a sermon in which the name oi Je 5US
Christ was avoided by the preacher as a rock
ON T11E POET GILBERT.
65
il en which he feared to split. And what was so
ridiculous and so fatal in this name to a Christian
orator? — Did Bossuet find that this name de-
e traded from his eloquence ? — You preach be-
5 . fore the poor, and you dare not name Jesus
fc Christ ! — before the unfortunate, and the name
of their father must not pass your lips ! — before
children, and you cannot instruct them that it
was he who blessed their innocence. You talk
of morality, and you blush to name the author
of that which is preached in the gospel ; never
can the affecting precepts of religion be supplied
by the common-place maxims of philosophy.
Religion is a sentiment, philosophy an essay of
$ reason, and even supposing that both led to
i£ practising the same virtues it would always be
safest to take the first. But a still stronger
consideration is, that all the virtues of philo-
'! 1
sopby are accessible to religion, while many of
the religious virtues are not accessible to phi-
losophy. Was it philosophy that established
itself on the summit of the Alps to rescue the
;P F
traveller ? — Is it philosophy that succours the
slave afflicted with the plague in the bagnios of
l
RECOLLECTIONS, &C. VOL. II. F
66 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
Constantinople, or that exiles itself in the deserts
of the New World, to instruct and civilize the
savages. Philosophy may carry its sacrifices so
far as to afford assistance to the sick, but in
applying the remedy it turns away its eyes ; the
heart and the senses recoil, for such are the emo-
tions of nature. But see religion, how it
soothes the infirm, with what tenderness it
contemplates those disgusting wounds, — it dis-
covers an ineffable beauty, an immortal life in
those dyiug features, where philosophy can see
nothing but the hideousnes9 of death. There
is the same difference between the services that
philosophy and religion render to human nature
as exists between duty and love.
To justify M. Gilbert for having defended
Christianity, I cannot rest too much on the an-
thority of the great king whom 1 have so often
cited in this article. The philosophers them-
selves considered him as a philosopher, and cer-
tainly he cannot be accused of harbouring any
religious superstitions ; but he had a long habit
of governing men, and he knew that the mass
could not be led with the abstract principles of
ON THE POET GILBERT.
67
metaphysics. In pursuing his refntation of
‘ the System of Nature , he says : “ How can the
* author pretend to maintain, with any face of
1 troth, that the Christian religion is the cause
'' of all the misfortunes of human nature. To
speak with justice, he should have said, simply,
r that the ambition and interests of mankind
make use of this religion as a pretence to disturb
the peace of the world, and to satisfy their own
Ki passions. What objection can seriously be
w made against the system of morality contained
at in the decalogue ? — Did the gospel contain no
B other precept but this one : Do not to others
is what you would, not that they should do to you,
we should be obliged to confess that these few
■i words contain the very quintessence of all mo-
ll rality. Besides, were not charity and humanity,
iig> with the pardon of offences, preached by Jesus
i in his excellent sermon on the mount? — The
gi l fl w itself must not be confounded with the
jc abuses of it, the things inculcated, with the
things practised.”
Ripened by age and experience, perhaps
warned by that voice which speaks from the
F 2
68
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
tomb, Frederick, towards the close of his life,
had shaken off those vain systems which lead to
nothing but errors. He began to feel the foun-
dations of society tremble under him, and to
discover the deep mine that atheism was silently
hollowing out. Religion is made more espe-
cially for those who are the most elevated above
their fellow creatures. It is stationed around
thrones, like those vulnerary herbs which grow
about the mountains of Switzerland, there where
falls the most terrible are likely to be encoun-
tered.
It is probable that the two satires of M.
Gilbert, and some stanzas of his odes will retain
a place among our literature. This young poet,
who died before his talents were matured, has
neither the grace and lightness of Horace, nor
the beautiful poetry and exquisite taste ofBoi-
leau. He tortures his language, he seeks after
inversion, he drives on his metaphors too far,
his talents are capricious and his muse fanciful,
but he has forcible modes of expression, verses
well constructed, and sometimes the vein of Ju-
venal. Thanks to the re-establishment of our
ON THE POET GILBERT.
69
temples in France, we have no occasion for new
Gilberts to sing the woes of religion, we require
poets to channt her triumphs. Already some of
our most distinguished literati, Messrs. Delille,
Laharpe, Fontan^s, Bernardin de St.-Pierre, and
others have consecrated their meditations to re-
ligions subjects. A new defender, M. de Bonald,
has arisen, who, by the depth of his ideas and
the power of reasonings, has abundantly justified
the lofty and all-seeing wisdom of the Christian
institutions. Every one among our youth who
gives any promise of talent, returns to those sa-
cred principles which made Quintilian say : “ If
thou believest, thou shalt soon be instructed in
the duties of a good and happy life.” Brevis
est institutio vita, honesta beataque, si credos.
70
ANALYSIS
OF THE WORK OF M. D£ BONALD
Entitled: “ Primitive Legislation considered
in the latter times by the light of ream
alone.”
“ Few men are born with that particular and
decided disposition towards one only object
which we call talent ; a blessing of nature, if fa-
vorable circumstances assist its developement,
and permit the exercise of it ; a real misfortune,
a torment to its possessor, if it be contradicted.”
This passage is taken from the book we are
about to examine. Nothing is more affecting
than those involuntary complaints which some-
times escape from true talent. The author of
Primitive Legislation, like many other celebrated
writers, seems only to have received gifts from
nature to feel disgust at them. Like Epictetus
he has been obliged to reduce his philosophy to
these two maxims dv'r^w x*l «V%w, suffer and
M. DE BONALD.
71
5 abstain. It was in the obscure cottage of a
German peasant, in the bosom of a foreign
country that he composed his Theory of Political
and Religious power , a work suppressed by the
ill ^ #
Directory in France ; it was in the midst of all
possible privations, and menaced with the law
of the proscription, that he published his Obser-
vations upon Divorce , an admirable treatise, the
latter pages of which, in particular, are a model
of that eloquence of thought which is so superior
to the eloquence of words, and which subdues
i; every thing, as Pascal says, by the right of
power. In fine, it is at the moment when he is
® about to quit Paris, letters and his genius, if I
may beallowed the expression, that hegives us his
Primitive Legislation ; Plato crowned his works
s: by his Laws , and Lycurgus banished himself from
Sparta after having established his. Unfortu-
nately, we have not, like the Spartans, sworn to
IE observe the laws of our new legislator. But let
P M. de Bonald be satisfied ; when, as in him, the
authority of good morals is combined with the
authority of geuius, when the soul is free from
those weaknesses, which place arms in the hands
72 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
of calumny, and console mediocrity, obstacles
must vanish sooner or later, and we must arrive
at that position in which talent is no longera
mortification, but a blessing.
The judgments generally passed upon our
modern literature, appear to me somewhat exag-
gerated. Some mistake our scientific jai^jon,
and inflated phraseology for the progress of ge-
nius and illumination; according to them lan-
guage and reason have advanced much since Bos-
suet and Racine: — but what advance 1 — Others
on *he contrary find nothing that is endurable;
if they are to be believed we have not a single
good writer. Is it not a tolerably well established
truth, that there have been epochs in France
when the state of literature was very much
below what it is at present ? Are we competent
judges in such a cause, and can we very justly
appreciate those writers who live in the same
time with ourselves ? Such, or such acotemporary
author whose value we scarcely feel, may be one
day considered as the glory of our age. How
long have the great men of Louis XIV found
their true level ? Racine and La Bruy^re were
M. DE BONALD.
73
almost unknown while they lived. We see
Rollin, that writer full of learning and taste, ba-
lance the merits of Ftechier and Bossuet and
give us plainly to understand that the perfeience
was generally given to the former. J he mania
of all ages has been to complain of the scarcity
of good writers and good books. What things
have not been written against Telemaclius, against
the Characters of La Bruy ere, against the most
snblime of Racine’s works ? W ho does not
know the epigram upon Athalia ? On the other
hand, let auy one read the journals of the last
century ; let them farther read what La Bmyere
and Voltaire themselves said of the literature
of their times ; will it be believed that they
speak of the period when the couutry could
boast a Pension, a Bossuet, a Pascal, a Boileau,
a Racine, a Moltere, a La Fontaine, aJean-
Jacques Rousseau, a Buffon, a Montesquieu?
French literature is about to assume an en-
tirely new face ; with the revolution, other
thoughts, other views of men and of things
must have arisen. It is easy to see that writers
74 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
will be divided into two classes ; some will make
it their great endeavour entirely to quit the an-
cient routes, others will no less assiduously en-
deavour to follow those models, but always pre-
senting them under a new point of view, life
very probable that the latter will, in the end,
triumph over their adversaries, because, in up-
holding their own labours by great authorities,
they will have much safer and abler guides,
documents much more fertile in themselves, than
those who would rest upon their own talents
alone.
M. de Bonald will contribute not a little to
this victory ; already his ideas begin to obtain
a currency ; fragments of them are to be traced
in the greater part of the journals and publi-
cations of the day. There are certain senti-
ments and certain styles, which may be almost
called contagious, and which, if I may be par-
doned the idea, tint all minds with their colour-
ing. This is, at the same time, a good and an
evil. An evil inasmuch as it disgusts the writer
whose freshness is thus, as it were faded, and
M. DE BONALD.
75
whose originality is rendered vulgar ; — a good,
in as far as it tends to circulate useful truths
more widely.
M. de Bonald’s new work is divided into
four parts. The first, including the preliminary
discourse, treats of the relations of beings to
each other, and the fundamental principles of
legislation. The second considers the ancient
state of the ecclesiastical ministry in France.
The third treats of public education, and the
fourth examines the state of Christian and ma-
hometan Europe.
To remount to the Principles of Legisla-
tion, M. de Bonald begins by remounting to the
Principles of Beings, in order to find the pri-
mitive law, the eternal example of human laws ;
for human laws are only good or bad, inasmuch
as they approach or deviate from that divine
law which Hows from divine wisdom. Lex
rerum omnium principem expressa natura, ad
quam leges hominum diriguntur , quae supplicio
improbos ojficiunt, el defendant et tuentur bonos .*
* Cicero de Leg. lib. 2.
7^ ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
Our author traces rapidly the history of philo*
sophy, which, according to him, among the an-
dents, signified the love of vjisdotn, and among
us signifies a search after truth. Thus the
Greeks made wisdom consist in the practice of
morality, we make it consist in the theory.
“Our philosophy,” says M. de Bonald, «ii
empty in its thoughts, lofty in its language; it
combines the licentiousness of the Epicureans
with the pride of the Stoics. It has its sceptics,
its pyrrhonians, its eclectics; the only doctrine
it has not embraced is that of privations.”
On the cause of our errors, M. de Bonald
makes the following profound remark : “ In
physics we may be allowed to assume particular
errors, in morals we ought to assume general
truths. It is from having done the contrary,
from having assumed truths in physics, that
mankind believed so long in the absurd system
of physics established by the ancients ; as it
is fiom having assumed errors in the general
morals of nations that so many persons, in our
days, have been wrecked.”
J he author is soon led to examine the pro*
*sf
M. DE BONALD. 77
blem of innate ideas. Without embracing the
\ 0|>inion that rejects them, or ranging himself
t with the party that adopts them, he believes
that God has given to men in general, not to
j every man in particular, a certain portion of
t principles or innate sentiments, such as the idea
b. of a Supreme Being, of the immortality of the
soul, and of the first notions of our moral duties,
[ absolutely necessary to the establishment of
social order. Hence it happens, that, strictly
speaking, single persons may be found who have
no knowledge of these principles, but that no
i society of men was ever found totally ignorant
of them. If this be not the truth, at least we
A
must allow that the mind capable of reasoning
thus is not one of an ordinary texture.
From thence M. de Bonald passes to the
examination of another principle on which he
founds all legislation. This is, that speech was
taught to man , that it is not an intuitive quality
in him. *' He recognizes three sorts of speech,
gesticulation, oral communication, and writing.
This opinion he founds upon reasons which ap-
pear to have great weight. First, because it is
/ 8 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
necessary to think of the words before the
thought can be uttered. Secondly, because those
who are horn deaf, and never hear speech, are
dumb, a proof that speech is a thing acquired
not intuitive. Thirdly, because, if speech be a
human invention, there are no longer any ne-
cessary truths.
To this idea M. de Bonald recurs very fre-
quently ; because, according to him, on this
rests all the controversy of theists and atheists
with Christians and philosophers. In fact, it
must be allowed, that if we could prove speech
to have been revealed, not invented, we should
have a physical proof of the existence of God;
God could not have given speech to man with-
out also giving him rules and laws; all would
then become positive in society. This seems
to us to have been the opinion of Plato, and of
the Roman philosopher. Legem neque homimm
ingemis, ex-cognitatum neque scitum aliquod esse
populorum , sed ceternum quiddam , etc.
It became necessary for M. de Bonald to
develope his idea more fully, and this he has
done in an excellent dissertation, at the end of
2
M. DE BONALD.
79
his work. We there find this comparison which
one might believe translated from the Phcedon ,
or from The Republic. “ That necessary and
!' natural correspondence between the thoughts,
and the words by which they are explained, and
3 that necessity of speech to render present to the
mind its own thoughts, and the thoughts of
c others, may be rendered sensible by a com-
parison, the extreme exactness of which would
s: alone prove a perfect analogy between the laws
i of our intellectual nature, and of our physical
(j nature. ,
“ If I am in a dark place I have no ocular
vision or knowledge by sight of the existence of
bodies that are near me, not even of my own
body ; and under this relation these beings are
r the same to me as if they did not exist. But if
the light is admitted, on a sudden all the objects
receive a relative colour, according to the par-
ticular contexture of the surface. Each body
is present to my eyes, I see them all, I judge
the relations of form, of extent, of the distance
of every object from the other, and from myself.
“ Our understanding is this dark place
so
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECT3.
where we do not perceive any idea, not even
that of our own intelligence, till words penetrat-
ing by the sense of hearing and seeing, carry
light into that darkness, and call, if I may say
so, every idea, which answers, like the stars in
Job , here I am. Then alone are our ideas ex-
plained, we have the consciousness, the know-
ledge of our thoughts, and can convey it to
others ; then only have we an idea of ourselves,
have we an idea of other beings, and the relations
they have among themselves and with us. As
the eye distinguishes each body by its colour,
the mind distinguishes each idea by its
expressions.”
Do we often find reasoning so powerful,
combined with such vivacity of expression?
The ideas answering to speech like the stars of
■Job, here i am ; is not this of an order of
thoughts extremely elevated, of a character of
style very rare ? I appeal to men of better
talents and understanding than myself: Quan-
tum eloquentia valeat, pluribus credere potest.
Yet we will venture to propose some doubts
to our author, and submit our observations to
M. DE BONALD.
his superior judgment. We acknowledge, like
him, the principle of the transmission of speech,
or that it has been taught to us. But does he
not carry this principle too far ? In making it
the only positive proof of the existence of God,
aud of the fundamental laws of society, docs he
not put the most important truths to the hazard,
in case this sole proof should be disputed. The
reasoning that he draws from the deaf and
dumb, in favour of speech being taught, is not
perhaps thoroughly conclusive. It may be said,
you take your example in an exception, and you
seek your proof in an imperfection of nature.
Let us suppose a savage in possession of his
senses, but not having speech; this man,
pressed by hunger, meets in the forest with
some object proper to satisfy it, he utters a cry
of joy at seeing it, or at carrying it to his
mouth. Is it not possible that having heard
the cry, the sound, be it what it may, he retains
it, and repeats it afterwards, every time he per-
ceives the same object, or is pressed with the.
same want. The cry will become the first word
of his vocabulary, and thus he will proceed on
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I
82 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
till he arrives at the expression of ideas purely
intellectual.
It is certain that the idea cannot be put
forth from the understanding without words, but
it will perhaps be admitted, that man, with the
permission of God, lights up himself this torch
of speech, which is to illuminate the soul ; that
the sentiment or idea first gives occasion to the
expression, and that the expression in its turn
re-enters and enlightens the mind. If the
author should say that millions of years would
be requisite to form a language in this way, and
that Jean- Jaques Rousseau himself, believed that
speech was necessary for the invention of words,
we will admit this difficulty also. ButM.de
Bonald must not forget that he has to do with
men who deny all tradition, and who dispose at
their pleasure of the eternity of the world.
There is, besides, a more serious objection.
If words be necessary for the manifestation of
the idea, and that speech enters by the senses,
the soul in another life, despoiled of the bodily
organs, cannot have the consciousness of its
thoughts. There will in that case be but one re-
M. DE DONALD.
83
source remaining, which is, to say that God then
enlightens with his own words, and that the soul
sees its ideas in the divinity. This is to return
to the system of Mallebranche.
Minds of deep reflection will like to see
how M. de Bonald unrolls the vast picture of
social order, how he follows and defines the
civil, political, and religious administration.
He proves, convincingly, that the Christian
religion has completed man, as the supreme
legislator said in yielding up the ghost : all is
FINISHED.
M. de Bonald gives a singular elevation,
and an immense depth to Christianity ; he
follows. the mystical relations of the Word and
the Son, and shews that the true God could not
be known but by the revelation, or incarnation
of his Word , as the faculty of thought in inan
is only manifested by speech or the incarnation
of the thought. Hobbes, in his Christian City,
explained the Word as the author of the legisla-
tion. Intestamento novo groece scripto verbum
dei c cepe ponitur ( non pro eo, quod ioquuntus est
g 2
84
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
Deas) sed pro eo quod de Deo et de regno ejus . , , ,
In hoc autem sensa ide?n significant Xoyos 0w.
Our author makes an essential difference
between the constitution of domestic society, or
the order of a family, and the political consti-
tution ; relations which, in onr times, have been
too much confounded together. In the exami-
nation of the ancient ecclesiastical ministry in
France, he shews a profound knowledge of our
history. He examines the principle of the
sovereignty of the people, which Bossuet had
attacked in his fifth notice, in answer to M.
Jurieu. “ Where every thing is independent,
says the Bishop of Meaux, there is nothing
sovereign.” A thundering axiom, a manner of
arguing precisely, such as the protestant mini-
sters required, who prided themselves, above all
things, on their reasoning and their logic.
They complained of being crushed by the
eloquence of Bossuet, and the orator immediately
put aside eloquence ; like those Christian
warriors who, in the midst of a battle, seeing
their adversaries without arms, threw their arras
aside, that they might not obtain too easy *
M. DE BONALD.
85
victory. Bossuet passing afterwards to the
historical proofs, and shewing that the pretended
social pact has never existed, makes it clear, as
he says himself, that there is in the idea as much
ignorance as words ; that if the people are the
sovereign, they have an incontestable right to
change their constitution every day, &c. This
great man whom M. de Bonald, worthy to be
his admirer, cites with so much complacency ;
this great man establishes also the excellence of
hereditary succession. “ It is for the benefit
of the people,” says he, “ that the government
should feel perfectly at its ease, that it should be
perpetuated by the same laws that perpetuate
the human race, and should follow as it were, the
march of nature.”
M. de Bonald reproduces to us this fund
of good sense, and sometimes this simple gran-
deur of style. The ignorance and the bad faith
into which our age has fallen, with respect to
that of Louis XIV., is a subject of astonishment
from which one recovers with difficulty. The
writers of this age are thought to have wholly
overlooked the principles of social order, and
86 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
yet there is not a single question of importance,
in political science, which Bossaet has not
treated, whether in his Universal History , in his
Politics , taken from the Scriptures, or in his con-
troversies with the protestants. . 3
For the rest, if the first and second volumes
of M. de Bonald’s work be liable to some ob-
jections, the same cannot be said of the third.
The author there treats the subject of education
with a superiority of intellect, a force of reason-
ing, and a clearsightedness that entitles him to
the wannest enlogium. It is, indeed, in treating
particular questions of morals or politics that
he excels. He spreads over them & fertilizing
moderation , to use the fine expression of M.
Daguesseau. I do not doubt that his Treatise
on Education will attract the eyes of the great
men in the state, as his Question of Divorce has
fixed the attention of all men of the soundest
minds in France.
M. de Bonald’s style might sometimes be
more harmonious and less neglected. His
thoughts are always brilliant and happily
chosen ; but, I know not whether his mode of
M. DE BONALD.
87
expressing them may not occasionally be
i somewhat too terse and familiar. These are,
however, slight defects which will disappear
it: with a little labour. Perhaps some better ar-
rangement of his matter might also be desirable,
i\ and more clearness of his ideas ; great and
li elevated geniuses are apt not to have sufficient
jj compassion for the weakness of their readers ;
> ’tis a natural abuse of power. Farther, the dis-
tinctions he makes, appear sometimes too
ingenious, too subtile. Like Montesquieu, lie
is fond of supporting an important truth upon a
slight reason. The definition of the word, the
explanation of an etymology, are things too
curious and too arbitrary to be advanced in sup-
port of an important principle.
These criticisms are, however, rather offered
in compliance with the miserable custom which
requires, that criticism should always follow in
the train of eulogium. Heaven forbid that we
should scrutinize with too nice an eye, some
tiifling defects in the writings of so very superior
a man as M. de Bonald. As we do not set
ourselves up for authority, we may have per-
88
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
mission to admire with the vulgar, and we will
avail ourselves amply of this privilege in favour
of the author of Primitive Legislation . Happy
the state that possesses such citizens ; men
whom the injustice of fortune cannot discourage,
who will fight for the sake of doing good alone,
though without any hope of conquering.
At the very moment when I write these
words, I descend one of the greatest rivers in
France ; on two opposite mountains rise two
towers in ruins ; on the tops of these towers
little bells are suspended which are sounded by
the mountaineers as we pass. This river, these
mountains, these sounds, these gothic raonu*
merits, amuse for a moment the eyes and ears of
the spectators and auditors, but no one thinks of
stopping to go where the bells invite them.
Thus, the men who at this day preach morals
and religion, in vain, from the tops of their tur*
rets give the signal to those who are led away by
the torrent of the world. The traveller is
astonished at the magnificence of the ruins, at the
sweetness of the sounds that issue from them, at
the sublimity of the recollections associated with
M. DE BONALD.
89
them, but he does not suffer these emotions to
arrest his course ; at the first bend of the river
he loses sight of the objects, and all is forgotten.
We may remark in history, that the greater
part of the revolutions which have taken place
among civilized nations, have been preceded by
the same opinions and announced by the same
writings : Quid est quod Jalturum P Ipsum quod
Jalturum est. Quintilian and Elian speak of
that Archilochus who first ventured to publish
the shameful history of his conscience in the
face of the universe ; he flourished in Greece
before the reform of Solon. According to the
report of Eschines, Draco had completed a
Treatise on Education , where taking man from
his cradle, he conducted him step by step to the
tomb. This recals to the mind the eloquent
Jean Jaques Rousseau.
The Cyropedia of Xenophon , a part of the
Republic of Plato , and the first book of his
Laws , may also be regarded as fine treatises,
more or less proper to form the hearts of the
youth. Seneca, and above all the judicious
Quintilian, placed on another theatre, in times
90 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
more resembling our own, have left excellent
lessons both to the masters and the scholars.
Unhappily, from so many good writings on
education, we have only borrowed the systematic
part, precisely that which, being adapted to the
manners of the ancients, cannot apply to onr
own. That fatal imitation which we have
carried to excess iii every thing, has been the
canse of many misfortunes, in naturalizing
O
among us the murders and devastations of
Sparta and of Athens. Without attaining the
greatness of those celebrated cities, we have
imitated the tyrants who, to embellish their
country, transported thither the tombs and the
luins of Greece. If the fury for destroying
every thing had not been the predominant
character of this age, why should we have had
occasion to seek systems of education amid ihe
spoils of antiquity. Have we not the institu.
lions of Christianity? J hat religion so calum-
niated, to which we nevertheless owe the very
arts by which we arc fed, rescued our fathers
from barbarian darkness. With one hand the
Benedictines guided the plough in Gaul, with
M. DE BONALD.
91
the other they transcribed the poems of Homer ;
and while the clerks of the community were
occupied with the collection of ancient manu-
scripts, the poorer brethren of these schools of
piety instructed the children of the people*
gratis, in the first rudiments of learning. They
obeyed this command of the book where we find
— Aon deo illi potestatem in juventute , et ne
despicias cogiatus illius.
Soon after appeared that celebrated society
which gave Tasso to Italy, and Voltaire to
Frauce, and of which it might be truly said, that
every member was a distinguished man of letters.
The Jesuit, a mathematician in China, the legis-
lator in Paraguay, the antiquary in Egypt,
the martyr in Canada, was in Europe the man
of letters and polished manners, whose urbanity
took from science that pedantry which never
fails to disgust youth. Voltaire consulted the
Fathers Por6e and Brumoy upon his tragedies :
“ Julius Caesar has been,” said he, writing to M.
de Cideville, ci read before ten Jesuits ; they
think of it as you do.” The rivalship which
was established for a moment between Port
3
9 2
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
Royal , and the Society , forced this latter to watch
more scrupulously over the morals established
there, and the Provincial Letters completed the
correction of the evil. The Jesuits were mild
and tolerant, seeking only to render religion
amiable through indulgence to our weaknesses,
and were first led astray by this charitable de-
sign. Port Royal was inflexible and severe, like
the prophet king who seemed emulous to equal
the -rigour of his penitence by the elevation of
his genius. If the most tender of all the poets
was educated in the school of the solitaries, the
most austere of all preachers sprung up in the
bosom of society. Bossuet and Boileau inclined
towards the first ; Fendlon and La Fontaine to-
wards the second ; Anacreon was silent before
the Jansenists.
Port Royal, sublime at its birth, changed
and altered on a sudden like those antique
emblems which have only the head of an eagle :
the Jesuits, on the contrary, maintained their
ground and improved to the last moment of
their existence. The destruction of this order
has been an irreparable injury to education and
M. BE BONALD.
9S
to literature ; this is now allowed on all hands.
But according to the affecting reflexion of an
historian : Quis beneficorum sei'vat memoriam ?
Aut quis ullam calamitosis deberi partam gra-
tiam ? aut qaando fortuna non mutam fidem ?
It was then under the age of Louis XIV,
an age which gave birth to all the greatness of
France, that the system of education for the
two sexes arrived at its highest point of per-
fection. One cannot recal without admiration
those times when we saw come forth from the
Christian schools, Racine, Montfaucon, Sevign6,
La Fayette, Dacier; the times when he who
sung Antiope gave lessons to the wives, in which
Fathers Hardouin and Jouvanay explained sub-
lime antiquity; — while the geniuses of Port
Royal wrote for the higher classes of pupils, the
great Bossuet charged himself with the cate-
chisms of little children.
Rollin' soon appeared at the head of the
university. This learned man whom, in modern
times, some have been pleased to qualify as a
college pedant, full of absurdities and preju-
94
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
dices, is, nevertheless, one of the first French
writers who spoke with encomium of an English
philosopher: “ I shall make great use of two
modern authors,” says he, in his Treatise on
Study; “ these are M. de Fendlon, Archbishop
of Cambray, and the English Mr. Locke, whose
writings on Education are highly esteemed, and
with good reason ; the latter has, however, some
particular sentiments which I would not be
thought to adopt. I kuow not, besides, whether
he was well versed in the Greek tongue, and in
the study of the Belles-Lettres ; at least he does
not appear to value them sufficiently.” It is,
in fact, to Mr. Locke’s work that we must recur
for the date of those systematic opinions which
tend to make all children the heroes of romance,
or of philosophy.
The Emilius, in which these opinions are
unfortunately consecrated by great talents and
sometimes by an all-commanding eloquence, is
now considered as a practical work. Under this
point of view, there i« scarcely an elementary
book for infancy which is not to be preferred to
M. DE BONALD.
95
it ; of this we seem at length to be sensible,
and a celebrated woman* has, in these later days,
published precepts of education much more
salutary and useful. A man, whose genius was
ripened by the storms of the revolution, has now
put the finishing stroke to the overthrow of
such principles of a false philosophy, and has
completely re-established education upon a moral
and religious basis.
The third volume of the Primitive Legis-
lation is consecrated to this very important
subject. M. de Bonald begins by laying down
as a principle that man is born weak and igno-
rant, but capable of learning. — “ Very different,’,
he says, “ from the brute, man is born perfec-
tible, the brute perfect.”
What then should man be taught ? — Every
thing that is good ; that is to say, every thing
necessary for the preservation of his being.
And what are the general means to be employed
tor this preservation ? — society. How is this
term, society, to be explained when thus ap-
* Madame de Geulis.
96 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS 3UBJECT3.
plied ? — It is to be explained by those express
sions of the general will, called laws. Laws
are then the will whence result certain actions
which are called our duties a9 members of so-
ciety. Education, therefore, properly speaking,
is instruction in the laws and duties of society.
Man under religious and political relations
belongs to a domestic society , and a public society.
There are, consequently, two systems to be fol-
lowed in education. First, as domestic society
is concerned, which follows the child into its
paternal roof ; this has for its end to form the
man as a member of a family, and to instruct
him in the elements of religion. Secondly, as
it concerns public society which includes those
branches of education received by the child in
public establishments, the end of which is to
form the man as a member of a community by
instructing him in the relative political and re-
ligious duties which that station demands.
Education in its principle ought to be es-
sentially religious. Here M. de Bonald com-
bats with great strength the author of Emilios-
To say that we ought not to instil any religious
M. DE BONALD. 97
principles in infancy is one of the most fatal
errors that philosophy ever advanced. The
author of Primitive Legislation cites the dread
ful example of seventy-five children, below
fifteen years of age, brought before the police
in the space of five months, for robberies and
offences against good morals ! The citizen
Scipio Bexon, president of the tribunal of the
first instance for the department of the Seine,
to whom we are indebted for the knowledge of
this fact, says, in his report, that more than half
the pilfer ings which take place at Paris are
committed by children.
Public establishments, says M. Necker in
his Course of Religious Morals , ought always
to secure to children elementary instruction in
morals and religion. Indifference to this object
will rentier those by whom such establishments
are regulated one day fearfully responsible for
the wanderings that it may be necessary to
punish. Will not their consciences be terrified
at the reproach which may be made them by a
young man brought before the criminal tribu-
nal, and on the verge of receiving a rigorous
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98 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
sentence ? What, in effect, could be answered, if
he were to say : “ I have never been formed to
virtue by any instruction ; I was devoted to mer-
cenary occupations, 1 was launched into the
world before any one principle was inscribed in
my heart, or engraved on my memory. They
talked to me of liberty, of equality, never of
my duties towards others, never of the religions
authority which would have subjected me to
these duties. I was left the child of nature,
and you would judge me after laws composed
for society. It was not by a sentence of death
that 1 ought to have been instructed in the
duties of life.*’ Such is the terrible language
which a young man might eventually hold in
hearing his condemnation.
In speaking of domestic education, M. de
Bonald, first of all, would have us reject those
English, American, philosophic practices, in
vented by the spirit of system, and supported
by fashion. “ Light cloathing,” says be, “*
bare head, a hard bed, sobriety, exercise, and
privations, rather than enjoyments ; in a word,
almost always what costs the least, is what suits
M. BE BONALD.
99
the best : nature does not employ so much ex-
pense, so many cares to raise up a frail edifice
which is only to last an instant, which a breath
may overthrow.”
He next recommends the re-establishment
of corporations : “ Which,” says he, “ the go-
vernment ought to consider as the domestic edu-
cation of the lower class of people. These cor-
porations, in which religion was fortified by the
practices and regulations of the civil authority,
had, among other advantages, that of restraining
by the somewhat severe duties of the masters,
a rugged youth, whom necessity removed early
from the paternal roof, and whose obscurity
placed them out ot the reach of the political
power.” This is to see a great way into things,
and to consider, as a legislator, what so many
writers have only viewed as economists.
Passing on to public education, the .author
proves first, like Quintilian, the insufficiency
of a private education, and the necessity of a
general one. After speaking of the places where
colleges ought to be established, and fixing the
number of pupils that each college ought to
100 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
contain, he examines the great question of the
masters. Let him speak for himself. “ Ed a-
cation must he perpetual , universal, uniform.
It must then be carried on by a body, for in
nothing but a body can we find perpetuity, ge-
nerality, or uniformity. This body, for it must
be only one, charged with the public education,
cannot be an entirely secular body, for where
would be the tie that would assure the perpetuity,
and consequently the uniformity. Would per-
sonal interest be this tier but seculars would
have, or might have, families. They would
then belong more to their families than to the
state, more to their own children than to the
children of others, would be more attached to
their own personal interest than to the public
interest; the love of self, which some consider
as the universal tie, is, and always will be the
mortal enemy of the love ol others.
“ If the public instructors be bachelors,
although seculars, they can never form a body
of themselves. Their fortuitous aggregation
will only be a continued succession of indivi-
duals, entering there to earn a livelihood, and
101
M. D£ liONALD,
quitting it for an .establishment. And what
father of a family would like to consign his
children to the care of unmarried persons whose
morals are not guaranteed by religious discipline.
If they are married, how can the state assure to
men charged with families, animated with just
ambition to acquire a fortune, and more capable
than any others of resigning themselves suc-
cessfully to the acquisition of it,— how can the
state, I say, assure to such men an establishment
which shall restrain them effectually from ever
looking to one more lucrative. If, from views
of (Economy, their wives and children are to
live under the same roof with them, concord is
impossible; if they are permitted to live sepa-
rately, the expenses must be incalculable. Well
instructed men would not submit their minds to
regulations which must follow an uniform rou-
tine, to methods of instruction which would
seem to them defective. Men, desirous of ac-
quiring wealth, or men overwhelmed with wants,
would think only of enriching themselves.
Fathers of families would forget their public
cares in their domestic affections. The state
102 ESSAYS OJf VAKIOUS SUBJECTS.
can only be certain of retaining, in their es-
tablishments for education, men, supposing
them seculars, who are not fit for any other pro-
fession, persons of no character or respectability.
Of this we may be easily convinced in calling
to mind that some of the most active instru-
ments in our disorders at Paris, were that class of
laic instructors attached to the colleges, who, in
their classical ideas saw th e forum of Rome in
the assemblies of the sections, and conceived
themselves orators, charged with the destinies of
the republic, when they were only brawlers swoln
with pride and vanity, and impatient to rise
above their situations. It is essential then to
have a body which cannot be dissolved ; a body,
the members of which, shall by one common
regulation make a sacrifice of their personal
families. But what other power, except that of
religion, what other engagements but those
which she consecrates, can bind men to duties so
austere, and induce them to make sacrifices so
painful.”
The vigorous dialectic of this passage will
be remembered by every reader. M. de Bonald
M. DE JBONALD.
103
urges his argument in a manner which leaves no
place of refuge to his adversaries. The only
thing that can be urged against his reasoning is,
the example of the protestant universities ; but
he may answer that the professors in these uni-
versities, although they are married, are priests,
or ministers of religion ; that the universities are
Christian foundations, the funds and revenues of
which are independent of the government ;
that after all, such are the disorders in these
institutions, that discreet parents are often
afraid of sending their children to them. All
this changes the state of the question entirely,
and even serves, in the last analysis, to confirm
the reasoning of our author.
M. de Bonald, occupying himself only with
laying down principles,neglectstogive particular
advice to the masters. This advice is to be found,
however, in the writings of the good Rollin. The
titles alone of his chapters suffice to make this ex-
cellent man beloved. On the manner of exercis-
ing authority over children — on making ourselves
loved and feared — inconveniences and dangers of
punishments — on talking reason to children — on
104
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS#
piquing their honour — on making use of praises ,
rewards , and caresses — on rendering study pleas -
ing — on allowing children rest and recreation-
on piety , religion . zeal for the safety of children .
Under this last title is a passage which cannot
fail of affecting the readers almost to tears.
u What is a Christian master charged with
the education of young people ? He is a man
to whose [hands Jesus Christ has consigned a
certain number of children, whom he has pur-
chased with his blood, for whom he has given
his life, whom he inhabits as in his house, and
in his temple, whom he regards as his members,
as his brethren, as his co-heirs, of whom he
would make so many kings and priests, who shall
reign and serve God with him and by him to
all eternity ; and he has confided to them this
precious trust that they may preserve the inesti-
mable treasure of innocence to them. What
grandeur, what dignity does not so honourable
a commission add to the functions of these
masters.” A good master ought to apply to
himsell these words which God made continually
to lesouud in the ears of Moses, the conductor
2
M. DE BONALD.
105
of his people. “ Bear them in your bosom as a
nurse is accustomed to bear her young child.'"
From the masters, M. de Bonald passes on
to the pupils. He would have them occupied
principally in the study of ancient languages,
which open to children the treasures of the past,
and lead their minds and hearts to great recollec-
tions to the contemplation of great examples.
He raises his voice against that philosophical
education which says he, “ in encumbering the
memories of children with idle nomenclatures
of minerals and plants, narrows the intellect.”
Well may any one be pleased at finding
himself entertaining like sentiments and opini-
ons with such a man as M. de Bonald. We
have ourselves had the happiness of being one
of the first to attack this dangerous mania of the
present times.* ]\o body can be more sensible
than myself to the charms of Natural History ,
but what an abuse of the study do vve not see at
the present moment, both in the manner in
* In my Recollections in England, and in my Spirit of
Christianity.
106 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
which it is carried on, and in the consequences
which some have drawn from it. Natural
History, properly so called, cannot be, ought
not to be, any thing but a series of pictures as
in nature. M. de Buffon had a sovereign con-
tempt for classification, which he called the scaf-
folding to arrive at science, not science itself.
Independently of the other dangers to which the
study of the science exclusively leads, inasmuch
as they have an immediate relation with the
original vice of man; they cherish pride much
more than letters do. Descartes believed, as we
are informed by the learned author of his life,
that it is dangerous to apply too earnestly to
those superficial demonstrations which are much
more frequently produced hy chance than by in-
dustry and experience. His maxim was, that
such application accustoms us insensibly not to
make use of our reason, and exposes us to
losing the -road traced to us by its light.
If you would teach Natural History to
children, without narrowing their hearts and
blighting their innocence, put into their hands
M. de Luc’s Commentary upon Genesis, or the
M. DE BONA ED.
10 /
work cited by M. Rollin in the book of Studies,
entitled, Of Philosophy. Ah ! what sublime
philosophy, how little resembling that of our
days ; let us cite a passage by chance.
“ What architect has taught the birds to
choose a firm place for their nests, and to build
them upon a solid foundation r What tender
mother has counselled them to cover the bottom
with soft and delicate materials, such as down or
cotton, or if these materials fail, who suggested
to them that ingenious charity which leads them
to pluck with their beaks sufficient feathers
from their own breasts to prepare a commodious
cradle for their young?— Is it for the birds, Oh
Lord ! that you have united together so many
miracles which they cannot know ? — Is it for
men who do not think of them ? — Is it for the
curious who content themselves with admiring
without remounting to you r— Is it not visible
that your design was to recal us to you ; by
such a spectacle to render your providence and
your infinite wisdom sensible to us : to fill us
with confidence in your goodness, extended so
3
108 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
tenderly, even to the birds, two ot which are
not of more value than a farthing.’
There is perhaps but another book in the
world, the Studies of Nature, by M. Ber-
nardin de St. Pierre, which offers pictures
equally affecting, equally religious. The finest
page of Ms de Bufi’on does not equal the tender
eloquence of this Christian emotion : Is it for
the birds Oh Lord ! &c.
A stranger was a short time since in a com-
pany where the son of the house, a boy of seven
or eight years old, was the theme of conversation,
he was represented as a prodigy. A great noise
was soon after heard, the doors were opened and
the little doctor appeared, with his arms naked,
his breast uncovered, and dressed like a monkey
that was to be shewn at a fair. He entered
with a bold and confident air, looking about him
for admiration, and importuning every body
present with his questions. He was placed upon
a table in the midst of the company and interro-
gated : What is man ? “ He is a mammiferous
animal who has four extremities, two of which
terminate in hands.” Are there any other
M. D£ BONALD.
loy
animals of his class ? “ Yes, the bat and the
ape.” The assembly uttered shouts of admira-
tion, hut the stranger turning towards us, said
somewhat impatiently; “ If I had a child who
said such things, in spite of his mother’s tears,
1 should whip him till he had forgotten them.”
I cannot help recalling upon this occasion the
words of Henry IV. “ My love,” said he one
day to his wife, “ von weep when I flog your
son, but it is for his good, and the pain I give
you at present will spare you one day much
greater pain.”
These little naturalists who do not know a
single word of their religion, or of their duties,
are at the age of fifteen wholly insupportable.
Already men, without being men, you see them
drag about their pale faces and enervated bodies,
among the circles at Paris, pronouncing their
ipse dixit upon every thing with the most decided
tone, giving their opinions upon morals and
upon politics, pronouncing on what is good and
what is bad, judging the beauty of women, the
goodness of books, the performance of actors
and of dancers ; dancing with the most perfect
110 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
admiration of themselves, piquing themselves
upon being already renowned for their success with
the ladies, and for the completion of this scene
of mingled absurdity and horror, having some-
times recourse to suicide.
Ah l these are not the children of former
times, whom their parents sent for home every
Thursday from the college. They were dressed
simply and modestly, with their cloathes fas-
tened decently. They advanced with timidity
into the midst of the family circle, blushing
when they were spoken to, casting down their
eyes, saluting with an awkward and embarassed
air, but borrowing grace from their very sim-
plicity and innocence. Yet the hearts of these
poor children bounded with delight. What joy
to them was a day thus passed under the pater-
nal roof, in the midst of complaisance from the
servants, of the embraces of their friends, and
the secret gifts of their mothers. If they were
questioned with regard to their studies, they did
not answer that man was a mammiferous animal
placed between the bat and the ape, for they
were ignorant of these important truths, but they
J
M. DE BONALD. Ill
repeated what they had learnt from Bossuet or
F^nelon, that God created man to love and serve
him ; that man has an immortal soul, that he
will be rewarded or punished in another life ac-
cording to his good or bad actions here; that
children ought to respect their father and
mother ; all those truths in short, taught by the
catechism, and which put philosophy to the
blush* This natural history of man was sup-
ported by some celebrated passages of Greek or
Latin verses taken from Homer or Virgil, and
these fine quotations from the great geniuses of
antiquity were in perfect unison with the
geniuses, not less ancient, of the authors of
Telemachus , and the Universal History.
But it is time tp pass on to the general
view of Primitive Legislation. The principles
M. de Bonald lays down are : “ That there is a
supreme or general cause. This Supreme Being
is God. His existence is more especially proved
by the gift of Speech which man could not have
discovered of himself, which must have been
taught him. The general cause, or God, has
produced an effect equally general in the world ;
112 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
which is man. These two terms, cause and
effect , God and man, have a necessary inter-
mediate term, without which there could be no
relations between them. This necessary medium
term ought to be proportioned to the perfection
of the cause, and the imperfection of the effect.
What is the medium then ? Where is it ? This,
says the author, is the great enigma of the uni-
verse. It was announced to one people, it was
intended to be made known to others. At the
destined period it was made known ; therefore,
till that time the true relations of man with (*od
wetre not known, because all beings are only
known by their relations, and no medium terms
or relations existed between God and man.
Thus a true knowledge of God and man, and
their natural relations to each other must arrive;
there must necessarily be good laws, because
laws are the expression of natural relations;
civilization, therefore, must necessarily follow
the notion of a mediator, and barbarism the
ignorance of a mediator ; civilization, conse-
quently began among the Jews, and was com-
M. DE BONALD.
113
pleted among the Christians ; the Pagans were
all barbarians'*
The sense in which the author intends the
word barbarians to be understood, must here
be clearly defined. The arts, according to his
ideas, do not constitute a civilized , but a polished
people $ he attaches the word civilization only to
moral and political laws. We must feel, how-
ever, that this definition although admirably con-
ceived, is liable to many objections; nor can it
readily be admitted that a Turk of this day is
more civilized than an Athenian of old, because
he has a confused knowledge of a mediator •
Exclusive systems, which lead to great disco-
veries, must inevitably have some weak parts,
and be liable to some dangers.
The three primitive terms being established, '
M. de Bonald applies them to the social or
moral world, because these three terms include,
in effect, the order of the universe. The cause ,
the meanSy and the effect become then, for
society, the governing power , the ecclesiastical
ministry , and the subject . “ Society / * he says,
u * s religious or political, domestic or public.
RECOLLECTIONS, &C. VOL. II. I
114 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
The purely domestic state of religious society
is called Natural Religion , — the purely domestic
state of political society is called a family. The
completion of religious society was the leading
mankind first to the theism or national religion
of the Jews, and from thence to the general
religion of the Christians. Political society
was carried to perfection in Europe, when men
were led from the domestic state to the public
state, and when those civilized communities
were established which arose out of Christianity.
The reader must perceive that be has here
quitted the systematic part of M. de Bonald’s
work, and that he enters upon a series of prin-
ciples perfectly new, and most fertile in matter.
In all particular modifications of society, the
governing power wills its existence, consequently
watches over its preservation ; the ministers of
religion act in execution of the will of this go-
verning power ; the subject is the object of this
will, and the end at which the action of the
ministers aims. The power wills, it must there-
fore be one ; the ministers act, they must there-
fore be many.
M. BE BONALD.
115
M. de Bonald thus arrives at the funda-
mental basis of his political system; a basis
whfich he has sought, as we see plainly, in the
bosom of God himself. Monarchy, according
to', him, or unity of power, is the only govern-
ment derived from the essence of thitigs, and the
sovereignty of the Omnipotent over natlit^.
Evety political form which deviates from this,
carries us more or less back to the infancy of
nations, or the barbarism of society.
In the second book of his work, he shews
the application of this principle to the particular
stages of society. In family or domestic society,
he considers the different relations between
masters and servants, between parents and
children. In public society he contends that the
public power ought to be like domestic power,
committed to God alone, independent of men ;
that is to say, that it should be a power of unity,
masculine, perpetual ; for without unity, without
perpetuity, without being masculine, there can be
no true independence. The attributes of power,
the state of peace and war, the cbde of laws are
examined by the author. Tn utlison with his
I 2
116 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
title, he refers in all these things to the Ele*
merits of Legislation ; he feels the necessity
of recurring to the most simple notions, when
all principles have been overthrown in society.
In treating i f the ecclesiastical ministry,
which follows the two books of principles, the
author seeks to prove, by the history of modern
times, particularly by that of France, the truth
of the principles which he has advanced. “ The
Christian religion,” he says, “ in appearing to
to the world, called to its cradle shepherds and
kings, and their homage, the first it received,
announced to the universe, that it came to regu-
late families and states, the private and the
public man.
“ The combat began between idolatry and
Christianity ; it was bloody; religion lost its
most generous athletce, but it finally triumphed.
Till then, confined to family or domestic society,
it was now mingled with state concerns, it became
a proprietor. To the little churches of Ephesus
and Thessalonica succeeded the great churches of
Gaul and Germany. The political state was com-
bined with the religious state, or rather it was con-
M. DE BONALD.
117
stituted naturally by it. The great monarchies
of Europe were formed conjointly with the great
churches; the church had its chief, its ministers,
its subjects or faithful ; the state had its chief,
its ministers, its subjects. Division of jurisdic-
tions, hierarchy in the functions, the nature of
property, even to its very denominations became,
by degrees alike, in the religious ministry, and
in the political ministry. The church was
divided into metropolitans, diocesans, &c. ; the
state was divided into governments or duchies,
districts or counties, &c. The church had
its religious orders, charged with the education
of the people, and made the depositaries of
science, the state had its military orders devoted
to the defence of religion; every where the state
rose with the church, the dungeon by thp side of
the bell, the lord or the magistrate by the side
of the priest ; the noble, or the defender of the
state lived in the country, the votary of religion
in the desert. But the first order of things soon
changed, and the political and religious state of
the country altered together. The towns in-
creased in number and magnitude, and the nobles
118
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
came to inhabit them, while at the same time
the priests quitted their solitudes. Property
was denaturalised, the invasions of the Nor-
mans commenced, changes were made in the
reigning powers, the wars of the kings against
their vassals occasioned a vast number of fiefs,
the natural and exclusive property of the political
orders, to pass into the hands of the clergy,
while the nobles became possessed of the ec-
clesiastical tenths, the natural and exclusive
property of the clerical order. The duties for
which they called, naturally followed the pro-
perty to which they were attached ; nobles
appointed to ecclesiastical benefices, which were
often rendered hereditary in the family; the
priest instituted judges and raised soldiers, or
even judged and fought himself ; the spirit of
each body was changed at the same time that
the property was confounded.
At length the epoch of the great religious
revolution arrived. 1 1 was first prepared in the
church by the injudicious institution of the men-
dicant orders which the court of Rome thought
it prudent to establish in opposition to a rich
#
M. DE BONALI). 119
and corrupt clergy. But these bodies soon be-
came in a relined and witty nation like France,
objects of sarcasm to the literati.* At the same
time that Koine established its militia, the state
founded its bodies of the like description. The
crusades and the usurpations of the crown having
impoverished the order of the nobles, it was ne-
cessary to have recourse to hired troops for the
defence of the state. The military force, under
Charles VII, passed over to the body of the
people, or to soldiers who served for pay ; the
judiciary force, under Francis I, passed over to
the men of letters through the venality of the
judiciary officers. The reformation of the church,
at '
* When the mendicant orders were ’first established in
the church, could it be said that the French were then an
elegant nation ? Does not the author, besides, forget the
innumerable services these orders have rendered mankind ?
The first literati who appeared at the revival of letters were
far from turning the mendicant orders into ridicule, for a
great number of them were themselves of some religious
order. 1 he author seems here to confound the epochs ;
but we allow it would have been good to diminish insens ibl
the mendicant orders in proportion as the manners in France
became more elegant and refined.
2
120
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
proceeded in the same course with the innova*
tions in the state. Simple citizens took the
place of magistrates constituted for exercising the
political functions ; simple religionists usurped
the religious functions from the priests. Luther
attacked the sacerdotal order, Calvin replaced it
in his own family. Popularism crept into the
state, presbyterianism into the church. The
public ministry of the church passed over to the
people, till they at length arrogated to them-
selves the sovereign power, when the two paral-
lel and corresponding dogmas of the political
democracy, the one that the religious authority
resides in the body of the faithful, the other that
the political sovereignty is in the assembly of
the citizens, were triumphantly proclaimed.
From this change of principles arose a
change of manners. The nobles abandoned
the more sublime functions of judges to Embrace
the profession of arms alone. Military licen-
tiousness soon began to relax the moral ties,
women began to influence the appointments to
the public ministry of the church, luxury was
introduced into the court and the towns, a nation
M. DE BONALD.
121
of citizens supplanted a nation of husbandmen ;
wanting consequence they were ambitious of
obtaining titles ; the nobles sold themselves, at
the same time that the property of the church
was put up to auction ; great names became ex-
tinct, the first families of the state sunk into
poverty, the clergy lost their authority and their
consideration ; philosophy, finally, springing up
from this religious and political chaos, completed
the overthrow of the shaken monarchy.
This very remarkable passage is taken front
M. de Bonalds Theory of political and religious
power , which was suppressed by the Directory,
a very few copies only escaping into the world.
Possibly some time or other the author may give
a republication of this most important work, one
very superior to the Primitive Legislation ; this
latter may indeed be called in some sort only an
abstract of it. Then will it be known whence
are derived many ideas in political science which
have been brought forwards by the writers of
the present day, and which, since they have not
thought proper to acknowledge the source
122 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
whence they are derived, have been supposed
wholly new.
For the rest we have found every where,
and we glory in it, in the work of M. de Bonald,
a confirmation of the literary and religious prin-
ciples which we announced in the Genius of
Christianity. He even goes farther in some re-
spects than we had done, for we did not find
ourselves sufficiently authorized to say with him
that we must at this day use the utmost circum-
spection not to be ridiculous in speaking of my-
thology. We believe that a genius, well-directed,
may yet draw many treasures from this fruitful
vine ; but we also think, and we were perhaps
the first to advance it, that there are more
sources for dramatic poetry in the Christian
religion, than in the religion of the ancients;
that the numberless conflicts of the passions ne-
cessarily resulting from a chaste and inflexible
religion must compensate amply to the poet the
loss of the mythological beauties. Although we
should only have raised a doubt upon so impor-
tant a literary question, upon a question decided
M. DE BONALD.
123
in favour of fable by the highest authorities in
letters, would not this be to have obtained a
sort of victory.*
M. de Bonald also condemns those timid
minds who, from respect for religion, would
willingly abandon religion itself to destruction.
He expresses himself in nearly the same terms
that we have done : “ Even though these truths,
so necessary to the preservation of social order,
were disowned front one end of Enrope to the
* Madame de Stael herself, in the preface to her novel
of Delphine, makes some concession wihen she allows that re-
ligious ideas are favourable to the developement of genius ;
yet she seems to have written this work for the purpose of
combating these same ideas, and to prove that there is no-
thing more dry and harsh than Christianity, more tender
than philosophy. It is for the public to pronounce whether
she has attained her end. At least she has given new proofs
of those distinguished talents and that brilliant imagination
which we were happy to recognize. And although she en-
deavours to give currency to opinions which frteze and wither
the heart, we feel throughout her work effusions of that kind-
ness of soul which no systems of philosophy can extinguish,
and of that generosity to which the unfortunate have never
appealed in vain.
124
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
other; would it be necessary to justify ourselves to
weak and timid minds, to souls full of terrors, that
we dared to raise a corner of the veil which con-
ceals these truths from superfh ial observers ? —
and could there be Christians so weak in their
faith as to think that they would be the less
respected, in proportion as they were more
known.”
Amidst the violent criticisms which have
assailed us from the very first steps we ventured
to take in the paths of literature, we must con-
fess it is extremely flattering and consoling to us
te see at this day our humble efforts sanctioned
by an opinion so important as that of M de
Bonald. We must, however, take the liberty of
saying to him that in the ingenious comparison
which he draws between our work and his own,
he proves that he knows much better than our-
selves how to use the weapons of imagination, and
that if he does not employ them more frequently
it is because he despises them. He is, notwith-
standing any thing that may be urged to the con-
trary, the skilful architect of that temple of
which we are only the unskilful decorator.
M. DE BONALD.
1*25
It is much to he regretted, that M. de Bo-
^ahl had not the time and fortune necessary for
making one single work of those upon the Theory
of Power, upon Divorce, upon Primitive Legisla-
tion, and his seveial Treatises upon political sub-
jects. But i rovidence, who disposes of us, has
appointed M. de Bonald to other duties, and
has demanded of his heart the sacrifice of his
genius. .This man, endowed with talents so
superior, with a modesty so rare, consecrates
himself, at the present moment, to an unfortu-
nate family, and paternal cares make him forget
the path of glory. The eulogium pronounced
in the Scriptures, upon the patriarchs, may well
be applied to him : Homines divites in virtute,
pulchritudinis studium habentes ; pacificantes in
domibus suis.
Ihe genius of M. de Bonald appears to us
rather profound than elevated ; it delves more
than it aspires. His mind is at once solid and
acute; his imagination is not always, like ima-
ginations eminently poetic, led away by an ar-
dent sentiment or a grand image, but it is always
ingenious, and abounds with happy turns ; for
12 () ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
this reason, we find in his writings more of calm
than of motion, more of light than of heat. As
to his sentiments, they every where breathe that
true French honour, that probity, which formed
the predominant characteristic in the writers of
the age of Louis XIV. We feel that these
writers discovered truth less by the power of
their minds than by the integrity of their hearts.
It is so seldom we have works like this to
examine, that I trust I shall be pardoned the
length to which the present article has run.
When the luminaries which now shine around
our literary horizon are gradually hiding them-
selves, and about to be extinguished, we rest
with particular delight upon a new luminary
which rises. All these men have grown old
with glory in the republic of letters; these
writers, so long known, to whom we shall suc-
ceed, but whom we can never replace, have seen
happier days. They lived while a Buffon, a
Montesquieu, a Voltaire still existed: Voltaire
had known Boileau, Boileau had seen the great
Corneille expire, and Corneille, while a child,
might have heard the last accents of Malherbe.
M. BE B0NALD. 127
This fine chain of French genius is broken ; the
revolution has holloaed out an abyss, which has
for ever separated the future from the past. No
medium generation has been formed between the
writers who are no more and those who are to
come. One man alone holds to a link of each
chain, and stands in the midst of this barren
interval. He, whom friendship dares not name,
but whom a celebrated author, the oracle of
taste and of criticism, has designated for his
successor, will be easily recognized. In any
case, if the writers of the new age, dispersed by
fearful storms, have not been able to nourish
their genius at the sources of ancient authori-
ties, if they have been obliged to draw from
themselves; if this be the case, yet have not
solitude and adversity been great schools to
them? Companions alike in misfortunes, friends
before they were authors, may they never see
revived among them those shameful jealousies,
which have too often dishonoured an art so
noble and consolatory. They have still much
occasion for courage and union. The atmo-
sphere of letters will for a long time be stormy.
128 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
It was letters that nourished the revolution, and
they will be the last asylum of revolutionary
hatred. Half a century will scarcely suffice to
calm so much humbled vanity, so much wounded
self-love. Who then can hope to see more se-
rene days for the Muses ? Life is too short ; it
resembles those courses in which the funeral
games were celebrated among the ancients, at
the end of which appeared a tomb.
E<rtixe$vyov dvov eVoy, &c.
“ On this side,” said Nestor to An tilochus,
“ the trunk of an oak, despoiled of its branches,
rises from the earth, two stones support it in a
narrow way, it is an antique tomb, and the
marked boundary of your course.”
,,jt. :• „! ,. . • tuAi
129
UPON M. MICHAUDS POEM,
The Spring of a Proscript.
M. de Voltaire has said:
Or sing your joys, or lay aside your songs.
May we not say, with equal justice,
Or aing your woes, or lay aside your songs.
Condemned to death during the days of
terror, obliged to fly a second time, after the Ifith
of Fructidor, the author of this poem was re-
ceived by some hospitable spirits in the moun-
tains of Jura, and found, among the pictures
presented by nature, at once subjects to console
his mind and to cherish his regrets.
When the hand of Providence removes us
from intercourse with mankind, our eyes, less
distracted, fix themselves naturally upon the
sublime spectacles which the creation presents
to them, and we discover wonders, of which
RECOLLECTIONS; &C. VOL. II. K
130
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
before we had no idea. From the bosom of our
solitude we think upon the tempests of the
world, as a man cast upon a desert island, from
a feeling of secret melancholy, delights to con-
template the waves breaking upon the shore
where he was wrecked. After the loss of our
friends, if we do not sink under the weight of
our griefs, the heart reposes upon itself, it forms
the project of detaching itself from every other
sentiment, to live only upon its recollections.
We are then less fit to mingle with society, bnt
our sensibility is more alive. Let him who is
borne down by sorrow bury himself amid the
deepest recesses of the forest, let him wander
among their moving arches, let him climb moun-
tains, whence he may behold immense tracts of
country, whence the sun may be seen rising from
the bosom of the ocean, his grief never can stand
against spectacles so sublime. Not that he will
forget those he loved, for then would he fear to
be consoled ; but the remembrance of his friends
would mingle itself with the calm of the woods
and of the heavens, he would still retain his
grief, it would only be deprived of its bitterness.
POEM OF M. MICHAUD.
131
Happy they who love Nature, they will find her,
and Iter alone, a friend in the day of adversity.
These reflections were suggested by the
work which we are about to examine. It is not
the production of a poet who seeks the pomp
and the perfection of the art, it is the effusion of
a child of misfortune, who communes with him-
self, and who touches the lyre only to render the
expression of his sorrows more harmonious ; it
is a proscribed sufferer, who addresses his book
like Ovid: “ My book, thou wilt go to Rome,
and go without me ! Alas ! why is not thy
master permitted to go thither himself? Go,
but go without pomp or display, as suits the
production of a banished poet.”
The work, divided into three cantos, opens
with a description of the early fine days in the
year. The author compares the tranquillity of
the country with the terror which then prevailed
in the towns, and paints the labourer’s reception
of a proscript.
Ah ! in those days of woe, if some lorn wretch
A refuge sought beneath his lonely roof,
K 2
132
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
His cottage door, his kind and simple heart
Flew open to receive him, while the woods
His guileless hands had plauted, their discreet
And sheltering boughs spread circling, to conceal
From wicked eyes the joyous heart he’d made.
Religion, persecuted iu towns, finds also, in
her turn, an asylum in the forests, although she
has lost her altars and her temples. ifil
Sometimes the faithful, warm’d by holy zeal,
Assemble in the hamlet, *mid the gloom
Of night, to pay their homage to that Power
By whom they live, who with paternal care
Protects them thus; instead of sacred incense
Offering the flow’rs of spring, the ardent vows
Of upright souls, while echo to the woods
Repeats their humble prayers. Ah 1 where, alas !
Are now their antique presbyt’ry, that cross.
Those bells that tower’d to heaven ? — monuments
By our forefathers so rever’d, so cherish’d.
These verses are easy and natural, the sen-
timents are mild and pious, according with the
objects to which they form, as it were, the back-
ground of the picture. Our churches give to
our hamlets and towns a character singularly
POEM OF M. MICHAUD.
133
moral. The eyes of the traveller are first fixed
upon the religious turret that encloses the bells,
the sight of which awakens in the bosom a mul-
titude of pious sentiments and recollections. It
is the funereal pyramid, beneath which rest the
ashes of our forefathers ; but it is also the mo-
nument of joy, where the bell announces life to
the faithful. It is there that the husband and
wife exchange their mutual vows, that Christians
prostrate themselves before the altar, the weak
to entreat support from their God, the guilty to
implore compassion from their God, the innocent
to sing the goodness of their God. Does a land-
scape appear naked and barren of objects, let
but the turret of a rustic church be added, every
thing in an instant is animated, is alive ; the
sweet ideas of the pastor and his Hock, of an
asylum for the traveller, of alms for the pilgrim,
of Christian hospitality and fraternity, are awak-
ened in the mind, they are seen on every side.
A country priest, menaced by the law
which condemned to death all of his class who
were seen exercising their sacred functions, yet
who would not abandon his flock, and who goes
by night to comfort the labourer, was a picture
134 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
which must naturally present itself to the mind
of a proscribed poet.
He wanders through the woods. O silent night,
Veil with thy friendly shade his pious course !
If he must suffer still, O God support him !
’Tis a united hamlet’s voice entreats thee.
And you, false votaries of philosophy,
Yet spare his virtues, and protect his life !
Escap’d from cruel chains, from dreary dungeons,
He preaches pardon for the wrongs we suffer,
Wiping the tears which trickle down the cheeks
Of those that listen with delight around.
It appears to us that this passage is full of
simplicity and piety. Are we then much de-
ceived in having maintained that religion is
favourable to poetry, and that in repressing our
religious feelings we deprive ourselves of one of
the most powerful mediums for touching the
heart.
The author, concealed in his retreat, apos-
trophizes the friends whom he scarcely hopes
ever to see again
Thou shalt be heard no more, O sweet Delille,
Thou rival and interpreter by turns
Of the great Mantuan bard
POEM OF M. MICHAUD.
135
Nor thou, who by thy strains could charm our woes;
Thou Fontanes, whose voice consol’d the tombs,
Nor Morellet, whose strong and nervous pen
Pleaded the sufferer’s cause ’gainst tyranny ;
Suard, who, emulous of Addison, combin’d
With learning, wit, with solid reason, grace;
Laharpe, whose taste could oracles explain,
Sicard, whose lessons verge to miracles ;
Jussieu, Laplace, aud virtuous Daubenton,
Who taught us secrets to Buifoji unknown-?-
Ah 1 never shall these eyes behold you more.
These regrets are affecting, and the eulo-
giums pronounced by the author upon his friends
have the rare merit of being in unison with the
public opinion ; besides, this appears to us quite
in the taste of the ancients. Is it not thus that
the Latin poet, whom we have already cited, ad-
dresses his friends whom he has left at Rome ?
“ There is,*’ says Ovid, “ in our native country
a something soothing, which attracts us, which
charms us, which does not permit us to forget
it. ... You hope, dear Rufinus, that the chagrins
which devour me will yield to the consolations
you send me in my exile ; begin then, my friends,
1 36 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
by being less amiable, that I may live without
you with less pain.”
Alas 1 in reading the name of M. de La-
harpe, in the verses of M. Michaud, who can
resist being deeply affected. Scarcely have we
found again those who were dear to us, than a
longer, an ever-during separation, must sever us
again. No one sees more clearly and more pain-
fully than ourselves the whole extent of the mis-
fortune which at this moment threatens learning
and religion. We have seen M. de Laharpe
cast down, like Hezekiah, by the hand of God.
Nothing but the most lively faith, but the most
sacred hope, can inspire a resignation so perfect,
a courage so great, thoughts so elevated and
affecting, amid the pains of lingering agony,
amid repeated experience of the sufferings of
death.
Poets love to paint the sorrows of banish-
ment, so fertile in sad and tender sentiments.
They have sung Patroclus taking refuge under
the roof of Achilles, Cadmus abandoning the
walls of Sidon, Tydaeus seeking an asylum with
Adrastus, and l eucer sheltered in the island of
POEM OF M. MICHAUT.
137
Venus. The chorus in Iphigenia in Tauris fain
would traverse the air: “ I would pause in my
flight over my paternal roof, I would see once
more that spot so dear to my remembrance,
where, under the eyes of a mother, I celebrated
an innocent marriage.” Ah who does not see
here the dulces moriens remimscitur Argos ? who
does not recur to Ulysses wandering far from his
country, desiring, as his sole happiness, once
more to see the smoke of his own palace. Mer-
cury finds him sad and dejected, on the shores of
the island of Calypso, contemplating, as he sheds
tears, that sea so eternally agitated :
Homov IT CtTfWytTOV <t££X£<nUT0
An admirable line, which Virgil has translated,
applying it to the exiled Trojans :
Cunct&que profundum
Pontum aspcctabant Jlentes.
This Jlentes thrown to the end of the line is
▼ery fine. Ossian has painted with different co-
lours, hut which are also full of charms, a young
138
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
woman dead farfrom her country in a foreign land.
“ There lovely Moina is often seen when the
sun -beam darts on the rock, and all around is
dark. There she is seen, Malvina, but not like
the daughters of the hill. Her robes are from
the stranger s land, and she is unknown.”
We may judge by the sweet lamentations
which fall from the author of the poem under
examination, that he deeply felt this mal du
pays, this malady which attacks Frenchmen,
above all others, when far from their own coun-
try. Monimia in. the midst of the barbarians
could not forget the sweet hosom of Greece.
Physicians have called this sadness of the soul
nostalgy from two Greek words voo-to? return, and
aXyot grief because it is only to be cured by
returning to the paternal roof. How indeed
could M. Michaud, who makes his lyre sigh so
sweetly, avoid infusing sensibility into a subject
which even Gresset could not sing without being
melted. In the Ode of the latter upon the Love
of our Country , we find this affecting passage :
“ Ah if in this melancholy course he should be
overtaken by the last sleep, without seeing
POEM OF M. MICHAUD.
139
again that dear country in which the sun first
beamed upon him, still his expiring tenderness
prays that his sad remains may be deposited
there. Less light would lie the earth of a foreign
land upon his abandoned manes.”
In the midst of the sweet consolations which
his retrreat affords to onr exiled po6t, he ex-
claims :
O, lovely days of spring, O beauteous vales
What work of art can with your charms compare?
Is all a Voltaire wrote worth one sole ray
Of breaking dawn, or worth the smallest flow’r
Op’d by the breath of Zephyr ?
But [does not M. de Voltaire, whose impie-
ties|we hold in as great detestation as M. Michaud
can do, sometimes breathe sentiments worthy of
admiration ? — Has not he too felt these sweet
regrets for a lost country. “ I write to you” he
says to Madame Denis, “ by the side of my
stove, %vith a heavy head and a sad heart, cast-
ing my eyes over the river Sprey, because the
Sprey flows into the Elbe, the Elbe into the sea,
while the sea receives the Seine, and our house
at Paris is near that river.”
140 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
It is said that a Frenchman, obliged to fly
during the reign of terror, bought, with a few
deniers, a bark upon the Rhine, where he lodged
himself with a wife and two children. Not having
any money there was no hospitality for him.
When he was driven from one bank, he passed
over without complaining to the other side, and
often persecuted on both banks, he was obliged
to cast anchor in the midst of the river. He
occupied himself in fishing for the subsistence
of his family, but his fellow-creatures still dis-
puted with him tile succours offered by Provi-
dence, envying him even the little fish with
which they saw him feed his children. At night
he went on shore and collected a few dried plants
to make a fire, when his wife remained in the
utmost anxiety till his return. This family
who could not be reproached with any thing ex-
cept being unfortunate, found not, over the vast
globe, a spot of earth on which they could rest
their heads. Obliged to pursue the lives of sa-
vages in the midst of four great civilized nations,
their sole consolation was that in thus wander-
ing about they were still in the neighbourhood
POEM OF M. MICHAUD.
141
of France, they could sometimes breathe the air
which had passed over their country.
M. Michaud wandered in this way over the
mountains whence he could discern the tops of
the trees in his beloved France ; but how could
he pass away his time in a foreign land? How
were his days to be occupied ? Was it not na-
tural that he should visit those rustic tombs
where Christian souls had terminated their exile
full of hope and joy. This was what he did,
and, thanks to the season he chose, the asylum
of death wa9 changed to a lovely field covered
with flowers. ; v .*>iwn
Perhaps beneath this grave with flowers o’ergrown
A child of Phoebus rests, to him unknown.
Thus tjie fair flow’r that grows on you lone mount
Its sweet perfumes, its brilliant hues alone
Flings to the barren waste. Thus dazzling gold,
Sovereign of metals, in the darkest caves
That earth embosoms, hides its fatal charms.
The author would perhaps have done better
to follow more closely the English poet whom he
intends to imitate. He has substituted the com*
142 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
mon image of gold deeply embowelled in the
earth to that of a pearl hidden at the bottom of
the sea . The flower which only expands its
colours to the barren waste ill explains the origi-
nal turn of Gray, born to blush unseen .
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom’d caves of ocean bear,
Full many a flow’r is born to blush uuseen
And waste its sweetness in the desert air.
The sight of these peaceful tombs recals to
the poet the troubled sepulchres where slept our
departed kings, which ought not to have been
opened till the consummation of all things, but
a particular judgment of Providence occasioned
them to be broke into before their time. A
frightful resurrection depopulated the funereal
vaults of St. Dennis ; the phantoms of our kiDgs
quitted their eternal shade, but as if frightened
at reappearing alone to the light, at not finding
themselves, as the prophet says, in the world
with all the dead , they replunged again into
the sepulchre.
And now these kings exhum’d by miscreant hands
Have twice descended to the darksome tomb.
143
POEM OF M. MICHAUD.
From these line lines it is evident that M.
Michaud is capable, in his poetry, of taking any
tone.
It is somewhat remarkable that some of
these spectres, blackened* by the grave, still
retained such a resemblance of what they were
when alive that they were easily recognized.
The characters of their prevailing passions, even
the minutest shadings of the ideas by which they
had been principally occupied, were to be dis-
covered in their features. What then is that
faculty of thought, in man, which leaves sneh
strong impressions on the countenance even in
the dust of annihilation ?— Since we speak of
poetry let us be permitted to borrow the simile
of a poet. Milton tells us that the Divine Son,
after having accomplished the creation of the
world rejoined his eternal principle, and that
their route over created matter was for a long
time discernible by a track of light; thus the
soul returning into the bosom of God leaves
in the mortal body the glorious traces of its
passage.
* The face of Louis XIV* was turned as black as ebony.
1 44
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECT3.
M. Michaud is highly to be applauded for
having made nse of those contrasts which awaken
the imagination of the reader. The ancients
often employed them in tragedy ; a chorus of
soldiers keeps guard at the Trojan camp on the
fatal night when Rhoesus has scarcely finished
his course. In this critical moment do these
soldiers talk of combats, do they retrace the
images of terrible surprizes ? — Hear what the
semi-chorus says : — “ Listen ! those accents are
the strains of Philomel who in a thousand varied
tones deplores her misfortunes and her own
vengeance. The bloody shores of Simots repeat
her plaintive accents. I hear the sound of the
pipe, ! tis the hour when the shepherds of Ida go
forth, carrying their flocks to graze in the smiling
vallies. A cloud comes over my weary eye-lids,
a sweet langour seizes all my senses ; sleep shed
over us, by the dawn, is most delicious.”
Let us frankly acknowledge that we have no
such things in our modern tragedies, however
perfect they may otherwise be ; and let us be
sufficiently just to confess that the barbarous
Shakspeare has sometimes hit upon a species of
3
JPOEM OF M. MICHAUD.
145
sentiment so natural, yet so rare, upon this
simplicity in his imagery. The chorus above-
cited in Euripides will naturally recal to the
reader the dialogue in Romeo and Juliet :
t£ Is it the lark that sings ' * See.
But while those pastoral pictures which in
softening terror increase pity, because as Fene-
lon says, they create a smile in a heart of
angvish, are banished from the tragic scene, we
have tiansported them with much success into
works of another kind. The moderns have ex-
tended and enriched the domain of descriptive
poetry. Of this M. Michaud himself furnishes
some fine examples.
On yon tall mountain tops, yet on the verge
Of disappearing, day, still lingering, smiles
Upon the flow’rs herself had bade expand.—
The river, following its majestic course.
Reflects beneath its clear and glassy surface
The dark hues of the woods that fringe its shores.
Some feeble rays of light still pierce amid
The thickly woven foliage, and illume
The lofty turrets of the antique castle;
The slate reflecting these declining rays.
The windows blazing to the dazzled sight
RECOLLECTIONS, & C, VOL. II. L
146 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS#
At distance shew like fire. And hark, I hear
From forth those bow’rs, sweet songstress of the spring,
Thy strains, which seem more mellow to the ear
’Mid evening’s gloom ; and while the woods around
Are vocal made by thee, the mute Arachue
To the low bramble and aspiring oak
Fastens her netted snares : meanwhile the quail,
Like me a strauger in a foreign land,
Pours through the listening fields her springy lays.
Quitting his labyrinth, the imprudent rabbit
Comes forth to meet the hunter who awaits him;
And the poor partridge, by the gloom eucourag’d,
From answering echoes asks her wander’d mate.
This seems the proper place to advert to a
reproach made us by M# Michaud in his preli-
minary discourse, where he combats, with no
less taste than politeness, our opinion of descrip-
tive poetry. “ The author of the Genius of
Christianity ” says lie, “ ascribes the origin of
descriptive poetry to the Christian religion,
which, in destroying the charm attached to the
mythological fables, has reduced the poets to seek
the interest of their pictures in their truth and
exactness #*’
The author of the poem on Spring thinks
2 |
POEM OF M. MICHAUD. 147
that we are here mistaken. But, in the first
place, we have not asfcribed the origin of de-
scriptive poetry to the Christian religion, we have
only attributed to it the development of this
species of poetry ; which seems to me a very
different thing. Moreover, we have been care-
ful not to say that Christianity has destroyed the
charm of the mythological fables ; We have en-
deavoured, on the contrary, to prove that every
thing beautiful which is to be found in mytho-
logy, such, for example, as the moral allegories ,
may well be employed by a Christian poet, and
that the true religion has only deprived the
Muses of the minor, or disgusting fictions of
paganism. And is the loss of the physical alle-
gories so much to be regretted ? What does it
signify to us whether Jnpiter means the tether,
Juno the air, &c.
But since M. de Fontanes, a critic whose
judgments are laws, has thought that he also
ought to combat our opinion upon the employ-
ment of mythology, let us be permitted to re-
vert to the passage which has given occasion to
this discussion. After showing that the an-
l 2
148 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
cients were scarcely acquainted with descriptive
poetry, in the sense which we attach to this
term ; after having shown that neither their
poets, their philosophers, their naturalists, nor
their historians have given descriptions of na-
ture, I add : “We cannot suspect men endowed
with the sensibility of the ancients to have
wanted eyes to discern the beauties of nature, or
talents to paint them. Some powerful cause
must then have blinded their eyes. Now this
cause was their mythology ; which, peopling
the earth with elegant phantoms, took from the
creation its solemnity, its grandeur, its solitude,
and its melancholy. It was necessary that
Christianity should chase all this people of fauns,
of satyrs, of nymphs, to restore to the grottoes
their silence, to the woods their disposition to
excite meditation. The deserts have assumed,
under our worship, a more sad, a more vague, a
more sublime character. The domes of the
forests are raised, the rivers have broken their
petty urns, to pour out their waters, drawn from
the summits of the mountains, only into the
great deep. The true God, in being restored to
POEM OF M. MICHAUD.
149
his works, has given to nature his own im-
mensity.
“ Sylvans and Naiads may strike the imagi-
nation agreeably., provided always that we are not
incessantly presented with them. We would
not
Of their empire o’er the sea
Deprive the Tritons, take from Pan his flute,
Or suatch their scissars from the fatal sisters.
“ But what does all this leave in the soul ?
What results from it to the heart ? What fruit can
the thoughts derive from it ? How much more
favoured is the Christian poet, in the solitude
where God walks with him ! free from this mul-
titude of ridiculous deities, which surrounded
him on every side, the woods are filled with
one immense Divinity. The gifts of wisdom and
prophecy, the mysteries of religion, seem to re-
side eternally in their sacred recesses. Penetrate
into the American forests, as ancient as the
world itself,” &c. &c.
It appears to us, that the principle, as thus
laid down, cannot be attacked fundamentally,
150 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
though some disputes may be admitted as to the
details. It may perhaps be asked, whether no-
thing fine is to be found in the ancient allegories ?
We have answered this question in the chapter
where we distinguish two sorts of allegories, the
moral and the -physical. M. de Fontanes has
urged that the ancients equally knew this soli-
tary and formidable deity who inhabits the woods.
i.i i;l ; , .
But have we not ourselves assented to this, in
saying, “ As to those unknown gods, whom the
ancients placed in the deep woods and in the
barren deserts, they undoubtedly produced a fine
effect, but they formed no part of the mytholo-
gical system; the human mind here recurred to
natural religion. What the trembling traveller
adored in passing through these solitudes was
something unknown, something the name ot
which he could not tell, whom he called the
divinity of the place. Sometimes he addressed
it by the name of Pan, and Pan we know was
the universal god . The great emotions which
wild nature inspires have never been without
existence, and the woods still preserve to ns their
formidable deity.”
POEM OF M. MICHAUD. 151
The excellent critic whom we have already
cited, maintains farther, that there have been
Pagan people who were conversant with descrip-
tive poetry. This is undoubtedly ‘rue, and we
have even availed ourselves of this circumstance
to support our opinions, since the nations to
whom the Gods of Greece were unknown, had
u glimmering view of that beautiful and simple
nature which was masked by the mythological
system.
It has been objected that the moderns have
outraged descriptive poetry. Have we said any
thing to the contrary ; let us be permitted to
recur to our own words: “ Perhaps it may here
be objected, that the ancients were in the right
to consider descriptive poetry as the accessory
part, not as the principal subject of the picture ;
in this idea we concur, and think that in our days
there is a great abuse of the descriptive. But
abuse is not the thing itself, and it is not the less
true, that descriptive poetry, such as we are ac-
customed to it at present, is an additional engine
in the hands of the poet ; that it has extended
the sphere of poetical imagery, without depriving
152 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
us of painting the manners and the passions,
such as those pictures existed for the ancients.”
In short, M. Michaud thinks that the
species of poetry which we call descriptive, such
as is fixed at this day, has only begun to be a
species since the last century. But is this the
essential part of the question P Will that
prove that descriptive poetry has emanated from
the Christian religion alone. Is it, in fact, very
certain that this species of poetry is properly to
be considered as having had its rise only in the
last century. In our chapter entitled, The
historic part of Descriptive Poetry among the
Moderns, we have traced the progress of this
poetry ; we have seen it commence with the
writings of the Fathers in the desert ; from
thence spread itself into history, pass among the
romance-writers and poets of the Lower Empire,
soon mingle itself with the genius of the Moors,
and attain under the pencils of Ariosto and
Tasso, a species of perfection too remote from
the truth. Our great writers of the age of Louis
XIV. rejected this sort of Italian descriptive
poetry which celebrated nothing but roses, clear
POEM OF M. MICHAUD.
153
fountains , and tiifted woods. The English, in
adopting it, stripped it of its affectation, but
carried into it another species of excess in over-
loading it with detail. At length returning into
France, in the last century, it grew to perfection
under the pens of Messrs. Delille, St. Lambert,
and Fontaine, and acquired in the prose of
Messrs, de Bnffon and Bernardin de St. Pierre,
a beauty unknown to it before.
We do not pronounce this judgment from
ourselves alone, for our own opinion is of too
little weight, we have not even like Chaulieu, for
the morrow ,
A little knowledge and a deal of hope,
but we appeal to M. Michaud himself. Would
he have dispersed over his verses so many agree-
able descriptions of nature, if Christianity had
not disencumbered the woods of the ancient
Dryads and the eternal Zephyrs ? Has not the
author of the Poem of Spring been deluded by
his own success r He has made a delightful use
of fable in his Letters upon the Sentiment of
154 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS#
Pity, and we know that Pygmalion adored
the statue which his own hands had formed.
“ Psyche,” says M. Michaud, “ was desirous of
seeing Love, she approached the fatal lamp and
Love disapoeared for ever. Psyche, signifies the
soul in the Greek language, and the ancients
intended to prove by the allegory that the soul
finds its most tender sentiments vanish in pro-
portion as it seeks to penetrate the object of
them.” This explanation is ingenious ; but did
the ancients really see all this in the fable of
Psyche? We have endeavoured to prove that
the charm of mystery in those things which may
be called the sentimental part of life is one of
the benefits which we owe to the delicacy of
our religion. If Pagan antiquity conceived the
fable of Psyche, it appears to us that it is here
a Christian who interprets it.
Still farther: Christianity, in banishing fable
from nature, has not only restored grandeur
to the deserts, it has even introduced another
species of mythology full of charms for the
poet, in the personification of plants. When the
Heliotrope was always Clytia, the mulberry-tree
POEM OF M. MICHAUD.
165
always Thisbe, &c. the imagination of the poet
was necessarily confined ; he could not animate
nature by any other fictions than the consecrated
fictions, without being guilty of impiety; but
the modern muse transforms at its pleasure all
the plants into nymphs without any injury to
the angels and the celestial spirits which it may
spread over the mountains, along the rivers, and
in the forests. Undoubtedly it is possible to
carry this personification to excess and M. Mi-
chaud has reason to ridicule the poet Darwin
who in the Loves oj the Plants, represents
Genista as walking tranquilly under the shade
of arbours of myrtle. But if the English au-
thor be one of those poets of whom Horace
spe aks who are condemned to make verses, for
having dishonoured the ashes of their fathers,
that proves nothing as to the fundamental good
or ill of the thing. Let another poet, endowed with
more taste and judgment, describe the Loves of
the Plants , they will offer only pleasing pictures.
When in the chapters which M. Michaud
attacks we have said ; “ see in a profound calm,
at the breaking of dawn, all the flowers of this
156
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
valley ; immovable upon their stalks they incline
themselves in a variety of attitudes, and seem to
look towards every point in the horizon; even at
this moment when to you all appears tranquil, a
great mystery is in operation, nature conceives,
and these plants are so many young mothers
turned towards the mysterious region whence
they are to imbibe fecundity. The sylphs have
sympathies less aerial, communications less in-
visible. The narcissus confides to the rivulet
her virgin race, the violet trusts her modest pos-
terity to the care of the Zephyr, a bee gathers
honey from flower to flower, and without know-
ing it fertilizes a whole meadow, a butterfly car-
ries an entire nation under her wing, a world
descends in a drop of dew. All the Loves of
the Plants are not however equally tranquil,
some are tempestuous, like those of mankind.
Tempests are necessary to marry the cedar of
Sina'i upon inaccessible heights, while at the
foot of the mountain the gentlest breeze suffices
to establish an interchange of voluptuousness
among the flowers. Is it not thus that the
breath of the passions agitates the kings of the
POEM OF M. MICHAUD. 157
earth on their thrones, while the shepherds live
happily at their feet.
This is very imperfect undoubtedly, but from
this feeble essay it is easy to see how much might
be made of such a subject by a skilful poet.
It is indeed this relationship between ani-
mate and inanimate objects, which furnished one
of the primary sources whence was derived the
ancient mythology. When man, yet wild, wan-
dering among the woods had satisfied the first
wants of life, he felt another want in his heart,
that of a supernatural power, to support his
weakness. The breaking of a wave, the murmur
of a solitary wind, all the noises which arise out
of nature, all the movements that animate the
deserts, appeared to him as if combined with
this hidden cause. Chance united these local
effects to some fortunate or unfortunate circum-
stances in his pursuit of the animals on which
he was to prey ; a particular colour, a new and
singular object perhaps struck him at that mo-
ment ; thence the Manitou of the Canadian,
and the Fetiche of the Negro, the first of all
the mythologies.
158
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
This elementary principles of a false belief
being once unfolded, a vast career was opened
for human superstitions. The affections of the
heart were soon changed into divinities more
dangerous than they were amiable. The savage
who had raised a mound over the tomb of his
friend, the mother who had given her darling
infant to the earth, came every year at the fall
of the leaf, the former to shed his tears, the
latter to diop her milk over the hallowed turf'
both believed that the absent objects so re-
gretted, and always living in their remembrance,
could not have wholly ceased to exist. It was
without doubt friendship weeping over a monu-
ment which inspired the dogma of the immorta-
lity of the soul, and proclaimed the religion of
the tombs.
But man, at length, quitting the forests,
formed himself into a society with his fellow-
features. Soon, the gratitude or the fears of the
people raised legislators, heroes, and kings to
the rank of deities. At the same time, some
geniuses cherished by heaven, as an Orpheus or
a Homer, increased the numbers that inhabited
I
POEM OF M. MTCHAUJ). 159
Olympus : under their creative pencils, all the
accidents of nature were transformed into celes-
tial spirits. These new gods reigned for a long
time over the enchanted imaginations of man-
kind ; Anaxagoras, Democritus, Epicurus, all
essayed to raise the standard against the religion
of their country. But, oh sad infatuation of
human errors ! Jupiter was a detestable god,
such an one that moving atoms, an eternal mat-
ter was preferable to this deity, armed with thun-
der, and the avenger of crimes.
It was reserved for the Christian religion to
overthrow the altars of all these false gods, with-
out plunging the people into athe’sm, and with-
out destroying the charms of nature. For, even
though it were as certain as it is doubtful, that
Christianity could not furnish to the poet a vein
of the marvellous as rich as that furnished by
fable, yet it is true, and to this M. Michaud
himself must assent, that there is a certain poetry
of the soul, we will say almost an imagination
of the heart, of which no trace can be found in
mythology. The affecting beauties that ema-
nate from this source, would alone amply com-
pensate the ingenious falsehoods of antiquity.
1 6*0 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
In the pictures of paganism, every ihing is a
machine and a spring, all is external, all is made
for the eyes ; in the pictures of the Christian
religion, all is sentiment and thought, all is in-
ternal, all is created for the soul. What charm
of meditation, what scope for sensibility! there
is more enchantment in one of those divine tears
which Christianity excites, than in all the pleas-
ing errors of mythology. With Our Lady of
Sorrows , a Mother of Pity , some obscure saint,
a patron of the blind, the orphan and the miser-
able, an author mav write a more heart-dissolv-
ing page than with all the gods of the Pantheon.
Here indeed is poetry, here indeed is the marvel-
lous. But would you seek the marvellous still
more sublime, contemplate the life and the sor-
rows of Christ, and remember that your God
was called the Son of Man. We will venture to
predict, that a time will come when we cannot
be sufficiently astonished how it was possible to
pass over the admirable beauty of the expres-
sions used in Christianity, and when we shall
have difficulty to comprehend how it could be
possible to laugh at the celestial religion of rea-
son and misfortune.
UPON THE
HISTORY OF THE LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST,
BY FATHER DE LIGNY.
The History ot the Life of Jesus Christ is one
of the last works for which we are indebted
to that celebrated society, * nearly all the mem-
bers of which were men distinguished for their
literary attainments. Father de Ligny, born at
Amiens in 1710, survived the destruction of his
order, and prolonged till 1783 a career which
commenced during the misfortunes of Louis
XIV, and finished at the period of the disasters
of Louis XVI. Whenever in these latter times
we met in the world with an aged ecclesiastic,
full of knowledge, wit, and amenity, having the
manners of a man of liberal education, and of
one who had been accustomed to good company,
* Father de Ligny was a Jesuit.
RECOLLECTIONS, fyc. VOL. II. M
162 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
we were disposed to believe that ancient priest a
Jesuit. The Abb6 Lenfant also belonged to
this order, which has given so many martyrs to
the church; he was the friend of Father de
Ligny, and it was he who made him finally de-
termine to publish the history in question of the
Life of Jesus Christ.
This History is, in fact, nothing more than
a commentary upon the Gospels, and it is that
which constitutes its great merit in our eyes-
Father de Ligny cites the text of the New Tes-
tament, and expounds every verse in two ways ;
the one, by explaining in a moral and historical
point of view what you have just read; the
other, by answering any objections which may
be urged against the passage cited. 1 he first
commentary is in the page with the text, in the
same manuer as in the Bible of Father de Car-
rieres ; the second is in the form of a note, at
the bottom of the page. In this manner the
author offers to your view, in succession, and in
their proper order, the different chapters of the
Evangelists; and by thus bringing to your ob-
servation their affinity, by reconciling their ap*
}
LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST. 163
parent contradictions, he developes the entire
life of the Redeemer of the world.
1 he work of Father de Ligny was become
very scarce, and the Typographical Society have
rendered an essential service to religion in re-
printing a book of such eminent utility. We
know of many histories of the life of Jesus
Christ, among the productions of French au-
thors, but not one which combines, like the pre-
sent, the two advantages of being at the same
time an explanation of the Scriptures, and a
refutation of the sophisms of the day. The Life
of Jesus Christ by Saint Real wants grace and
simplicity; it is much more easy to imitate Sal-
lust and the Cardinal de Metz, than to acquire
the style of the Gospel. * Father Montreuil, in
* The Conspiracy of the Couut de Fiesco, by Cardinal
de Retz, appears to have served as a model for the Conspiracy
of Venice, by Saint Real. There subsists between these two
works the difference which always must subsist between the
original and the copy, between him who writes with rapture
4
and genius, and he who by dint of hard labour is enabled to
imitate this rapture and this genius, with more or less truth
and happiness,
M 2
lf)4 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
his Life of Jesus Christ, revised by Father Bri-
gnon, has preserved, on the contrary, much of
the charm of the New Testament. His style
being a little antiquated, contributes perhaps to
this charm ; for the ancient French language,
and more especially that which was spoken un-
der Louis XIII, was well calculated to display
the energy and simplicity of the Scriptures. It
would have been fortunate had a good transla-
tion of them been made at this period. Sacy
was too late, and the two best versions of the
Bible are the Spanish and English versions.*
The last of these, which in many places retains
the force of the Hebrew, was made in the reign
of James I ; the language in which it i9 written
has become a sort of sacred language for the
three kingdoms, as the Samaritan text was for
the Jews; the veneration which the English
have for the Scriptures appears to be augmented
by it, and the antiquity of the idiom seems as if
it increased the antiquity of the book. Finally,
* M. de Chateaubriand was not acquainted with the ex-
cellent German version of Luther* Editor.
LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST, l65
it is impossible not to be aware, that all the his-
tories of Jesus Christ which are not, like that of
Father tie Ligny, a simple commentary upon the
New Testament, are, generally speaking, bad,
and even dangerous woiks. We have copied
this manner of disfiguring the Gospel from the
Protestants, not observing that it has had the
e0ect of turning many persons to Socinianism.
Jesus Christ is not a man; we ought not there-
fore to write his life in the same manner that w©
would write that of a simple legislator. We
may endeavour to relate his works in the most
affecting manner, but we can never paint him
any other than as a human being; — to paint his
divinity is far above our reach. Human virtues
have something corporeal in them, if we may be
permitted the expression, which the writer can
seize ; but the virtues of Christ are so deeply
intellectual, there is in them such a spirituality ,
that they seem to shrink from the materiality of
our expressions.
It is this truth so delicate, so refined, of which
Pascal speaks, and which our grosser organs
166 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
cannot touch without blunting the point.*
The divinity of Christ is no where to be found,
and cannot possibly be found any where but in
the gospel, where it shines among the ineffable
sacraments instituted by the Saviour, and amid
the miracles which he performed. The apostles
alone were able to pourtray it, because they
wrote under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit.
They were witnesses of the wonders performed
by the Son of man ; they lived with him ; some
part of his divinity remained stamped upon
their sacred writings, as the features of this
celestial Messiah remained, say they, impressed
on the mysterious veil which wiped the sweat
from his brow. There is besides some danger,
that under the idea of producing a work of taste
and literature, the whole Gospel may be trans-
formed into a mere history of Jesus Christ. In
giving to facts a certain air of something merely
human, and strictly historical, in appealing in-
cessantly to an assumed reason which is too
* Pascal’s Thoughts.
LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST.
167
often nothing more than deplorable folly, and
in aiming at preaching morality, entirely
divested of all dogmas, the protestants have
suffered every thing like exalted eloquence to
perish from among them. In effect, we cannot
consider either the Tillotsons, the Wilkins’s, the
Goldsmiths, or the Blairs, notwithstanding their
merits, as great orators, more especially if we
compare them with a Basil, a Chrysostome, an
Ambrose, a Bourdaloue, or a Massillon. Every
religion which considers it as a duty to avoid
dogmas, and to banish pomp from its worship,
condemns itself to be dry and cold. We must
not presume that the heart of man, deprived of
any assistance from the imagination, can have
resources within itself sufficient to cherish the
undulations of eloquence. The very sentiment
of eloquence is destroyed even at the moment
of its birth, if it does not find itself surrounded
by things capable of nourishing and support-
ing it ; if it finds no images to prolong its dura-
tion, no spectacles to fortify it, no dogmas which
transporting it into the region of mystery, pre-
vent its being disenchanted.
168 ESSAYS OJT VAarOUS SUBJECTS.
The protestants boast that they have
banished gloom from the Christian religion ; but
in the Catholic worship, Job and his holy melan-
choly, the shade of the cloisters, the tears of the
penitent upon his rock, the voice of Bossuet
delivering a funeral oration, will create more men
of genius, than all the maxims of a morality
devoid of eloquence, as plain and unadorned as
the temple where it is preached. Father de
Liguy has then considered the subject in its pro-
per point of view, in confining his life of Christ
to a simple concordance of the different Gospels.
Who, besides, could flatter himself with being
able to equal the beauty of the New Testament:
Would not an author who should aspire to such
pretentions be already condemned. Every Evan-
gelist has his particular character except Saint
Mark, whose Gospel seems to be nothing more
than an abridgement of Saint Matthew’s. Saint
Mark was a disciple of Saint Peter, and many
people think that he wrote under the direction of
this prince of the Apostles. It is worthy of
remark, that he has related the heavy fault com-
mitted by his master. That Jesus Christ should
LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST. f(>9
have chosen for the chief of his Church pre-
cisely, the only one among his disciples who had
denied him, appears to us at once a sublime and
interesting mystery. There do we see all the
spirit of Christianity ; Saint Peter is the Adam
of the new law ; he is the sinful and repentant
father of the new Israelites ; his fall teaches us*
that the Christian religion is a religion of mercy,
and that Jesus Christ has established his law
among men subject to error, much less for the
innocent than for the repentant.
The Gospel of Saint Matthew is to be re-
commended above all things, for the pure
morality which it inculcates. It is this Apostle
who has transmitted to U9 the greatest number
of moral precepts in the sentiments recorded by
him, as proceeding so abundantly from the
mouth of Jesus Christ.
Saint John lias something more mild and
tender in his manner. We recognise in him
“ the disciple whom Jesus loved," the disciple
who was near him on the mount of Olives during
his agony — a sublime distinction undoubtedly,
since none but the cherished friend of our soul is
170 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
worthy to be admitted to the mystery of our
griefs. John was, besides, the only one among
the Apostles who accompanied the Son of Man
to the cross. It was there that the Saviour
bequeathed to him the care of his mother.
« Mother behold your Son ; disciple behold your
Mother .” Divine expression ! ineffable recom-
mendation. This was the well beloved disciple
who slept upon the bosom of his master, who
retained in his soul an image of him never to Le
effaced ; who was the first to recognise him after
his ressurrection ; — the heart of John could
not be mistaken in the features of his divine
friend, and faith was given to him as a reward
for kindness.
For the rest the spirit breathed throughout
the whole of Saint John’s Gospel is comprised in
the maxim, which he went about repeating in
his old age. This apostle full of days and of
good works, when no longer able to preach long
sermons to the new people whom he had brought
forth to Jesus Christ contented himself with this
exhortation : “ My little children love one ano-
ther."
LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST.
m
St. Jerome asserts that Saint Luke was a
physician, a profession so noble and so esteemed
in antiquity, and adds that his gospel is inedi*
cine to the soul, — His language is pure and ele-
vated, shewing at once a man conversant with
letters, and one who was well acquainted with
the manners and the men of his time. — He be-
gins his narrative after the manner of the ancient
historians ; you may fancy that it is Herodotus
speaks :
1. Since many have undertaken to write the
history of those things which have come to pass
amongst us —
2. According to the account given by those
who, from the beginning, were eye witnesses of
them, and who have been ministers of the word —
3. It seemed proper to me that I also, most
excellent Theophilus, having been exactly in-
formed of all these things from their commence-
ment, should write to you in their order the
whole history of them.
Our ignorance is such, at the present time,
that there are perhaps some men of letters who
will be astonished at learning that Saint Luke
2
172 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
is a great writer, whose gospel breathes the true
genius of the ancient Greek and Hebrew langua-
ges — What can be more beautiful than the pas-
sage which precedes the birth of Christ ?
In the days of Herod, king of Judea, there
was a certain priest named Zacharias, of the
course of Abia ; his wife was also of the race of
Aaron, and her name was Elisabeth —
They were both righteous before God, but
they had no children because that Elisabeth
was barren, and they were both now well stricken
ill years.
Zacharias offers a sacrifice, an Angel
11 appears to him standing by the side of the
altar of incense , he informs him that he shall
have a son, that this son shall be called John,
that he shall be the precursor of the Messiah and
that “ he shall turn the hearts of the fathers to
the children. ' — The same Angel goes afterwards
to a virgin living in Israel, and says to her:
Hail thou that art highly favoured , the
Lord is with thee ” — Mary goes into the moun-
tains of Judea; she meets Elisabeth, and the
infant which the latter carries in her womb, leaps
LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST.
173
at the voice of the virgin who is about to bring
the Saviour into the world. Elisabeth, being filled
on a sudden with the Holy Ghost, raises her voice
and cries aloud “ Blessed art thou among wo -
tnen : and blessed is the fruit of thy womb !
Whence am I thus blessed that the mother
of my Saviour comes to me ?
For when you saluted me, no sooner had
i/our voice' struck my ears , than my infant leaped
in my womb for joy.
Mary then chants the magnificent canticle
O my soul , glorify the Lord !
The history of the manger and of the shep-
herds follow next ; a multitude of the heavenly
host sing, during the night, “ glory to God in
heaven, and on earth peace, good will to men ’*
a sentiment worthy of angels and which is as
it were an epitome of the whole Christian religion.
We believe ourselves to be somewhat ac-
quainted with antiquity, and we dare affirm
that we might have searched a long time among
the subliinest geniuses of Greece and Rome be-
fore we had found any thing which was at once
so simple afid so wonderful.
1
1/4 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
Whoever reads the gospel, with a little at*
tention, will every moment discover in it ad-
mirable things, which escape us at first on ac-
count of their extreme simplicity. — Saint Luke,
for instance, in giving the genealogy of Christ
goes back to the beginning of the world. Arrived
at the first generations and continuing to name
the different races he says “ Cainan which was
of Enos , which was of Seth , which was of
Adam, which was of God !” the simple expression
“ which was of God ” thrown out thus without
any comment and without any reflexion, to relate
the creation, the origin, the nature, the end,
and the mystery of man, appears to us the height
of sublimity.
Much praise is due to Father de Ligny for
having felt that he ought not to alter these
things, and that he who could not be satisfied with
these, and similar touches, must have a very false
taste, and be little acquainted with Christianity.
His History of Jesus Christ offers an additional
proof of the truth of what we have advanced
in another place, that the fine arts among the
moderns are indebted to the Catholic religion
LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST.
1 7 »
for the major part of their success. Sixty en-
gravings, after the masters of the Italian,
French and Flemish schools, enrich this fine
work ; and it is worthy of remark, that in seek-
ing to add the embellishments of pictures to
a life of Jesus Christ it has been found that all
the chefs-d'oeuvre of modern painting were com-
prehended in the collection.*
We scarcely know how to bestow sufficient
commendation upon the typographical society
who, in so short a space of time, have given us
with the truest taste and discrimination works
of such general utility. — The select Sermons of
Bossuet and Fendlon, the Letters of Saint Fran-
cis de Sales , and many other excellent books,
have all issued from the same presses, and leave
nothing further to be desired as to the manner
in which they are executed.
The work of Father de Ligny, besides being
embellished by the painter, is about to receive
* Raphael, Michael Angelo, Dominichino, the Caracci,
Paul Veronese, Titian, Leonardo-da-Vinci, Guercino, Lan-
franc, Poussin, Le Sueur, Le Brun, Rubens, &c.
another ornament not less precious. M. tie
Bonald has undertaken to write a preface to it ;
this name alone speaks talents and an en-
lightened mind, and commands respect and es-
teem. Who is better calculated to treat of the
laws and precepts of Jesus Christ* than the au-
thor of Divorce, of the work upon Primitive Le-
gislation. and of that upon the Theory of Poli-
tical and Religious Power?
It cannot any longer be a matter of doubt;
this senseless religion, this madness of the cross,
the approaching fall of which has been pro-
nounced by superlative wisdom, is about to be
regenerated with added force. The palm of
religion thrives always in proportion to the tears
which Christians shed, as the verdure of the
grass is renewed in a spot of land which has
been abundantly watered. It was an unworthy
error to believe that the gospel was overthrown
because it was uo longer defended by the pros-
perous part of mankind. The strength of Chris-
tianity lies in the cottage of the poor, and its
basis is as durable as the misery of man upon
which it is built. “ The church,” says Bossuet,
177
LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST.
in a passage which we might have supposed to
emanate from the tenderness of F£n61on, if it had
not a more elevated and original turn, — “ the
church is the daughter of the Omnipotent* hut
her father, who -attains her from within, aban-
dons her often to persecution from without ; and,
after the example of Jesus Christ, she is obliged
to exclaim in her agony ; My God, my God , why
hast thou forsaken me !* her husband is the
most powerful as well as the most sublime and
the most perfect among the sons of men, -I* but
she has only heard his enchanting voice, she has
only enjoyed his mild and engaging presence for
a moment. J Suddenly he has taken to flight
with a rapid course, and swifter than the fawn of
a hind, has ascended to the highest mountains.^
Like a desolate wife the church has done nothin 0-
©
Deus meus, Deus meus , ut quid dereliquisti me?
f Speciosus forma pro Jiiiis hominum. Psal. XLTV, 3 #
+ Amicus sponsi stat et audit eum, gaudio gaudet prop*
ter vocem sponsi. Joann, iii, Q9.
§ Fuge dilecte mi, et assimilare caprce, hinnuloque cer •
vorum super montes aromatum. Cant, viii, 14 .
RECOLLECTIONS, &C. VOL. II.
N
178 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
but groan, and the song of the forsaken turtle* *
is in her mouth ; in short she is a stranger and
a wanderer upon the earth, where she is come to
gather together the children of God under her
wings, and the world who is incessantly labouring
to tear them from her does not cease to cross
her in her pilgrimage. f
This pilgrimage may be crossed but its com-
pletion cannot be prevented. — If the author of
the present article had not been already per-
suaded of this important truth he must have
been convinced of it now, by the scene passing
before his eyes.J What is this extraordinary
power which leads about a hundred thousand
Christians upon these ruins ? By what prodigy
does the cross appear again in triumph in the
same city where uot long since it was, in hor-
rible derision, dragged in the mud or deluged
with blood? Whence does this proscribed so-
* Vox turturis audita est in terra nostrd. Cant, ii, 12 •
t Funeral oration of M. le Tellier.
X This was written at Lyons on the day of the festival
*f Corpus Christi.
179
\
LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST.
lemnity re-appear? What song of mercy has re*
placed so suddenly the roaring of cannon, and
the cries of the Christians who are thrown to
the earth ? Is it the fathers, the mothers, the bro-
thers, the sisters, the children of these victims
who pray for the enemies of the faith, and
whom you behold upon their knees in every di-
rection, at the windows ol these ruined houses,
or upon the heaps of stones which are yet
smoking with the blood of the martyrs? — The
mountains, covered with monasteries, not less reli-
gious because they are deserted; these two rivers,
where the ashes of the confessors of Jesus Christ
have so often been thrown ; all the places conse-
crated by the first steps of Christianity among
the Gauls ; this grotto of St. Pothin ; — the cata-
combs of Ir&neeus have not beheld greater mi-
racles than those which are effected at this mo-
ment. If, in 1793, at the moment of the fusil-
lades of Lyons, when the temples were demo-
lished and the priests were massacred ; when
an ass loaded with the sacred ornaments was led
about the streets and the executioner armed with
his hatchet accompanied this worthy parade of
n 2
180 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
reason ; if a man liad then said : “ Before ten
years shall have passed away, a Prince of the
Church, an Archbishop of Lyons, shall carry
the holy sacrament publicly along the same places,
accompanied by a numerous clergy, by young
maidens cloathed in white ; that the ceremony
should be preceded and followed by men of all
ages and of all professions, carrying flowers and
torches ; that the misguided soldiers who had been
armed against religion, should appear in this festi-
val to protect it” — If a man had, ten years ago,
held such language, he would have passed for a
visionary ; yet this man would not have told the
whole truth ; even on the eve of the ceremony,
more than ten thousand Christians desired to re-
ceive the seal of the true faith ; the prelate of
this great commune appeared like Saint Paul,
in the midst of an immense crowd, who de-
manded of him a sacrament so precious in the
times of trial, since it gives the power to confess
the gospel. And yet this is not all ; deacons
have been ordained, and priests have been con-
secrated ! Do they tell us that the new pastors
seek glory and fortune ? Where are the bene-
LIKE OF JESUS CHRIST.
181
rices which await them, the honours which can
recompense them for the labours their ministry
exacts ? A mean alimentary pension, some half
mined presbytery, or some obscure habitation
provided by the charity of the faithful — these
are the sum of the temptations offered them. —
They must moreover expect to be calumniated ;
they must reckon upon denunciations, upon
mortifications of every description ; we may say
more, should some powerful man withdraw his
protection one day, the next, philosophism would
exterminate the priests under the sword of tole-
rance, or open again for them the philanthro-
pic deserts of Guiana — Ah ! when the children
of Aaron fell with their faces upon the earth,
when the archbishop, standing before the altar,
stretchiug his hands towards the prostrate Levites
pronounced these words Accipejugutn Domini —
the force of them penetrated all hearts and
filled all eyes with tears . “ They have ac-
cepted from him this yoke, the yoke of the
Lord/’ and they have found it so much the more
light, omnes ejus leve in proportion as men have
endeavoured to render it heavy — Thus in spite of
182 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
the predictions of these oracles of the age, in
spite of the progress of the human mind , the
church increases and perpetuates itself, accord-
ing to the oracle, much more to be relied on,
of him by whom it was founded. And whatever
shall be the storms by which it may yet be as-
sailed it will continue to triumph against the
superior lights of the sophists, as it has tri-
umphed over the darkness of the barbarians.
ON THE
NEW EDITION OF ROLLIN’S WORKS.
The friends of literature have observed for some
time, with extreme pleasure, that those princi-
ples of taste which ought never to have been
neglected, are every where reviving. By de-
grees the systems which have been productive
of so much evil are abandoned ; men venture to
examine and combat the unaccountable opinions
which have been propagated respecting the lite*
kollin’s works.
183
rature of the eighteenth century. Philosophy,
formerly but too fruitful, seems at present me-
naced with sterility, while religion produces
every day new talents, while it daily sees its
disciples multiplied.
A symptom not less unequivocal of the
return of men’s minds to sound and rational
ideas, is the reprinting those classical works
which the ridiculous ignorance and contempt of
the philosophers had rejected. Rollin, for in-
stance, abounding as he does with the treasures
of antiquity, was not deemed worthy to serve as
a guide to the scholars of an age of superior
light, the professors of which themselves, had
great occasion to be sent back to school.* Men
who bad passed forty years of their lives in
composing, conscientiously, some excellent vo*
lumes of instruction for youth ; men who in
the retirement of their closets lived on familiar
terms with Homer, with Demosthenes, with Ci-
* I must here be understood to speak only of the age,
as taken collectively, not including some men whose talents
will always be considered as an honour to France.
184 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
cero, with Virgil ; men who were so simply and
so naturally virtuous, that no one thought even
of praising their virtues ; men of this descrip-
tion were doomed to see a set of miserable
charlatans, destitute of talents, of science, or ef
moral conduct, preferred before them. The
poetics of Aristotle, of Horace and of Boileau
were replaced by poetics full of ignorance, of bad
taste, of misguided principles and mistaken
decisions. According to the judgment of the
master would be repeated from the Zoi'lus of
Quinault: “ Boileau , the correct author of many
excellent works." According to the scholar,
would have been pronounced : “ Boileau , with-
out fre, without fancy, without fecundity
When our respect for good models is lost to
such a degree, no one can be astonished at seeing
the nation return to barbarism.
Happily the opinion of the age begins to
take another turn. In a moment when the an-
cient modes of instruction are about to be re-
vived, the public will no doubt see with pleasure
that a new edition ot the complete works of Rollin
is in preparation. The Treatise on Study will
185
\
rolmn’s works.
first appear, and will be accompanied by obser-
vations and critical notes. This admirable un-
dertaking is under the direction of a man who
preserves the sacred deposit of the traditions
and the authorities of ages, and who will deserve
from posterity the title of restorer of the School
of Boileau and of Racine.
The life of Rollin, which is to precede this
edition of his works, is already printed, and is
now before us. It is equally remarkable for the
simplicity and the mild warmth of the style, for
the candour of the opinions, and the justness of
the ideas. We shall have only one subject of
regret in giving to our readers some fragments
of this life, it is that we are not permitted to
name the young and modest author to whom we
are indebted for it.
After speaking of the birth of Rollin and
his entrance into the College of the Eighteen*
the writer of the life adds : “ The young Rollin
was a stranger to those emotions of vanity
which so often accompany knowledge newly
acquired, and which yield in the sequel to
more extensive acquisitions. This sweet natural
186 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
disposition expanded with his attainments, and
he only appeared the more amiable as he became
better informed. It must be observed that the
rapid progress he made in learning, which was
talked of in the world with a sort of astonish-
ment, redoubled the tenderness of his happy
mother. Nor was she assuredly less flattered by
receiving visits continually from persons of the
highest distinction for their rank and birth, who
came to congratulate her, asking as a favour
that the young student might be permitted to
pass the days of vacation with their children who
were of the same college ; that he might be the
companion of their pleasures as he was of their
exercises.
“ The world was then full of those pious
and illustrious families where flourished the an-
cient manners, and the Christian virtues. Many
of these in particular were included in the ma-
gistracy of which they were the great ornament.
While the young warriors sought in the midst
of dangers to sustain the. glory of their ancestors,
or to acquire new honours, the young magis-
trates engaged in another species of militia, and,
rollin’s works.
187
subjected to a discipline yet more rigorous,
distinguished themselves by their frugality, by
serious studies, by science, by elevation of sen'
timents. They transmitted to their sons these
holy and irreproachable manners ; they took a
pleasure in being surrounded with virtuous chil*
dren, they sometimes shared their studies and
found a noble relaxation in the labours which
had occupied their youth.
“ The two eldest sons of M. Le Pelletier
then minister, and who belonged to the same
class with the young Rollin, found a formidable
competitor in this new comer M. Le Pelletier
who knew all the advantages of emulation
sought every means of cherishing it. When the
young Rollin was emperor, which often happened,
he sent him the gratuity which he was accus-
tomed to give his sons; and the latter, notwith-
standing, tenderly loved their rival. On the
days of vacation he often accompanied them
home in their coach, or they carried him
first to his mother’s house if he desired it, and
waited tliere for as long a time as he wished to
stay.
188 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
“ One day, Madame Roilin observed that
her son, in getting into the carriage, took the first
place without any ceremony. She began to re-
prove him severely, as being guilty of a great
breach of propriety and good manners ; but the
preceptor, who was with them, interrupted her
mildly, representing it as a regulation made by
M. X,e Pelletier that the youths should take
their places in the carriage according to the
order in which each stood in his class. Roilin
preserved, to the lastdays of his life, a tender and
grateful respect for the protector of his youth,
whose kindnesses he thought he could never
sufficiently acknowledge. He was the constant
friend of the young men who had been the
companions of his studies, and attached himself
more and more to this respectable family by that
amiable sentiment which delights to dwell on
the recollections of our youth, and extends itself
through every stage of life.”
It appears to us that this passage is very
affecting ; we hear the accents of a true French
heart ; something of mingled gravity and ten-
derness like the old magistrates and the young
rollin’s works.
189
college friends of which onr author recals the
recollection. It is remarkable that it was only
in France, in that country celebrated for the fri-
volity of its inhabitants that we saw these august
families so distinguished for the austerity of their
manners. A Harlay, a De Thou, a Lamoignon,
a d’Agnesseau, formed a singular contrast with
the general character of the nation. Their seri-
ous habits, their rigid virtues, their incorrupti-
ble opinions, seemed, as it were, an expiation
which they incessantly offered for the lightness
and inconstancy of the mass. They rendered to
the state the most important services in more
than one way. That Matthew Mol£ who made
Duchesne undertake the collection of the histo-
rians of France, exposed his life many times
during the troubles of the Fronde, as his Father
Edward Mol6 had braved the fury of the League,
to secure the crown to Henry IV. It wa9 this
same Matthew, who, braver than Gustavus or M.
Le Prince, answered, when some one would have
prevented his exposing himself to the rage of the
populace: “ Six feet of earth will bring the
greatest man in the world to reason." This was
190 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
to act like the ancient Cato, and to speak like
the ancient Corneille.
Rollin was an extraordinary man who might
almost be said to possess genius by dint of
science, of candour, and of goodness. It is only
among the obscure titles of the services rendered
to childhood that the true documents of his
glory are to be found ; it is there that the author
of his life has sought those features with which
he lias composed a picture full of sweetness and
simplicity ; he delights to present to us Rollin
charged with the education of youth. The
tender respect which the new rector preserved
for his ancient masters, his love to the children
confided to his care, and the solicitudes he expe-
rienced on their account are delightfully painted,
and always with a manner suited to the subject;
a rare faculty indeed.
When the author afterwards proceeds to
speak of his hero’s works, and enters into im*
portant discussions, he shews a spirit embned
with the good doctrines, and a head capable of
strong and serious ideas. As an instance of this
we will cite a passage where the principles of
rollin’s works.
• 191
education are investigated, with the faults that
have been imputed to the ancient method of in-
struction. The author says :
“ More important inconveniences, it has
been said, are found in the course of instruction
pursued at our universities, which calling the
attention of young men incessantly to the
heroes of the ancient republics, and to the con-
templation of their virtues, cherishes in their
minds, maxims and thoughts contrary to the
political order of the society in which they live.
Some even conceive the anarchical and revolu-
tionary doctrines to have issued from the colleges.
Assuredly every thing is mortal to those who
are already sick, and this remark is an impeach-
ment of the time in which it was made. But
although some particular examples might be
cited, which seem to justify it, we cannot allow it
valid as an objection against the mode of instruc-
tion iu the university, unless on the supposition
that those objects were separated, which in fact
were always combined ; I mean to say the ex-
amples of heroism and the maxims proper to
excite an enthusiasm in the religion which puri-
192 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
fies them, and renders them conformable to
order. Rollin however does not separate them,
and if sometimes he abandons his disciple to a
very natural admiration of brilliant actions, he
is always ready to restrain him within legitimate
bounds ; he returns to the charge, he examines
the pagan hero by a light more safe and more
penetrating, showing in what respects he failed
both by the excess and by the imperfections of
his virtues.
u W ith such temperate restrictions, should
virtues of a doubtful nature, should maxims that
may prove intoxicating and too strong for
reason, be always placed before the eyes of
youth ; and when we are once sure of the mind
being properly regulated, there is no reason to
fear heating it. Then the admiration which
the heroes of antiquity excite, is no longer dange-
rous, it is as favourable to virtue as the study of
those inimitable works in which they are cele-
brated ; it fertilizes talents and carries on essen-
tially the great work of education. This clas-
sical instruction contributes towards ornament-
ing the whole life, by instilling a crowd of
\
rollin’s WORKS. 193
maxims, and by leading to comparisons which
mingle themselves with every situation in which
the public man may be placed, spreading thus
over the most common actions, that sort of
dignity always attendant upon elegance of man-
ners. I please myself with thinking, th/it in the
midst of study and of the rural occupations
which filled up the leisure hours of our illustrious
magistrates in France, they fonnda secret charm
in the recollection of a Fabricins or a Cato, who
had been the object of their enthusiasm in their
youthful days. In one word, those virtuous in-
stincts which defended the ancient republics
against the vices of their institutions and their
laws, are like an excellent nature which religion
has finished. Not only does she repress every
dangerous energy, but she ennobles every action
by giving pure motives for it, she elevates the
mind by the very restrictions she imposes upon
it to a grandeur yet more heroic ; it is this
above all things which assures the pre-eminence
of those characters we admire in our modern
histories.”
We might here apply, as our judgment
RECOLLECTIONS, &C. TOL. II. O
1J)4 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS#
upon the author himself, the comparison which
follows the fine passage above-cited ; a passage
no less justly thought than well written. “ It is
thus that in the immortal works to which we
are always led by an inexhaustible attraction,
we see the expression of a brilliant imagination
subjected to strong and severe reasoning, but
enriched by its very privations, and which
bursts out only at intervals to attest the gran*
deur of the conquest made over it.”
The rest of the Life of Rollin is filled with
those petty details which pleased Plutarch so
much, and which occasioned him to say in his life
of Alexander : “ As the painters who sketch por-
traits seek, above all things, resemblance in the
features of the face, particularly in the eyes,
where shine the mcst sensibly the characteristics
of the mind, let me be permitted to seek the
principal features in the soul, that in bringing
them together I may form living and animated
portraits of the great men I would describe.”
We think we shall confer an obligation on
the readers by giving, at full length, the oratori-
cal effusion with which the author terminates the
hOLLIN’S WORKS.
195
life. “ Louis XVI, struck with a renown so
interesting, has acquitted us of what was due to
the manes of Rollin ; he has exalted his namc^
so that hereafter it will be recorded with others
of the highest celebrity, in ordering a statue to
be erected to him among those of the Bossuets
and the Turennes. The venerable pastor of
youth will descend to posterity in the midst of
the great men who rendered the fine age of
France so illustrious. If he may not have
equalled them, he has at least taught us to ad-
mire them. Like them his writings breathe all
that nature so conspicuous in the writings of the
ancients, while his conduct displayed those vir*
tues which cherish strength of mind, and even
become real talents ; like them he will always
increase in fame, and public gratitude will con-
tinually advance his glory.
“ In relating the labours, and the simple
events which filled up the life of Rollin, we
were sometimes carried back to an epoch which
is every day farther removed from us, and pain-
ful reflections have mingled themselves with our
narration. We have spoke of the course of
196 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
studies in France, and it is not long since they
were interrupted. We have retraced the go-
vernment and the discipline of the colleges where
a happy youth was educated, far from the seduc-
tions of society, and the greater part of these
colleges are still deserts. We have recalled the
services rendered by that university so celebrated
and so venerable, its ancient honours and that
spirit of good fellowship which perpetuated the
fame of the useful knowledge taught, and of the
masters by whom it was communicated, and
they are no more ; all have perished in the
general wreck of every thing great and useful.
The . quarters, even, where the university 0!
Paris flourished, seem as in mourning for their
destruction ; the cause of their celebrity gone,
no longer are new inhabitants perpetually resort-
ing to them ; the population has moved into other
places to exhibit there samples of other manners.
Where are now the strict educations which pre-
pared the soul to fortitude and tenderness t
Where are those modest, yet well-informed
young men, who united the ingenuous minds of
infancy with the solid qualities that grace and
kollin’s works. 197
adorn the man ? Where, in short, is the
youth of France r — A new generation has
succeeded
“ Who can recount the complaints and
reproaches which are daily uttered against this
new race. Alas ! they grew up almost unknown
to their fathers, in the midst of civil discords,
and they are absolved by the public calamities.
Every thing was wanting to them, instruction,
remonstrance, good example, the mild treatment
of the paternal roof, which disposes the child to
virtuous sentiments, and gives to his lips a smile
that can never be effaced. Yet for such losses
they evince no regret, they cast no look of sad-
ness behind them ; we see them wandering about
the public places, and filling the theatres
as if they were only reposing after a long
life of toil and labour. Ruins surround them,
and they pass before those ruins without experi-
encing the curiosity of an ordinary traveller ;
they have already forgotten those times of eter-
nal memory.
“ Generation, new indeed, which will bear
a distinct and singular character, which separates
198 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
the old times from the times to come. It will
not have to transmit those traditions which are
an honour to families, nor those decorums which
are the guarantees of public manners, nor those
customs which form the great bonds of society.
They march to an unknown goal, dragging with
them our recollections, our decorums, our man-
ners, and customs ; the old men find themselves
still greater strangers in their country in proportion
as their children are multiplied on the earth. ...
“ At present the young man, thrown, as
by a shipwreck, upon the entrance of his career,
vainly contemplates the extent of it. He pro-
duces nothing but ungratified wishes, and pro.
jects devoid of consistence. He is deprived of
recollection, and he has no courage to form
hopes ; his heart is withered and he has never
had any passions ; as he has not filled the diffe-
rent epochs of life, he feels always within him-
self something imperfect which will never be
finished. His taste, his thoughts, by an afflicting
contrast, belong at once to all ages, without pre-
senting either the charm of youth, or the gravity
of ripened age. His whole life bears the ap»
rollin’s works. li)9
pearance of one of those stormy years, the pro-
gress of which is marked with sterility, and in
which the course of the seasons and the order
of nature seem wholly inverted. In this con-
fusion the most desirable faculties are turned
against themselves, youth is a prey to the most
extraordinary gloom, or to the false sweets of a
wild and irregular imagination, to a proud con-
tempt of life, or to an indifference which arises
from despair. One great disease shows itself
under a thousand different forms. Even those
who have been fortunate enough to escape this
contagion of the mind, confess all the violence
that they have suffered. They have leaped
hastily over the first stages, and take their seats
already among the aged, whom they astonish by
an anticipated maturity, but without finding any
thing to compensate what they have missed in
passing over their youth.
“ Perhaps some among these may be indu-
ced occasionally to visit those asylums of science
which they were never permitted to enter. Then,
seeing the spacious enclosures, where are heard
anew the sounds of classic sports and triumphs.
200 ESSAYS OK VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
casting their eyes over the lofty walls where
still may be read the half effaced names of
some of the great men of France, they may feel
bitter regrets arise in their souls, accompanied by
desires even more painful than the regrets. They
demand even now, that education which produces
fruits for a whole life, and which nothing can
compensate. They demand even those pains and
chagrins of childhood, which leave behind such
tender recollections — recollections so sweet to a
mind of sensibility. But they demand, alas, in
vain. After having consumed fifteen years,
that great portion of human life, in silence, and
yet in the midst of the revolutions of empires,
they have only survived the companions of their
own age ; survived it may almost be said them-
selves, to approach that term where irrecover-
able losses alone are to be expected. Thus they
must always be consigned to secret mournings
which can admit of no consolation, they must
remain exposed to the examination of another
generation who encompass them like centinels,
for ever crying to them to turn aside from the
fatal path in which they have lost themselves/
201
\
rOllin’s works.
This passage alone will suffice to justify the
encomiums we have pronounced upon the life
of Rollin. Here we find beauties of the highest
description expressed with eloquence, and some
of those thoughts which never occur but
among great writers. We cannot too warmly
encourage the author to abandon himselt to his
genius. Hitherto a timidity natural to true ta-
lent has made him seek subjects not of the most
elevated kind, bnt he ought perhaps to endeavour
to quit this temperate zone, which confines his
imagination within too narrow bounds. One
easily perceives throughout the life of Rollin,
that he has every where sacrificed some of the
riches he possesses. In speaking of the good
rector of the University, he condemned himself
to temperance and moderation ; he feared that
he should wound his modest virtues in shedding
too great a lustre over them. One might say
that he always kept in view that law of the an-
cients, which only permitted the praises of the
Gods to be sung to the most grave, and the
sweetest tones of the lyre.
202
ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV.
For some time past the Journals have an-
nounced to us Works of Louis XIF. This title
shocked many persons who still attach some value
to precision of terms and decorum of language.
They observed that the term Works could only
be applied with propriety to an author’s own
productions, when he presents them himself to
the public ; that this author besides must belong
to the ordinary ranks of society, and that he
must have written not merely Historical Me-
moirs but works of science or literature ; that
in any case a king is not an author by profession,
consequently he never publishes Works.
\ I* true that, going back to antiquity,
the early Roman emperors cultivated letters;
but these emperors were only simple citizens
before they were raised to the purple. Caesar
was merely the commander of a legion when he
ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV. 203.
wrote his History of the Conquest of Gaul, and
the Commentaries of the captain have since
contributed to the glory of the emperor. If the
Maxims of Marcus Aurelius to this day reflect
credit on his memory, Claudius and Nero drew
upon themselves the contempt of the Roman
people for having aspired to the honours of poets
and literati.
In the Christian monarchies where the royal
dignity has been better understood, we have
rarely seen the sovereign descend into those lists
where victory could scarcely be obtained by them
without some mixture of degradation, because
the adversary was scarcely ever even noble. Some
German princes who have governed ill, or who
have even lost their sovereignty in giving them-
selves up to the study of the sciences, excite our
contempt rather than our admiration : Denys,
the master of a school at Corinth, was also a
king and a man of letters. A Bible is still to be
seen at Vienna illustrated with notes from the
hand of Charlemagne ; but this monarch wrote
them only for his own use, as an effusion of his
piety. Charles V, Francis I, Henry IV, Charles
-04 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
IX, all loved learning and patronized it without,
ever pretending to become authors. Some
(Queens of France have left behind them verses,
novels, memoirs ; their dignity has been pardoned
in favour of their sex. England alone, who has
afforded us many dangerous examples, enu-
merates several authors among her tnonarchs ;
Alfred, Henry VIII and James I, really composed
books. But the royal author , by distinction, in
these modern ages is the great Frederick. Has
this prince lost renown, or has he gained it bv
the publication of his Works ? — this is a ques-
tion we should answer without hesitation were
we only to consult our own feelings.
We were at first somewhat consoled on
opening the collection, which we are about to
examine. In the first place the publication has
no claim whatever to be called Works ; it is
simply memoirs compiled by a father for the
instruction of his son. And who ought to watch
over the education of his children, if not a king?
can a love for his duties, and an admiration of
virtue ever be too warmly inculcated upon the
mind of a prince, on whom the happiness of so
I
ON THE MEMOIRS OK LOUIS XIV- 205
many people depends. Full of a just respect for
the memory of Louis XIV we ran over with some
anxiety the writings of this great monarch. It
would have been mortifying to lose in any degree
onr admiration of him ; and it was with extreme
pleasure that we found Louis XIV here such as
he has descended to posterity, such as Madame
de Motteville has painted him : “ His extraordi-
nary good sense, and his good intentions,” she
says, “ implanted in his mind the seeds of Uni-
versal science which were concealed from those
who did not see him in private. To those who
did thus know him he appeared at once a pro-
found politician in State affairs and a deep Theo-
logian in matters relating to the church ; he was
exact in concerns of finance, he spoke with
justness, always took the good side in counsel,
and entered warmly into the affairs of indivi-
duals ; he was at the same time the enemy of all
intrigue and flattery, and was very severe towards
the great people of the country whom he sus-
pected of having any ambition to govern. He
was pleasant in his manners, polite and easy
of access to every body, but with a serious and
1 .
20 6 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS*
dignified air, which inspired the public with
respect and fear.’’
Such are precisely the qualities we find, and
the character we feel in the Collection of the
Thoughts of this prince. The Works, as they
are called, consist : 1st of Memoirs addressed to
the Grand Dauphin. These begin in l66l, and
conclude in 1665. — 2ndly. Military Memoirs
relative to the years 1673 and 16’78. — 3rdly. Re-
flections upon the trade of a king. — 4thly. In-
structions to Philip V. — 5thly. Eighteen letters to
the same prince and one letter to Madame de
Maintenon.
We were before in possession of a Collection
of Letters of Louis XIV, and a translation by him
of the Commentaries of Caesar.* It is believed
that Pelisson or Racine overlooked the Memoirs
which are just published, but it is certain that the
original sketch of them is from Louis himself. f
* Voltaire denies this translation to be Louis the Four-
teenth’s.
f To judge by the style I should believe Pelisson to
hare had a very large share in this work ; at least it appears
to me that his phrases so symmetrical! and arranged with
\
ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV. 207
We trace every where his religious, moral, and
political principles, and the notes added with
his own hand to the margin of the Memoirs are
not inferior to the text either in the style or in
the thoughts.
It is besides a fact well attested by all writers
that Louis expressed himself in a style particu-
larly dignified : “ He spoke little and well, 1 '
says Madame de Motteville, u There was in the
words he used a force which inspired the heart
with love or fear, according as they were wild
or severe ” — “ He always expressed himself
nobly and with great precision,” says M. de Vol-
taire ; he would even have excelled in the
graces of language if he had chosen to make
them his study,” Monchenay relates that he
was one day reading Boileau s Epistle upon the
so much art are in many places to be detected. Be this as
it may, the Thoughts of Louis X 'IV* arranged by a Racine or
a Pelisson form a monument which deserves to be highly
prized by the world. It is very possible that the Memoirs
might also be reviewed by Roses Marquis de Coye a man
of considerable talents who was secretary to Louis.
208 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
passage of the Rhine before Mesdames dc
Thiange and de Montespan” which he read with
tones so enchanting that Madame de Montespan
snatched the book from his hand exclaiming
“ that there was something supernatural in it,
and that she had never heard any thing so
well delivered.”
That neatness of thought, that nobleness
in the execution, that delicacy of ear so sensible
to fine poetry, form at the first impression, a
prejudice in favour of the style of these me-
moirs, and would prove, if farther proof were
requisite, that Louis XIV was very capable of
writing them. By citing some passages we shall
make the work better known to the reader.
The king, speaking of the different mea-
sures which he pursued at the beginning of his
reign, adds : “ I must acknowledge that although
I had reason before to be satisfied with my own
conduct, the eulogiums which novelty now drew
upon me, gave me continual subject of uneasi-
ness, in the fears with which I was impressed
that I did not merit them sufficiently. For, in
short, and I am happy in an opportunity of oh-
ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS. XIV. 20.9
serving this to yon, my son, praise is a very deli-
cate thing ; it is far from an easy matter to re»
strairi/ourselves from being dazzled by it; much
light is necessary to know how to discern
truly those that flatter, from those that really
admire us.
“But however obscure in this respect may be
the intentions of our courtiers, there is a certain
means of profiting by all they say to our advan-
tage, and this means is no other than to examine
ourselves very severely with reference to every
word of praise bestowed on us. For when we
hear auy praise given which we are sure we do
not deserve, we shall immediately consider it, ac-
cording to the disposition of those by whom it
is given, either as a malignant reproach for some
defect, which we shall endeavour to correct, or 5s
a secret exhortation to the acquisition of some
virtue in which we feel that we are defective.”
Nothing more delicate, or more discerning,
was ever said upon the subject of flatterers ; a
man who could so justly appreciate the value oT
praise undoubtedly well deserved to be praised.
1 his passage is particularly remarkable from a
RECOLLECTIONS, &C. VOL.JI. P
210 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
certain resemblance it bears to many of tile
precepts in Telemachus. At tins illustrious
period reason inspired the prince and the subject
with the same language. j ||gg
The following passage, written entirely by
the hand of Louis, is not one of the least fine in
the Memoirs. “ It is not only in important
negociations that princes ought to be cautious
what they say, the same caution ought to be ob-
served in the most common, in the most familiar
conversations. This is undoubtedly a painful
restraint, but it is absolutely necessary that per-
sons of our condition should never say any thing
lightly. We must by no means entertain the
idea that a sovereign, because he has authority to
do every thing, has also a licence to say every
thing; on the contrary, the greater, and the
more respected he is, the more circumspect
ought he to be. Things which would be nothing
in the mouth of a private man, often become
important in that of a prince. The least mark
of contempt shewn by him to any individual,
inflicts on the heart of that man an incurable
wound. A man can console himself for any
ON THE MEMO [KS OF LOUIS XIV. 211
keen raillery, even for words of contempt aimed
at him by others, either in the idea that he shall
soon have an opportunity of returning them 111
kind, or hy persuading himself that what has
been said did not make the same impression upon
others who heard it, as upon himself. But he
to whom the sovereign should have spoken in
such a strain, feels the affront with so much the
more impatience because he sees no hope of re-
dress. It is true that he may speak ill of the
prince from whom he has received the offence,
but he can only say it in secret when it will not
be heard by the offender, and that takes off all the
sweets of vengeance. Neither can he flatter
himself that what was said was either not heard,
or not approved, because he knows with what
applause every thing that comes from persons
invested with authority is received.”
The generosity of these sentiments is no less
affecting than it is admirable. A monarch who
«ould give such lessons to his son had un-
doubtedly the true heart of a king ; he was wor-
thy to command a people whose first blessing is
honour.
p 2
212 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
The piece given in this collection entitled,
On the trade of a King , had been cited in the
age of Louis XIV. “ It is a testimony to pos-
terity,” said Voltaire, “ in favour of uprightness
and magnanimity of soul.” We are sorry that
the Editor of the Memoirs, who, for the rest,
seems full of candour and modesty, gave this
piece such a title : On the trade of a King,
Louis made use of this expression in the course
of his Recollections , hut it is not probable that
he meant to employ it as a title ; it seems indeed
more probable that he would have corrected the
expression if he couldhave foreseen that what he
wrote was one day to be made public. Royalty is
not a trade, it is a character; the anointed of
the Lord is not an actor who plays a part, he is
a magistrate who fills a function ; people do not
practise the trade of a king as they do that of a
mountebank. Louis XIV. in a moment of dis-
gust, thinking of nothing but the fatigues of
royalty, might call it a trade , and found it pr-
haps a very painful trade ; but let us be cautious
not to take the word in too literal a sense. This
would be to teach mankind that every thing here
\
ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV. 213
below is a trade, that we in this world are all but
a sort of empirics, mounted on stages, to sell our
merchandise to any dupe whom we can persuade
to buy it. Such a view of society would lead
to very fatal consequences.
Voltaire has besides cited the Instructions
to Philip V, but retrenching the first articles.
It is distressing to find this great man, so dis-
tinguished in the literary history of the last
century, often acting a part little worthy of an
honest migd, and superior genius. We shall
easily perceive why the historian of Louis XIV.
omitted the articles alluded to. They are as
follow’.
1. Never fail in any of your duties, espe-
cially towards God.
2. Preserve, always, all the purity in which
you were educated.
3. Cause God to be honoured wherever you
have any power; promote his glory ; be yourself
the first to set an example of glorifying him,
it is one of the greatest goods that a king can do.
4. Declare yourself always on the side of
virtue, against vice.
214 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
Saint Louis, dying, extended upon his bed
of ashes before the ruins of Carthage, gave
nearly the same advice to his son: “ My son-in-
law, the first thing that I teach and command
thee to observe is, that thou love God with all
thy heart, and take care not to do any thing which
may displease him. If God should send thee
adversity receive it with submission and return
him thanks for it, if he give thee prosperity
thank him also very humbly, for we ought not
to make war with God for the gifts which he
bestows upon us. Cherish mildness of heart,
and compassion for the poor, and do not oppress
thy people with too heavy taxes and subsidies.
Fly the company of the wicked.”
We are pleased to see two of our greatest
princes, at two epochs, so remote from each other
deliver to their sons like principles of religion
and justice. If the language of Joinville, and
that of Racine did not instruct us that an inter-
val of four centuries separated the reign of
Saiut Louis from that of Louis XIV we might
believe the instruction to be of the same age.
While every thing is constantly changing in
OW THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV. 215
the world, it is delightful to see that royal
bosoms guard incorruptibly the sacred deposits
of truth and virtue.
One of the things which fascinates us the
most in these memoirs is, that we find Louis XIV
often confessing his faults to his son. “ People”
says he, “ attack the heart of a king, as they
attack a strong place ; their first care is to seize
on all the posts by which it may be approached.
A clever woman applies herself in the first place
to keeping at a distance every thing which is
not attached to her interests ; she excites suspi-
cion in one, disgust in another, till at length
she and her friends may obtain a favourable
hearing, and if we are not on our guard against
these practices, we must, to please her alone,
displease every one else.
“From the moment a woman is permitted
to talk with us upon affairs of importance, it is
impossible that she should not make us tall
into errors. The tenderness we have for her
gives a relish to her false reasonings and inclines
ns insensibly towards the side she takes, while
her natural weakness making her generally pre-
216 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
fer the interest excited by trifles, to more solid
considerations, occasions her almost always to
take the wrong side. Women are eloquent in
their expressions, urgent in their intreaties, ob-
stinate in their sentiments, and all this is often
occasioned solely by having taken an aversion
sion to some one which they seek to gratify, or
from having made some promise, lightly, by
which they are embarrassed,”
This page is written with singular elegance;
l 1
if the hand of Racine is any where to be dis-
covered it is here. But, shall we venture to say
it, such a knowledge of women proves that the
monarch, in making his confession, was not
cured of his weakness. The ancients said of
certain priests of the Gods: Many carry the
thyrsis, but few are inspired, and thus it is with
the passion by which Louis XIV was subdued,
many affect it but few feel it ; yet when it is
truly felt no one can mistake the inspiration ot
its language.
For the rest, Louis XIV had in the end
learnt to know the just value of those attach-
ments which pleasure forms and destroys. He
ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV. 217
saw the tears of Madame de La Valltere flow,
and he was obliged to support the cries and re-
proaches of Madame de Montespan. The sister
of the celebrated Count de Lautrec, abandoned
by Francis I. did not suffer herself to be carried
away thus by useless complaints. The king
having ordered the jewels, ornamented with em-
blematic devices, with which in the first moments
of his tenderness he had presented her, to, be
reclaimed, she sent them back melted, and con-
verted into bullion. Carrry these,” said she,
“ to the king ; since he has been pleased to re-
voke what he gave me so liberally , I return his
presents and return them in masses of gold. As
to the devices, they are so deeply impressed on
my thoughts, I cherish them there so tenderly,
that l could not support the idea of any one but
myself enjoying them, and disposing of. them.”*
If we may believe Voltaire, the bad educa-
tion which Louis XIV received, deprived him
of the advantages a prince derives from the les-
sons afforded by history. The want of this
* Brantome.
218 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
knowledge is not to be perceived in the memoirs ;
the king appears on the contrary to have ample
ideas of modern history, and to be far from
deficient in acquaintance with the histories of
Greece and Rome. He reasons on political
subjects with an astonishing sagacity ; he makes
us feel perfectly, in speaking of Charles II, king
ot England, the vice of those states which are
governed by deliberative bodies ; he speaks of
the disorders of anarchy like a prince who had
witnessed them in his youth ; he knew very well
what was defective in France, and what she could*
attain, what rank she ought to hold among
nations. “ Being persuaded,” he says, “ that
the French infantry had hitherto not been very
good, I was anxious to find out the means of im-
proving it.” — And again he says elsewhere: “If
a prince have but subjects he ought to have sol-
diers ; and whoever having a state well-peopled
fails to have good troops has nothing to reproach
with it but his own idleness and want of applica-
tion.”
We know well, in fact, that it was Louis
XIV who created our army and who surrounded
2
ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV. 219
France with that line of strong fortresses which
rendered it un attackable. We see how he re-
gretted the time when his people were masters
of the world. “ When the title of Emperor,”
he says, “ was conferred on our house, it was in
possession of France, the Low Countries, Ger-
many, Italy, and the greater part of Spain,
which it had divided among several individuals,
reserving to itself the right of supreme sove-
reignty over all. The bloody defeats of many,
who came both from the north and the south,
spread so widely the terror of our arms, that the
whole earth seemed to tremble at the name alone
of the French, and at the sound of the im-
perial dignity.”
These passages prove that Louis XIV knew
France well, and had studied its history. Had he
carried his researches still farther back, he would
would have seen that the Gauls, oar first ancestors,
had equally subdued the earth, in fact; when
we go beyond our boundaries, we do bat reclaim
our ancient inheritance. The iron sword of a
Gaul alone served as a counterpoise against the
empire of the world. “ The news arrived from
220
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
the west to the east,” says a historian, “ that a
hyperborean nation had taken a Grecian town
in Italy, called Rome.” The name of Gaul
signifies traveller ; at the first appearance of this
powerful race, the Romans declared that they
were born for the ruin of towns and the destruc-
tion of the human species.
Wherever any thing great has been effected,
we see our ancestors bearing a part in it. The
Gauls alone were not silent at the sight of Alex-
ander, before whom the whole earth besides was
silent. “ Do you not feel my power,” said the
conqueror of Asia, to their deputies. “ We
fear only one thing,” they replied, “ that the
heavens should fall on our heads.” Caesar could
only conquer by sowing dissensions among them,
and it took him more time to subdue them, than
to subdue Pompey and the rest of the world.
All the most celebrated places in the universe
have been subjected to our great progenitors.
Not only was Rome taken by them, but they
ravaged Greece, they occupied Byzantium, they
encamped upon the plains of Troy, they took
possession of the kingdom of Mithridates, and
ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV. 221
carrying their arms beyond Taurus, subdued
those Scythians, who had never been subdued
by any one. The valour of the Gauls every
where decided the fate of empires ; Asia was
rendered tributary to them ; the most renowned
princes of this part of the world, an Antioch us
an Antigonus, courted these formidable warriors,
and kings fallen from their thrones retired under
the shelter of their swords. They constituted
the principal strength of Hannibal’s army; ten
thousand of them, alone, defended the crown of
Alexander, against Paulus Emilius, when Perseus
saw the Empire of the Greeks pass under the
yoke of the Latins. At the battle of Actium it
was again the Gauls that disposed of the sceptre
of the world, since they decided the victory by
ranging themselves under the standard of Au-
gustus.
It is thus that the fate of kingdoms has ap-
peared in every age to be dependant on the soil
of Gaul, as a land of fate, stamped with a
mysterious signet. All nations of the earth seem
successively to have heard that voice which
said to Seditius in the middle of the night t
222 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
“ Go, Seditius, say to the tribunes that the Gauls
will be here to-morrow.”
The Memoirs of Louis XIV will increase
his fame ; they do not display any thing mean,
they do not reveal any of those shameful secrets
which the human heart too often conceals in
its deep abysses. Seen nearer, in the familiar
scenes of his life, Louis XIV does not cease to
be Louis the Great ; we are delighted at being
convinced that so fine a bust had not an empty
head, and that the soul corresponded with the
grandeur of the exterior. “ He is a prince,” as
Boileau said, “ who never spoke without think-
ing ; his most unimportant replies breathe the
sovereign, yet in his domestic life he seems to
receive the law rather than to give it.” This is
an eulogium which the memoirs confirm in
every point of view.
Many things in which the magnanimity of
this monarch were displayed are well known.
I he prince de Cond£ told him one day that he
had seen a figure of Henry IV tied to a stake,
stuck through with a poignard, having an in-
scription over it of a very odious kind towards
ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV. 223
the reigning prince. “ I can reconcile myself to
it,'’ said Louis, “ they did not do so much for
the Sluggard Kings.” (Rois Faindans.J It is
said that in the latter years of his life he found,
under his napkin, when he was sitting down to
dinner, a billet conceived nearly in the following
terms. “ The king stands erect in the Place of
Victory and in the Place Venddme ; * when
will he be seated at St. Denis.”— Louis took
the billet, and throwing it over his head said
aloud : When it shall please God. When he
was near breathing his last sigh, he ordered the
great Lords of his court to be summoned around
him. “ Gentlemen,” said he, I entreat your
pardon for the bad example I have set you ; I
return you thanks for the friendship you have
always shown me ; I intreat you to shew the
same fidelity to my grandson. I feel my heart
melted, I see that you are no less affected ; fare-
* Alluding to statues of him iu both tliose Places at
Paris. The Place of Victory. (Plaee des Victoires) re-
ceived its name from this statue where Louis was represented
as crowned by victory. The statue was destroyed in the
revolution. — Translator.
£24 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
well, Gentlemen, sometimes think of me.”— To
his physician, who was weeping, he said : Did
you suppose me immortal ? — Madame de La
Fayette, in her writings, has said of this prince
that he would be found without all dispute one
of the greatest of kings, and one of the most
honest men in his kingdom. This did not pre-
vent the people insulting the bier at his funeral,
and forbearing to sing the Te Deum. Numtjuid
cognoscentur mirahilia tua, et justitia tua in
terra oblivionis.
What remains to be added to the eulogium
of a prince who civilized Europe, and raised
France to such a degree of splendor ? Nothing
blit the following passage, taken from his
Memoirs. “ You ought, my son, above all
things to understand that we cannot shew too
much respect to him who makes us respected
by so many millions of men. The most essen-
tial part of true policy, is that which teaches us
to serve him well ; the submission we pay to
him is the finest lesson we can give to those from
'•fr • . , ti . , r .
whom submission is due to us ; and we transgress
the laws of prudence no less than those of justice)
ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV. 225
when we fail in due veneration for him, of whom
we are only the lieutenants.
“ Though we should have armed all our
subjects for the defence of his glory ; though we
should have raised again his altars which had
been overthrown ; though we should have made
his name known in the most remote corners of
the earth, but a small part of our duty would be
performed ; we should not, without doubt, effect
that which he desires, if we were ourselves wanting
in submission to the yoke of his commandments.
I hose actions which make the greatest noise,
which shine with the greatest lustre, are not
always those that please him the most ; what
passes in secret in our hearts is often that which
he observes wilh the greatest attention. He is
infinitely jealous of his glory, but he knows bet-
ter than we do in what it consists. He has, per-
haps, only made us so great that he might be the
more honoured by our respect, and if we fail in
accomplishing his designs, he may abandon us to
be mingled with the dust, whence he drew us.
Several of my ancestors who have been.
RECOLLECTIONS* &C. VOL. II. Q
226 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS..
anxious to give similiar counsel to their succes-
sors waited to do it till on the very last verge of
life. 1 shall not follow their example, I give it
you now, .my son, I shall inculcate it upon you
whenever 1 find a favourable opportunity. For,
besides that 1 think we cannot too early impress
on the minds of young people ideas of this vast
importance, it is probable that what these prin-
ces said, at so urgent a moment, may have failed
of effect from being ascribed to the danger in
which they found themselves. Instead of this,
i„ speaking to yon now, 1 am assured that the
vigour of my age, the disembarrassed state of my
mind, and the flourishing situation of my affairs,
can never leave any room for what I say to be
imputed either to weakness or disguise.” It
was in l66l that Louis gave this sublime lesson
to his son.
Note by the Editor.
The appearance of the above article ga'£
occasion to an anonymous letter from a pre-
tended Bearnese Chevalier, addressed to the
ON THE MEMOIRS OP LOUIS XIV#
Gazette of France, no less elegant in its style,
than just in its ideas. I subjoin the principal
passages of it.
“ A criticism from the pen of M. de Cha-
teaubriand, upon the Memoirs published under
the name of Louis XIV. has been remitted to
ine. With these Memoirs I was not unac-
quainted ; they were compiled under the inspec-
tion of Louis, without being compiled by him.
His familiar conversations were collected in this
way, and he did not disapprove the form into
which they were put. I shall not ascribe them
to Pelisson, he would not have said of Fou-
quetwhat Louis XIV. thought of him; and
having had the courage to defend him at the
hazard ot his life, he would never have lent his
pen to his master, to asperse the friend he before
praised, and thus dishonour himself. The pre-
sident Roses, the intimate secretary of Louis,
appears to me to have been the sole compiler of
these Memoirs, and the marginal note which
was supposed to be the hand-writing of the
king, is probably that of his secretary. The
Duke de St. Simon, assures us that Roses could
228 ESSAYS OK VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
imitate the hand-writing of his master so well,
that it was impossible not to be misled by it.
Be this as it may, the Memoirs are certainly not
unworthy of the name they bear. Alexander
forbade any others but Lysippus and Apelle* to
represent his features, lest, they might be
disgraced by vulgar hands. Louis XIV. did
better, he never suffered himself to be seen in a
situation in which his could be disgraced ; all
his actions were stamped with true dignity, he
was a king even in the eyes of his vulet-de-
chambre. In public his answers were noble, in
private his familiarity was equally noble. Never
did he suffer himself to offend any one ; he had
an innate feeling of great things, his taste was
pure, he was the first to discern the merit of
Boileau, of Racine, and of Moltere. What
occasion had he to have his name enrolled
among royal authors ? — His great work, the
only one incontestably his, is the illustrious age
which bears his name.
« But that M. de Chateaubriand should
take occasion from the new character in which
Louis has been brought forward to declaim
ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV. 229
against kings who wielded the pen ; — that he
should assume that a king cannot desc&nd into
the lists where even victory must be a sort of
degradation, since the adversary can scarcely
ever be noble that he would have an author
taken only from the ordinary ranks of society,—
1 cannot but find these sentiments somewhat
offensive, and involving a sort of literary heresy.
“ That a man of exalted rank should neg-
lect the duties of his station to devote himself
to literature, — that he should be writing an ode
when he ought to be issuing some order of im-
portance to the state, — that like the Vizier of
whom M. de Tott speaks, he should be endea-
vouring to bring the voices of two Canary-birds
to an accord with each other, while the Rus-
sians were penetrating into the Black Sea,— these
are things which cannot be too severely con.
demned, — such men ought indeed to be dis-
carded into the middling ranks of society, that
they may abandon themselves to their frivolous
pursuits, without the state being thereby endan-
gered. But observe that it is not their love of
letters which renders them unfit to be public
230
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
functionaries, it is their want of capacity; the
cultivation of letters may, on the contrary, make
them feel the incapacity which the ignorant are
far from ever suspecting in themselves. It was
thus that Christinas determined to abdicate
royalty, the duties of which she felt herself in-
capable of fulfilling; but I do not know in history
of any great man who being called to the exercise
of important functions, has not found literary
attainments a powerful assistance in the exer-
cise of his ministry, and acquired through their
means, that authority of esteem which is even
more commanding among men than force itself.
I would wish M. de Chateaubriand to observe,
that the greater part of bur ancient classic au-
thors were also statesmen. Among the Greeks,
Sophocles, Thucydides, Xenophon, and Demos-
thenes ; among the Romans, Caesar, Cicero,
\ arro, Cato, Seneca, the two Plinys, and Taci-
tus, were all the first magistrates in their coun-
try. I would remind him of a curious remark,
made by the sage Fleury. “ Among the
Greeks,’ he says, “ the most considetable and
the most noble persons regarded the study of
1
OX THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV.
231
philosophy and eloquence, as reflecting honour
upon them. Pythagoras was of the royal race,
Plato descended by the paternal side from king
Codrus, and by his mother from Solon. Xeno-
phon was one of the first captains of his age, and
from that time letters were held in so much
honour, and became so much the distinguishing
mark of persons of quality, that the name of
idiot, which in Creek properly signifies only a
private man, was applied to all who were igno-
rant and uneducated. Among the race of the
kings of Egypt, of Syria, and of Macedonia,
successors to Alexander, were included several
poets, grammarians, and philosophers. It is,
indeed, very reasonable that in every country,
those who have the most polished minds, who
are endowed with the greatest talents, who have
fortunes that place them above any care for the
necessaries of life, or who, being called to offices
of distinction, are required more than any others
to make themselves useful to society, should
devote their leisure hours to the sciences, should
endeavour to extend their talents and their
knowledge.
232 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
“ It is very singular, that Cardinal Fleury,
born in an obscure station, should consider
learning as the peculiar portion of distinguished
rank, while M. dc Chateaubriand, whose name be-
longs to the class of ancient nobility, would spurn
it to the lower classes of society. Shall we say
that this is in him the remains of prejudices im-
bibed in his infancy, prejudices of which the
most enlarged minds can scarcely ever wholly
divest themselves? Or wonld he recur to
the times when a country squire living in his
gloomy mansion, despised every gentleman, who,
instead of being a sportsman, cultivated letters.
44 The ridicule which otir comic poets have
endeavoured to excite never was general. The
love of letters has always distinguished the chiefs
of the state ; our literature, indeed, included in
its origin some most illustrious names. The
first Troubadours were princes and knights, as
William Duke of Aquitaine, Theobald Count
of Champagne, Louis Duke of Orleans, Ren£
Comt of Provence, and Gaston de Foix sove-
reign of Bearn. The whole house of Valois were
celebrated for their love of literature ar.d the fine,
ON THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV. 233
arts ; this was equally the case with the house of
Foix, and the sister of Lantrec who was of this
family, the celebrated Countess de Chateau-
briand, perhaps carried into her husband’s
family, that love of letters which ha9 become
hereditary in it. Flechier pronounces the eulo-
gium of Madam de Montausier, who, “ born
of the ancient bouse of Chateaubriand, and be-
come a widow, restraining transcendent beauty,
and the prime of youth under the laws of an
austere virtue and an exact modesty, sacrificed
all the pleasures ot life to the education of her
children.” She formed the heart of that Mon-
tausier, who was judged worthy to share with
Bossuet the charge of educating a king. Was
it for the author of the Genius of Christianity,
to despise this distinguished branch of his
ancestors.
“ Who among us, in reading the works of
De Ihou, ot Sully, of Rochefoucault, of Mal-
herbe, of Fenelon, of Montesquieu, of Malesher-
bes, and ot Montaigne, could recur to the idea
that the origin of their house is lost in the
remoteness ot time. We will keep an account of
234
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
what they have left behind to live after them,
not of what their ancestors have done before
them. I will venture to assert, that posterity
may very possibly forget the existence of a M.
de Chateaubriand who was counsellor to the
discreet Charles V, and of another who was in
the army of Henry IV, but that it will never
forget the author of the Genius of Christianity.
“ 1 hope M. de Chateaubriand will pardon
me, for having thus broke a lance with him, in
honour of letters, and that he will excuse me if,
in defiance of the usages of chivalry, I do not
raise up the vizor of my casque.”
To this Letter M. de Chateaubriand an-
swered by the following Dissertation upon Men
of Letters.
235
ON MEN OF LETTERS.
The Defence of the Genius of Christianity* has
been hitherto the only answer I have made to
nil the criticisms with which the world has
thought proper to honour me. I have the
happiness, or the misfortune, to find my name
brought forward pretty often, in polemical
works, in pamphlets, in satires. When the
criticism is just I correct myself, when it isjocose
I laugh, w'hen it is gross I forget it. A new
antagonist has just entered the lists, calling him-
self a Bearnese Chevalier. It is singular that
this Chevalier reproaches me with Gothic pre-
judices and a contempt of letters. I will ac-
knowledge freely that I cannot think of the days
* Tlie Editor hopes that the render will not be sorry to
find this Defence at the end of the present collection.
236 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS*
of chivalry with calmness and indifference, and
that when I hear of tournaments, of challenges,
of strifes, of single combats, I am ready, like
Don Quixote, to arm myself and run about the
country as a champion for the redress of wrongs.
1 come then to answer the challenge of my ad-
versary. I might, indeed, refuse to exchange
the stroke of a lance with him since he has not
declared his name, nor raised the vizor of his
casque after the first thrust; but, in considers,
tion of his having observed the other laws of the
joust, religiously, by carefully avoiding to strike
at the head or the heart , I will consider him as
a loyal knight and take up his gage.
And yet what is the subject of our quarrel.
Are we about to fight, as, indeed, was by no
means uncommon among the preux chevalier
without knowing why. 1 am very ready to
maintain that the lady of my heart is incom-
parably more beautiful than the mistress of my
adversary ; but how, if by chance we should
both serve the same fair ? This is in fact the
case. 1 am in good truth of the same opinion
with the Bearnese Chevalier , or rather my l° ve
OX MEN OF LETTERS.
237
is di rected to the same object, and like him I am
ready to prosecute, as a felon, any one who shall
dare to make an attack on the Muses.
Let us change our language and come to
the fact. I will venture to say that the critic
who attacks mewith somuch taste, learning, and
politeness, but perhaps with a little pique, has
not understood my idea. When I object to kings
intermeddling in the strifes of Parnassus, am I
very much in the wrong. A king ought undoubt-
edly to love letters, even to cultivate them to a
certain extent, and to protect them in his states.
But is it necessary that he should write books }
Can the sovereign judge expose himself without
inconvenience to be judged ? Is it good that a
monarch should, like an ordinary man, make
the world acquainted with the exact measure of
his talents, and throw himselt upon the indul-
gence of his subjects in a preface? It seems to
me that the Gods ought not to shew themselves
so unmasked to mankind : Homer places a bar-
rier of clouds at the gate of Olympus.
As to the other expression, that an author
ought to be taken from the ordinary ranks of
238 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
society, I ask-<pardon of my censor, but 1 did
not mean to imply the sense in which he takes
it. In the place where it is introduced it relates
only to kings ; it can relate only to kings. I
am not absurd enough to desire that letters
should be abandoned exactly to the illiterate
part of society ; they do not belong exclusively
to any particular class, they are the resource of
all who think ; they are not an attribute of rank
hut a distinction of mind. I am very well
aware, that Montaigne, Malherbe, Descartes, La
Ilocliefoucault, Fdnelon, Bossuet, La Bruyfene,
even Boileau, Montesquieu and Buffon belonged
more or less to the ancient body of the nobility,
either by the sword, or by the gown. 1 know
well that a fine genius cannot dishonour an illus-
trious name; but, since my critic will force me
to say it, I think there is far less danger in cul-
tivating the Muses in an obscure station, than
in an elevated one. The man who has nothing
particularly to attract observation exposes little
to the danger of shipwreck ; if he do not succeed
in letters, his mania of writing will not have de-
prived him of any real advantage, ami his rank
ON MEN OF LETTERS*
339
of author forgotten; nothing will be added to the
natural obscurity which attended him in another
career.
It is not the same with one who holds a
distinguished place in the world, whether from
his fortune, his dignity, or the recollections
attached to his ancestors. Such a man would
do well to balance for a long time before he
enters the lists where a fall would be fatal. A
moment of vanity may destroy the happiness of
his whole life. When we have much to lose,
we ought not to write, unless forced into it, as
it were, by our genius, and awed by the presence
of the god : fera cor da domans. A great talent
is a great reason, and we may answer to all with
glory. But if we do not feel in ourselves this
mens divmior, let us take good heed against that
itch which may seize us for writing.
Nor be, tho’ strongly urg’d, the name inha^te
Of honest man, which now you bear, laid down
While that of wretched author is embrac’d
Gif'n by a sordid printer’s voice alone*
If I should catch some Duguesclin rhyming,
without the consent of Apollo, some wretched
240 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
poem, I should exclaim: “ Sir Bertrand change
your pen for the iron sword of the good Consta-
ble. When you shall be on the breach remem*
her to invoke, like your ancestor, Our Lady
of Guesclin. This is not the inuse who sings
towns taken, but who inspires the soul to take
them.” .
On the contrary, if a member of one of
those families who make a figure in our history
were to come before the world in an Essay full
of strength, of fire, of solidity, do not fear that
I should attempt to check and discourage him.
Although his opinious should be directly in op-
position to my own, though his book should
wound not only my mind but my heart, I shonld
see nothing but the talent displayed ; I should
be sensible to nothing but the merit of the work ;
I should gladly take the young writer by the
hand and introduce him in his new career ; my
experience should point out to him the rock on
which he might split, and like a good brother
in arms I should rejoice at his success.
I hope that the Chevalier who attacks me
will approve these sentiments ; but that is not
I
ON MEN OF LETTERS. 241
sufficient, I will not leave him in any doubt with
respect to my modes of thinking on the subject
of letters and of those who cultivate them. This
will lead me into a discussion of some extent ;
may the interest which the subject involves obtain
my pardon for being diffuse.
Ah, how could I calumniate letters ! — I
must be ungrateful indeed since they have formed
the charm of my life. I have had my misfortunes
like others ; for we may say of chagrins amongst
mankind what Lucretius says of the torch of life :
Quasi cursores, vitai lampada tradunt.
But I have always found in study noble
reasons which enabled me patiently to sup-
port my troubles. Often, seated by the side of
a road in Germany, not knowing what was
next to become my lot, 1 have forgot my trou-
bles, and the authors of my troubles, in think-
ing over some agreeable chimera which the com-
passionate muses presented to my fancy. I carried
my manuscript with me, as my sole wealth, in
wandering over the deserts of the New World ;
and more than once the pictures of nature traced
in an indian hut have consoled me at the door
RECOLLECTIONS, &C. VOL. II. R
c\
242
essays on various subjects*
of a cottage in Westphalia, when entrance was
refused me.
Nothing can so effectually dissipate the
troubles of the heart as study, nothing can so
well restore to perfect concord the harmonies of
the soul. When, fatigued with the storms of the
world, we take refuge in the sanctuary of the
Muses, we feel that we breathe a more tranquil
air, and the spirits are soon calmed by it3 benign
influence. Cicero had witnessed the calamities ot
his country; he had seen in Rome the execu-
tioner seated with the victim who, by a fortu-
nate chance alone hacl escaped his sword, and
enjoying the same consideration as that victim,
—he had seen the hand that was bathed with
the bl^od of the citizens, and that which had
been only raised for their defence pressed with
equal cordiality*; — he had seen virtue become a
subject of scandal in the days of guilt, as guilt
is an object of horror in the days of virtue
he had seen the degenerate Romans pervert the
language of Scipio to excuse their degeneracy,
calling resolution obstinacy, generosity folly*
courage imprudence and seeking an interested
2
ON MEN OF LETTERS.
248
motive for honourable actions that they might
not have the sweet sensation of esteeming some-
thing; — he had seen his friends by degrees grow
cold to him, their hearts repel the warm effusions
of his own, his pains cease to be theirs, their
opinions become estranged from his, till carried
away, or broke by the Wheel of Fortune, he was
left by them in a profound solitude. To these
pains so great, so difficult to be borne were added
domestic chagrins: “ My daughter remained to
me,” he writes to Sulpitius, “ that was a con-
stant support, one to which I could always have
recourse ; the charm of her society made me al-
most forget my troubles ; but the frightful
wound which l have received in losing her, un-
closes again all those 1 had thought healed. I
am driven from my house, and from the Forum.
And what did Cicero do in a situation so
lamentable ? — he had recourse to study. “ I have
reconciled myself with my books,” says he to
Varro, “ they invite me to a renewal of our
ancient intercourse ; they tell me that yon have
been wiser than me in never having forsaken
them.”
R 2
<244 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
The Muses, who permit us to chuse our
society, are above all a powerful resource in
times of political chagrin. When fatigued with
living in the midst of the Tigellinusses, and the
Narcissusses, they transport us into the society of
the Catos and the Fahricii. For what concerns
the pains of the heart, though study cannot
indeed restore to us the friends whose loss we
deplore, it softens the chagrins occasioned by
the separation, in mingling the recollection of
them with all the purest sentiments of life, with
all the most sublime images of nature.
Let us now examine the accusations urged
against men of letters , most of which appear to
me unfounded ; mediocrity often consoles itself
by calumny. It is urged that men of letters are
not fit for the transaction of business. Strange
idea ! that the genius, requisite to produce the
spirit of the laws was not deficient to conduct
the office of a minister. What ? cannot those
who sound so ably the depths of the human
heart unravel the intrigues arising from the pas*
sions around them ? The more we know men,
the less are we to be considered capable of go-
ON MEN OF LETTERS.
245
venting them ? — But this is a sophism which all
experience contradicts. The two greatest states-
men of antiquity, Demosthenes, and still more
Cicero, were men of letters in the most rigid
sense of the term. Never, perhaps did a finer
literary genius than Caesar exist, and it appears
that this descendant of Anchises and Venus
understood tolerably well how to conduct busi-
ness. We may cite in England Sir Thomas
More, Lords Clarendon, Bacon and Boling-
broke ; inFranceMM.de L. Hopital, Lamoignon,
d’Aguesseau, Malesherbes, and the greater part
of those first ministers who have been furnished
by the church. Nothing could persuade me
that Bossuet’s was not a head capable of con-
ducting a kingdom, nor that the severe and judi-
cious Boileau would not have made an excellent
administrator.
Judgment and good sense are the two qua-
lities necessary above all others to a statesman,
and it is to be remarked that they are also those
which ought to predominate in a literary head
well organized. Fancy and imagination, are not,
as people are too apt to suppose, the proper
246 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
bases of true talent, it is good sense, I repeat it,
good sense, with a happy turn of expression.
Every work of imagination, must be short-lived
if the ideas are deficient in a certain logical pre-
cision binding them in a connected chain, and
giving the reader the pleasure of reason even in
the midst of trifling. Cast your eyes over the
most celebrated works in our literature; after a
strict examination you will find that this superi-
ority is derived from a latent good sense, from ad-
mirable reasoning ; those are as it were the skele-
ton of the edifice. Whatever is false in itself,
finishes by displeasing; man has within him a
native principle of uprightness which cannotbe
offended with impunity. Thence comes it that
the works of the sophists ean never obtain more
than a transient success ; they shine at first with
a false lustre, and are soon lost in oblivion.
Tire idea which we are examining, respect-
ing men of letters , has only been entertained
becanse authors of ordinhttry capacities have
been confounded with authors of real merit.
The first class are not incapable because they
are men of letters, but merely because their ca-
ON MEN OF LETTERS.
247
pacities are ordinary ; and this is an excellent
remark made by my critic. It is precisely in the
two qualities which I have mentioned, judgment
and good sense, that their works are deficient.
You will perhaps find in them flashes of genius
or imagination, a certain knowledge, more or less,
of the trade , a habit more or less formed
of arranging words, and turning periods, but
never will you find a stroke of good sense.
These writers have not strength to bring
forth au idea which they have a moment before
conceived. When you think they are about to
take the right path, an evil demon interposes
and leads them astray ; they change their course
instantly, and passing by great beauties without
perceiving them, they mingle together indiscri-
minately under the influence of chance alone,
without ceconomy and without judgment, the
grave , the sweet , the jocose , the severe ; we know
not what they aim at proving, towards what
point their march is directed, what truths they
mean to enforce. I will readily agree that such
minds are not in any way fit to conduct public
Uhsiness, but I shall ascribe the blame to nature ,
248 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
not to letters ; above all things 1 should be
careful not to confound such unfortunate authors
with men of real genius.
But if the first literary talents may be capa-
ble of filling with glory the first places in the
country. Heaven forbid that I should recom-
mend to them ever to aspire to those places.
The greater part of men of high-birth might
conduct the public ministry as well as they
would ; but no one could replace the fine works
of which posterity would be deprived, by their
devoting themselves to other cares. Is it not
now much more for our advantage and for his
own, that Racine created with his hand such
• pompous wonders than that he should have filled,
even with the highest distinction, the places of
Luovois and Colbert. I wish that men of talents
understood better their high destiny ; that they
knew how to set a more just value upon the gifts
they have received from Heaven. It is not con-
ferring a favour on them to invest them with the
great offices of state, it is they who in accepting
these offices make an important sacrifice to the
country, and confer an essential favour upon ft-
ON MEN OF LETTERS.
249
Let others expose themselves to storms, I
counsel the lovers of study to contemplate them
from the shore. “ The sea-shore shall become
a place of repose for the shepherds,” says the
scriptures : erit funicles mavis requies pastor um.
Let us hear, farther, the Roman orator. “ I
esteem the days that you pass at Tusculmn, my
dear Varro, as much as the whole duration of
life, and I would willingly renonuce all the
riches of the earth to obtain the liberty of con-
stantly spending ray time so deliciously. ... 1
imitate it at least, as much as lies in my power,
and l seek my repose with true satisfaction in
ray beloved studies. ... If the great have judged
that, in favour of these studies, my attention to
public affairs may be dispensed with, why should
1 not choose so sweet an occupation.”
In a career foreign to their manners and
habits, men of letters will find nothing but the
ills of ambition, they will experience none of its
pleasures. More delicate than other men, how
must that delicacy be wounded a hundred times
in the day. , What horrible things must they
have to devour ; with what a set of people must
250 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
they be obliged to live, and even to smile upon
them. Always a mark for the jealousies which
true talents never fail to excite, they must be in-
cessantly exposed to calumnies and denuncia-
tions of every kind. They will find even in the
frankness, the simplicity, the elevation of their
characters, dangerous rocks on which they may
be wrecked; their virtues will do more harm
than their vices, their genius itself will plunge
them into snares, which ordinary men would
avoid. Happy if they find some favourable
opportunity for returning into solitude before
death, or exile, interposes, to punish them for
having sacrificed their talents to the ingratitude
of courts.
I know not whether I ought here to advert
to certain jokes which the world has been in
the habit of applying to men of letters even
from the days of Horace. He who has cele-
brated Lalag£ and Lydia relates, that he threw
his buckler before him, on the fields of Fhillipi ;
but the able courtier boasts, and his verses have
been taken too literally. Thus much, however,
is certain, that he speaks of death with a charm
ON MEN OF LETTERS.
251
so engaging with a turn of such mild and sweet
philosophy, that we could with difficulty per*
suade ourselves he had any fears of it :
Eheu, fugaces, Posth’ume, Posthume,
Labuntur anni !
Be this as it may with respect to the volup-
tuous solitary of Tibur, Xenophon and Caesar,
two eminent literary geniuses, were great Cap-
tains ; Eschylus performed prodigies of valour at
Salamis ; Socrates yielded the prize of valour
only to Alcibiades ; Tibullus was distinguished
in the legion , of Messala : Petronius and Seneca
are celebrated for the firmness they shewed in
death. In modern times Dante lived in the midst
of battles, and Tasso was one of the bravest
among the knights. Our ancient Malherbe, at
seventy-three years of age, wanted to have fought
the murderer of his son. Subdued as he was by
time, he went to the siege of Rochelle expressly
to obtain from Louis XIII permission to summon
the chevalier de Piles to single combat. La
Rochefoucault had made war upon kings. From
time immemorial our officers of the engineers and
of the Artillery, so brave at the cannon’s mouth
252 ESSAYS ON VARrOUS SUBJECTS.
have cultivated letters, most of them with suc-
cess, some with renown. It is well known that
the Breton Saint -Foix would not pass over any
reflection cast upon him ; and another Breton,
distinguished in our days as the first grenadier
%
of our armies occupied himself all his life with
literary researches. Finally, the men of letters
who have been cut oft' in our revolution have all
displayed the utmost courage and resolution at
the moment of death. If it be permitted to
judge by oneself, I should say with the frankness
natural to the descendants of the ancient Celts,
soldier, traveller, proscribed, shipwrecked, I
never found that the love of letters attached me
unreasonably to life. To obey the decrees of
religion and honour, it suffices to be a Christian
and a Frenchman.
Men of letters, it is farther said, have al-
ways flattered people in power ; and, according
to the vicissitudes of fortune, have come forth
alternately to celebrate virtue or to eulogize
crimes ; to offer incense to the oppressor and
the oppressed. Lucan said to Nero, speaking
of the proscriptions, and of the civil war :
ON MEN OF LETTERS.
255
But if our fetes severely have decreed
No way but this for Nero to succeed
If only thus our heroes can be Gods
And earth must pay for their divine abodes ;
If heav’n could not the Thunderer obtain
Till Giant’s wars made room for Jove to reign
’Tis just, ye Gods, nor ought we to complain.
Opprest with death tho’ dire Pharsalia groan
Tho’ Latian blood the Punic ghosts atone,
Tho’ Pompey’s hapless sons renew the war.
And Munda view the slaughter’d fleets from far,
Tho* meagre famine in Perusia reign
Tho’ Mutina with battles fill the plain,
Tho* Lenca’s isle, and wide Ambracia’s bay
Record the rage of Actium’s fatal day,
Tho’ servile hands are arm’d to man the fleet.
And on Sicilian seas the navies meet.
All crimes, all horrors, we with joy regard
Since thou, oh Caesar, art the great reward.
Lucan's Pharsalia , Book, /.
In all this I have nothing to say by way of
excuse for the men of letters ; I how my head
with shame and confusion, acknowledging like
the physician in Macbeth, that this disease is
beyond my practice.
254
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
Therein the patient
Must minister unto himself.
Yet may not something be said in extenua-
tion of this degradation ; it is indeed a poor ar-
gument that I am going to offer, but it is drawn
from the very nature of the human heart. Shew
* me in the revolutions of empires, in those un-
happy times when a whole people, like a corpse,
shew no signs of life, — shew me I say any entire
class of men who remain unshaken, ever faithful
to their honour, and who have not yielded to
the force ofevents, to the weariness of suffering;
— if such a class can be shewn, then will 1 pass
sentence on the men of letters. Hut if you can-
not find me this order of generous citizens, no
longer let so heavy an accusation fall exclusively
upon the favourites of the Muses; mourn over
human nature at large. The only difference
which subsists between the writer and the ordi-
nary man is, that the turpitude of the first is
known, and that the baseness of the latter is,
from his insignificance, concealed. Happy, m
effect, in such times of slavery, is the ordinary
man who may be mean with security, who may
ON MEN OF LETTERS.
255
with impunity grovel in the mire, certain that
his incapacity will preserve him from being
handed down to posterity, that his meanness will
never be. known beyond the present moment.
It remains for me to speak of literary re-
nown ; it inarches in equal pace with that of
kings and heroes. Homer and Alexander, Vir-
gil and Caesar, equally occupy the voice of
Fame. Let us say more, the glory of the Mnses
is the only one in which nothing accessary has
any share. A part of the renown, acquired in
arms, may be reflected on the soldiers, may be
ascribed to fortune; Achilles conquered the Tro-
jans by the assistance of the Greeks ; but Homer
composed the Iliad unassisted by any one, and
but for him we should not know of the existence
of Achilles. For the rest I am so far from
holding letters in the contempt imputed to me,
that I wonld not easily yield up the feeble portion
of renown which they seem to promise to my
humble efforts. I cannot reproach myself with
any one having ever been importuned by my
pretensions ; but, since it must be confessed, i
am not insensible to the applauses of my fellow-
256 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
countrymen, and I should be wanting in the just
pride due to my country, it X considered as no*
thing the honour of having added one to the
number of French names held in esteem among
foreign nations.
I here conclude this apology for men of
letters. I hope thatthe Bearnese Chevalier will
be satisfied with my sentiments ; Heaven grant
that he may be so with my style ; for, between
ourselves, 1 suspect him to be somewhat more
conversant in literature than entirely suits with
a Chevalier of the old times. If I must say all
I think, it appears to me that in attacking
my opinions he has only been defending his own
cause. His example will prove, in case it be
necessary, that a man who has enjoyed a high
distinction in the political orders, and in the first
classes of society, may still be eminent for his
learning; a discerning and elegant critic, a wri-
ter full of amenity, and a poet full of talents.
These Chevaliers of Bearn have always courted
the Muses, and we have not forgotten a certain
Henry who, besides that he fought not amiss,
when he quitted his fair Gabrielle lamented their
ON MEN OF LETTERS.
257
separation in verse. Since, however, my anta-
gonist does not chuse to discover himself, I will
avoid mentioning any name ; I would only have
him understand that l have recognized his co-
lours.
The men of letters, whom I have endea-
voured to rescue from the contempt of the ig-
norant must, in their turn excuse me, if I finish
by addressing a few words of advice to them, in
which I am ready, myself, to take an ample share.
Would we force calumny to be silent, aud attract
the esteem even of our enemies, let us lay aside
that pride and those immoderate pretentions
which rendered our class so insupportable in the
last century. Let ns be moderate in our opinions ;
indulgent in our criticisms ; sincere admirers of
whatever deserves to be admired. Full of respect
for what is noble in our art, let us never debase
our character ; let us not complain of destiny,
he who complains draws contempt upon himself;
let the muses alone, not the public, know whether
we are rich or poor ; the secret of our indigenes
ought to be kept the most carefully of any of
our secrets ; let the unfortunate be sure to find a
RECOLLECTIONS, &C. VOL. II.
s
258 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
support in us, we are the natural defenders of all
supplicants ; our noblest right is that of diying
the tears occasioned by sorrow, and drawing
tears down the cheeks of prosperity : Dolor ipse
disertumfecerat. Let us never prostitnte our
talents to power; but let us not, on the other
hand, ever rail against it ; he who c( ndeinns with
bitterness is very likely to applaud without dis-
cernment ; there is but one step between
complaint and adulation. In short, for the
sake of our own glory and for that of our works,
we cannot too much attach ourselves to virtue;
it is the beauty of the sentiments which creates
beauty of style. When the soul is elevated the
words fall from on high, and nobleness of ex-
pression will always follow nobleness of thought.
Horace and the Stagyrite do not teach the whole
of the art: there are delicacies and mysteries of
language which can only be communicated to
the writer by the probity of his own heart, and
which can never be taught by the precepts of
rhetoric.
259
SPEECH
COMPOSED BY M. PE CHATEAUBRIAND
For his Reception as a Membe r of the Imperial
Institute of France.*
When Milton published his Paradise Lost not
a single voice was raised in the three kingdoms,
of Great Britain, to praise a work which, not-
* M. de Chateaubriand was elected a member of the
Institute in Frauce, in the year 1811, in the place of M.
Chenier, a poet well known for the part he took in the French
revolution. According to custom the recipient was to pro-
nounce the euloginm of his predecessor ; but the friends of
M. Chenier knowing how much the memory of the deceased
had to fear from the eloquence of M. de Chateaubriand,
insisted that the speech of the latter should be communicated
to the Institute before it was delivered. It wa9 found, on
examination, to be little honorable to M. Chenier, and M.
de Chateaubriand was not admitted. His speech, however,
though never published was copied by all Paris.
ifote by the Editor.
260 essays on various subjects.
withstanding that it abounds with defects, is one
of the grandest efforts ever produced by the
human mind. The English Homer died for-
gotten, and his cotemporaries left to posterity
the charge of immortalizing him who had sung
the Garden of Eden.
Is this one of those instances of great lite-
rary injustice which are afforded by almost all
a g es p — No! — Scarcely breathing from the civil
wars the English could not resolve to celebrate
the memory of a man who had distinguished
himself so much in the days of calamity by the
ardour of his opinions. “ What shall we re-
serve,” said they, “ for him who devotes himself
to the safety of the state, if we lavish honours
upon the ashes of a citizen who can, at the most,
expect from us only a generous forbearance.
Posterity will do justice to the works of Milton,
but for us, we owe a lesson to our sons. We
ought to teach them, by our silence, that talents
are a fatal present when united with violent pas-
sions, and that we had far better condemn our-
selves to obscurity, than acquire fame through
the misfortunes of our country.”
SPEECH OF M. DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 26 1
Shall I, Gentlemen, imitate this memorable
example, or speak to you of the character and
works of M. Chenier? — To reconcile your cus-
toms and your opinions, 1 think 1 ought to take
a middle course between absolute silence, and
too close an examination. But whatever may
be my words, no gall shall be mingled with them ;
if you find in me the frankness of my country-
man Duclos, I hope I shall prove to you that I
have also his moderation.
It would be curious, without doubt, to
see what a man in my situation, with my
opinions, my principles, could say of him to
whose post I am this day raised ; it would be
interesting to examine the influence of revolu-
tions upon literary attainments, to show how
systems may lead talents astray, seducing them
into deceitful paths which seem to lead, to re-
nown, but terminate in oblivion. If Milton, in
spite of his political errors, has left works that
posterity admire, it is that Milton, without for-
saking his errors, retired from a society which
was retiring from him, to seek in religion the
only resource for soothing his misfortunes, and
2 62 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
to render it the source of his glory. Deprived
of the light of Heaven, he created himself a
new earth, a new sun, and quitted, as it were,
the world, in which he had experienced nothing
but crimes and calamities. He seated in the
bowers of Eden that primitive innocence, that
holy felicity which reigned in the tents ot Jacob
and Rachael, and he placed in hell the torments,
the passions, the remorse of those men in whose
fury he had been a sharer.
Unhappily the works of M. Chenier, al-
though they display the germ of eminent talent,
do not shine with the same simplicity, with the
#
same sublime majesty. This author distinguished
himself by a mind purely classical ; no one was
better acquainted with the principles of ancient
and modern literature. The drama, eloquence,
history, criticism, satire, all were embraced by
him, but his writings bear the impression of the
disastrous times in which they received their
birth. I found myself then, Gentlemen, obliged
either to be silent, or to enter into political dis-
cussions,
There are some persos who would make
STEECH OF M. DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 263
of literature an abstract science, and insu-
late it in the midst of human affairs. Such will
perhaps say to me : “ Why keep silence ? Consi-
der M. Chenier only, with regard to his literary
character — that is to say, Gentlemen, that 1
must trespass upon your patience and upon my
own, to repeat to you those common-place things
which are to be found every where, and which
you know even better than myself. Other times,
other manners. — Heirs of a long series ot peace-
able years, our forefathers might resign them-
selves to questions -purely academic, which did
not so much prove their talents as their happi-
ness. But we, the unfortunate remains of a
vast shipwreck, we want the mean& of tasting a
calm so perfect ; our ideas and our minds have
taken a different course ; the man has in us
superseded the academician ; in depriving letters
of all that rendered the pursuit of them easy, we
no longer contemplate them but through our
powerful recollections, and the experience of our
adversity. What ? after a revolution which has
made us run through the events of many ages
in a few years, shall a writer be precluded enter-
264 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
ing on all moral considerations ; shall he be
forbidden to examine the serious side of objects;
shall he pass a frivolous life in agitating gram-
matical niceties and rules of taste, in dissecting
trifling literary periods and phrases ; shall he
grow grey, bound in the swathes of his infancy;
shall he nqt show at the close of his days a
countenance furrowed by those long labours,
those grave thoughts, often by those masculine
griefs which add to the greatness of man. What
important cares shall then have whitened his
hair? — the miserable anxieties of self-love, and
the puerile sports of wit and fancy.
Certainly, gentlemen, this would be to treat
ns with a strange degree of contempt ; for my
own part, I cannot demean myself, nor reduce
myself to a state of childhood, at an age of
vigour and reason ; I cannot confine myself in
the narrow circle that they would draw around
an author. If, for example, I would pronounce
the enlogium of the man of letters , o fthe man
of superior mijid who presides in this assembly,*
* M. de BoufHers.
SPEECH OF M. DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 265
think you that I could be contented simply to
praise in him that light ingenious French spirit,
which he received from his mother, and of
which he presents among us the most engaging
model ? — No undoubtedly ; — I should decorate
with all its lustre, the great name which he
bears ; I should cite the Duke de Boufflers, who
made the Austrians raise the siege of Genoa;
I should speak of the marshal, father of that
warrior, who disputed the ramparts of Lille with
the enemies of France, and consoled by that
memorable defence, the old age of a great king.
It was of this companion of Turenne that
Madame de Maintenon said, the heart was in
him the last thing that died. Nor should I omit
to remount to Louis de Boufflers, called the
Robust, who shewed in the fight the vigour and
courage of Hercules. Thus should I find at the
two extremities of this military family, strength
and grace, the Knight and the Troubadour.
The French are reputed to.be the descendants of
Hector ; I should rather believe them the off-
spring of Achilles, since, like that hero, they are
3
266 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
equally skillful with the lyre, and with the
sword.
If, gentlemen, I would entertain you with
the celebrated poet who has sung nature so
enchantingly,* think you that I could confine
myself to remarking the admirable flexibility
of a talent which knows how to render with
equal success, the regular beauties of Virgil,
and the incorrect beauties of Milton r — Un-
doubtedly not. I should also display this cele-
brated poet as resolving not to separate himself
from his unfortunate countrymen, but following
them with his lyre to foreign shores, consoling
them by singing their griefs. Illustrious exile !
in the midst of a crowd of unknown exiles, to
the number of which I myself added; it is true
that his age, his infirmities, his talents, his glory,
ceuld not shelter him from persecution ; fain
would they have made him sing verses unworthy
of his name, — his muse could only sing the
frightful immortality of crime, the consoling im-
mortality of virtue.
* M. l’Abbe Delille.
SPEECH OF M. DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 267
If, finally, gentlemen, I would speak to you
of a friend very dear to my heart, * of one of
those friends who, according to Cicero, render
prosperity more brilliant , and lighten adversity ;
I should undoubtedly speak of the noble harmony
of his verses, which, formed on the great mo-
dels, are nevertheless distinguished by a tone
perfectly original ; I should speak with eulogy,
of superior talents which never knew a feeling of
envy ; of talents rejoicing no less in the success
of others than in his own ; of those talents which
for ten years have felt every honour attained
by me with that profound and lively joy known
only to the most amiable character, and to the
warmest friendship ; — all this I should celebrate,
but I could not omit the political part of my
friend’s life, I should paint him at the head of
one of the first bodies in the state, delivering
speeches which are models of grandeur, of
moderation, and of amenity. I should represent
him as sacrificing the sweet intercourse with
* M. de Fontaues, then Grand Master ef the
University,
368 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
the Muses ; to occupations which have no charm
but the hope of training up, to the state, children
capable of following the glorious.»steps of their
ancestors, while they avoid their errors.
In speaking then of the persons of talent,
who compose this assembly, I could never for-
bear considering them under their moral and
social relations. The one is distinguished by a
refined, delicate, and sagacious mind, by an
urbanity very rare in these times, and still more
by the most honourable respect for modern
opinions ; another, under the frost of age, has
found the fire of youth in pleading the cause of
the unfortunate. This latter, an elegant his-
torian, and a pleasing poet, receives added claims
to our respect from the recollection of a father
and a son mutilated in the service of their
country ; that son, giving hearing to the deaf,
and speech to the dumb, recals to our mind the
wonders of the evangelical worship, to which be
has consecrated himself.* Are there not many
among you, gentlemen, who can relate to] the
* M. I’ Abbe Sicard.
SPEECH OF M HE CHATEAUBRIAND. 269
heir of Chancellor d'Aguesseau, how much the
name of his ancestor was in former times the
subject of admiration in this society.
I pass on to the nurselings of the nine sisters,
and I perceive the venerable author of CEdipus,
in the solitude of Sophocles.* How much
ought we to love these children of Melpomene
who have rendered the misfortunes of our
fathers so interesting to us. Every French
heart shuddered at the presage of the death of
Henry IV ; the tragic muse has re-established
these preux- chevaliers so basely betrayed by
history.
From our modern Euripides descending to
the successors of Anacreon, I pause at ‘he recol-
lection of that amiable man, who, like the poet
of Theos, after fifteen lustra, revised the songs
which his muse had produced at fifteen years. I
will even go, gentlemen, as far as the stormy
seas, formerly guarded by the giant Adrancastor,
whose waves were appeased by the charming
* M. Dncis.
270 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
names of Eleonora and Virginia , X to exalt your
fame . — Tibi rident cequora ponti.
Alas ! too many persons of talent among
you, have been strangers and wanderers on the
earth. Has not poetry sung the art of Neptune
in the most harmonious verses ; that fatal art
which transports us to foreign shores. Shall not
French eloquence, after having defended the
state and the altar, retire, as to its source, into
the country of Ambrose and of Chrysostom.
Why can I not include all the members of
this academy in a picture where flattery has not
embellished the colours. For if it be true, that
envy sometimes obscures the estimable qualities
which adorn men of letters, it is even more true
that this class of men have commonly distin-
guished themselves by a hatred of oppression, by
devotion to friendship, and by fidelity under
misfortunes.
It is thus, gentlemen, that I please myself
with considering a subject under all its forms, and
* The Chevalier de Parny and M. Bernardin de St.
Pierre.
SPEECH OF M. DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 27l
that I love above all things to give importance
to letters, by applying them to the highest objects
of philosophy and morals. Feeling this inde-
pendence of mind, I must abstain from examin-
ing works on which it is impossible for me to
touch without irritating the passions. If i were
to speak of the tragedy of Charles IX, could I
abstain from revenging the memory of the Car-
dinal of Lorraine, and discussing the lesson
given to kings. Caius Gracchus, Henry VIII,
and F£n61on, would offer me in many respects,
historical facts equally altered, for the purpose
of supporting the same doctrines. If I turn to
the satires, I find men immolated, who now hold
the first rank in this assembly ; yet these satires
are written in an easy and elegant style, which
reminds us agreeably of the school of Voltaire;
and I should have so much the more pleasure in
praising them, since I myself could not escape
the malice of the author.
But let us turn away from the works which
will give occasion to painful recriminations. I
would not cloud over the memory of one who
was your colleague, and of whom many here are
272
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
are still the admirers and the friends. He will
owe to that religion which appeared to him so
mean, in the writings of its defenders, the peace
which I sincerely wish him in the tomb.
But even here, Gentlemen, may 1 not be
so unfortunate as to find myself among danger-
ous rocks. In paying to the ashes of M.
Chenier the tribute of respect claimed by all the
dead, I should fear the meeting in my progress
with the shades of many others celebrated in a
very different way. If interpretations little
generous, should impute this involuntary emula-
tion to me as a crime, I must take refuge at the
feet of those expiatory altars which a powerful
monarch is raising to the manes of injured
dynasties.
Oh how happy would it have been for M.
Chenier if he had avoided all participation in
the public calamities which fell at length upon
his own head. He has known, like me, what it
is to lose, among popular commotions, a brother
tenderly beloved. What would our unfortunate
brothers have said, if called on the same day by
the sovereign disposer of all things before hi*
SPEECH OF M. DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 2/3
tribunal they had met at so awful a moment?—
Would they not have said : “ Cease your in-
testine wars, return to sentiments of love and
peace ; death strikes all parties equally, and
your cruel dissensions have cost ns youth and
life”
II my predecessor could hear these words>
little consoling to his shade, he would be sen-
sible to the homage which I render to his bro-
ther, for he was naturally generous. It was
indeed this very generosity which attracted him
towards novelties, very seductive without doubt,
since they promised to inspire us all with the
virtues of a Fabricins ; but soon disappointed in
his expectations, his temper became soured, his
talents were perverted. Transported from
amidst the tumultuary scenes of faction to the
solitary life of a poet, how could he resign him-
sell wholly to those affectionate sentiments,
which constitute the great charm of that life.
Happy had it been, if he had never seen any other
heaven than the fine heaven of Greece where
he was born, — if he had never contemplated
recollections, &c., vol, II. T
274 JESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS*
any other ruins than those of Sparta and
Athens.
I might perhaps then have met with him
in that beautiful country, and we might have
sworn eternal friendship to each other on the
banks of the Permessus. Or, since it was his
destiny to return to the fields of his ancestors*
why did he not follow me into the deserts whither
1 was driven by our tempests* Phe silence of
the forests would have calmed that troubled
soul, and the huts of the savages might have
reconciled him to the palaces of kings.— Vain
wishes! — M. Chenier remained upon the theatre
of his agitations and his griefs. Attacked while
yet young with a mortal disease, you saw him,
gentlemen, decline slowly towards the tomb, and
quit for ever. ... I have never heard any account
of his last moments.
We who have lived amid the troubles ot
revolutions, can none of ns escape the attention
of history. Who can flatter himself with re-
maining unspotted in a time of delirium when
no one retained the full use of his reason. Let
us then exercise the utmost indulgence towards
2
SPEECH OF M. DE CHATE AUB'UAND. 275
each other; Let us excuse what, we cannot ap-
prove. Such is the weakness of human nature,
that talents, that genius, that virtue itself are
sometimes the occasion of our overstepping the
bounds of duty. M. C henier adored liberty ; can
that be imputed to him as a crime. The Chevaliers
themselves if they could quit their tombs,
would follow the superior light of our age, we
should see an illustrious alliance formed between
man and liberty, asunder the race of Valois, the
gothic battlements crowned with infinite grace,
our monuments built according to the orders
borrowed fiom Greece. Is not liberty the greatest
good of man, the most urgent want of man. It
inflames genius, it elevates the heart, it is as ne-
cessary to the friend of the Muses as the air which
he breathes.The arts may, to a certain point, live in
dependence, because they make use of a language
peculiar to themselves, which is not understood
by the multitude ; but letters, which speak an
universal language, languish and die in chains.
How will pages worthy of history ever be
traced, if the writer be interdicted every mag-
t 2
2 76 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
nanimous sentiment, every forcible and elevated
thought. Liberty is so naturally the friend of
the sciences and of letters, that they fly with
her when she is banished from among any peo-
ple ; it is you, gentlemen, whom she charges to
write her annals, to revenge her on her enemies,
and to transmit her name and worship to pos-
terity.
That my idea may not be mistaken by any,
I here declare that I speak of that liberty which
is the child of order, and produced by the laws,
not of that daughter of licentiousness, who is
the mother of slavery. The author of the tra-
gedy of Charles IX, was not to be condemned
for offering up his incense to the first of these
deities, but for believing that the rights she con-
fers are incompatible with a monarchical go-
vernment. A Frenchman was always free at
the foot of the throne ; it is in his opinions that
he places that freedom, which others place in
their laws. Liberty is to him a sentiment rather
than a principle, he is a citizen by instinct, and
a subject by choice. If the writer, whose loss
SPEECH OF M. DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 2 77
you lament, had made this distinction, he would
not have embraced with equal love the liberty
which creates and that which destroys.
Here, gentlemen, I conclude the task
which the customs of the academy have dele-
gated to me. On the point of terminating this
address, 1 am struck with an idea which afflicts
me deeply. It is not long since M. Chenier de-
livered some opinions, which , he proposed to
publish, upon my works, and it is to my lot
that it tails at this moment to judge roy judge.
I say it in all the sincerity of my heart, I had
rather be still exposed to the shafts of satire,
and live at peace in some solitude, than remind
you by my presence here of the rapid succession
of men upon the earth ; of the sudden appear-
ance of that death which overthrows all our
projects and all our hopes, which carries us
oft in a moment, and sometimes consigns the
care of our memory to men whose principles and
sentiments are directly in opposition to our own,
1 his tribunal is a sort of field of battle,
where talents by turn shine and vanish. What
variety of genius has passed over it ; a Corneille.
278 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
a Racine, a Boileau, a La Bruy^re, a Bossuet,
a Fen£lon, a Voltaire, a Bnffon, a Montesquieu?
Who may not be alarmed, gentlemen, at the
idea that he is about to form a link in this
august chain ? Oppressed with the weight of
these immortal names, not having the powers
necessary to make myself recognized as a law-
ful heir, I will endeavour at least to prove my
descent by my sentiments. When my turn shall
arrive to yield my place to the orator who is to
deliver his oration over my tomb, he may treat
my' works with severity, but he shall be obliged
to say, that 1 loved my country passionately,
that 1 would have suffered a thousand ills rather
than have cost her a single tear, that i would,
without hesitation, have sacrificed my life in
support of these noble sentiments, the only
ones which can give value to life and dignity to
death.
27 9
DEFENCE
OF THE BEAUTIES OF CHRISTIANITY.
The only noble answer, perhaps, that can be
given by an author when attacked, is silence.
It is at least the surest way of gaining credit in
the public opinion.
If a work be really good, it canuot be af-
fected by censure ; if it be bad, it cannot be
justified by apologies.
Convinced of these truths, the author of the
Spirit oj Christianity determined not to take any
notice of the animadversions of critics, and till
the present moment he has adhered to this reso-
lution. He has borne praises without pride, and
insults without discouragement : the former are
often lavished upon mediocrity, and the latter
upon merit. He has with perfect indifference
beheld certain critics proceed from abuse to
calumny, either because they ascribed the
280 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS,
author’s silence to contempt, or because they
could not forgive him after their affronts had
been offered to him in vain.
Methinks I hear the reader ask : why then
does the author now break silence ? Why has
he deviated from the rule which he laid down
for himself? To these questions 1 reply : Be-
cause it is obvious, that under the pretext of
attacking the author, there now lurks a design
to annihilate that little benefit which the work
may be calculated to produce. Because it is
neither his own person nor his own talent, real
or reputed, that the author is about to defend,
but the book itself ; and this book he will de-
fend not as literary , but as a religious work.
The Beauties of Christianity have been
received by the public with some indulgence.
At this symptom of a change in opinion, the
spirit ^of sophistry took the alarm ; she con-
sidered it as prophetic of the approaching ter-
mination of her too long reign. She had re-
course to all her weapons, she took every dis-
guise, and even assumed the cloak of religion, to
DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY.
281
blast a woik written in behalf of religion her-
self.
Under these circumstances, the author
deems it his duty to keep silence no longer. The
same spirit which prompted him to write his
book, now impels him to step forth in its defence.
It is pretty evident that the critics, to whom he
alludes in this defence, were not honest in their
animadversions ; they pretended to misconceive
the object of the work ; they loudly accused it
of being profane ; they took good care not to
perceive that the author treated of the grandeur,
the beauty, the poetry of the Christian religion,
merely because it had been the fashion for half
a century to insist on its meanness, absurdity,
and barbarism. When he has explained the
reasons which induced him to undertake the
work, when he has specified the class of readers
to whom it is particularly addressed, he hopes that
his intentions and the object of his labours will
cease to be mistaken. The author, in his own
opinion, cannot give a stronger proof ot his de-
votion to the cause which he has espoused, than
in addressing this reply to the critics, in spite of
282 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS*
the repugnance which he has always felt for
controversies of the kind.
It has in the first place been asked, whether
the author had a right to compose such a work.
This is either a serious question or a sneer. If
it be serious, the critic proves that he is not much
conversant with his subject.
Needs any one be told that in difficult times
every Christian is a priest and confessor of Jesus
Christ ?* Most of the apologies for the Chris-
tian religion have been written by laymen.
Were Aristides, St. Justin, Minucius Felix,
Arnobius, and Lactantius, priests ? It is pro.
bable that St. Prosper never embraced the eccle-
siastical profession, and yet he defended the
faith against the errors of the semi-pelagians ;
the church daily quotes his works in support of
her doctrines. When Nestorius circulated his
heresy, he was combated by Eusebius, afterwards
bishop of Dorylteum, but who was at the time
an advocate. Origen had not yet taken orders
when he expounded the Scriptures in Palestine,
* S. Nieron, Dial, c. Lucif.
DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY.
283
at the solicitation of the prelates of that province
themselves. Demetrius, bishop of Alexandria,
who was jealous of Origen, complained of these
discourses as an innovation. Alexander, bishop
of Jerusalem, and I heocritus of Cesarsea, re-
plied, “ that it was an ancient and general
custom in the church, for bishops to make use
indiscriminately of persons possessing piety and
some talent for speaking.” All ages have
afforded similar examples. When Pascal un-
dertook bis sublime apology for Christianity;
when La Brny&re wrote with such eloquence
against Free-thinkers; when Leibnitz defended
the principal tenets of the faith; when Newton
wrote the explanation of one of the sacred
books ; when Montesquieu composed those ex-
quisite chapters of his Spirit of the Laws , de-
fending the religion of the Gospel, did any one
ever think of asking whether they were priests?
Even poets have raised their voices in conjunc-
tion with these powerful apologists, and the son
of Racine has, in harmonious verses, defended
th t religion which inspired the author of Atha-
liah.
t
284 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
But if it ever behoved laymen to take in
hand this sacred cause, it must be by that
species of apology which the author of the
Beauties of Christianity has adopted : — a kind
of defence, which the mode of attack imperi*
ously required, and which, considering the
spirit of the age, was perhaps the only one that
could be expected to be attended with any sue*
cess. Such an apology could not in fact be un-
dertaken by any but a layman. An ecclesiastic
could not, without a manifest violation of pro-
priety, have considered religion in its merely
human relations, and have read so many calum-
nious satires, impious libels and obscure novels,
for the purpose of refuting them.
In truth, the critics who have advanced
this objection, are fully aware how frivolous,
it is, but they hoped in their circuitous way
to prevent the good effects that might result
from the book. They wished to raise doubts
respecting the competency of the author,
in order to divide the public opinion, and to
alarm those simple minds which suffer them-
selves to be imposed upon by the apparent ho-
DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY.
285
nesty of criticism. Let these timid consciences
take courage; or rather, let them fairly examine
before they yield to alarm, whether the scrupu-
lous critics, who accuse the author of laying vio-
lent hands on the censor, who evince such ex-
traordinary tenderness, such anxious solicitude
for religion, he not men notorious for their con-
tempt or their neglect of it.
The second objection alledged against the
spirit of Christianity, has the same purpose as
the preceding, but it is more dangerous, inas*
much as it tends to bewilder the ideas, to involve
what is perfectly clear in obscurity, and in
particular to mislead the reader with regard to
the real object of the book.
The same critics, with their wonted zeal for
the interests of religion, observe — “ It is highly
improper to treat of religion under merely hu-
man relations, or to consider its literary and
poetic beauties. This is inflicting a wouud on
religion herself; it is a debasement of her dig-
nity, a removal of the veil of the sanctuary, a
profanation of the sacred ark, &c. Why did
not the author confine himself to theological
28t) ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECT3,
arguments? why has he not employed that
rigid logic, which introduces none but sound
ideas into the heads of children, which confirms
the Christian in the faith, edifies the priest, and
satisfies the teacher.”
This objection may be said to be the only
one adduced by the critics ; it forms the ground-
work of all their censures, whether they treat
of the subject, the plan or the details of the
work. They never will enter into the spirit of
the author, so that he might justly say — “ You
would suppose that the critic had sworn not to
comprehend the state of the question, or to un-
derstand any one of the passages which he at-
tacks.”*
The whole force of the argument, as to the
latter part of the objection, resolves itself to
this — “ The author has undertaken to consider
Christianity in its relations to poetry, the fine
arts, eloquence and literature, he has moreover
attempted to shew all the obligations which
mankind owe to religion, in a moral, civil, and
* Montesquieu’s Defence of the Spirit of the Laws.
DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY.
287
political point of view. Such being his plan, he
has not produced a theological work ; he has
not defended what he never designed to defend :
he has not addressed readers to whom he never
intended to address himself; he is therefore
guilty of having done precisely what he meant
to do.”
But, supposing that the author has accom-
plished his object, ought he to have sought that
object ?
i bis brings us back to the first part of the
objection, so often repeated, that religion must
not be considered with relation to merely human,
moral and political beauties ; that is lessening its
dignity, &c. &c.
The author will endeavour to elucidate this
principal point of the question in the succeeding
paragraphs.
I. In the first place, he has not attacked ,
but defended; he has not challenged, but ac-
cepted a challenge. This changes at once the
state of the question and invalidates the censure.
The author has not officiously taken upon him-
self to extol a religion, hated, despised, and
288
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
overwhelmed with ridicule by sophists. T-he
Beauties of Christianity would certainly have
been a very unseasonable work in the age of
Louis XIV. ; and the critic, who observes that
Massillon would not have published such an
apology, has pronounced an incontestible truth.
Never would the author have thought of writing
his book, had there not existed poems, novels,
works of every kind, in which Christianity is held
up to the derision of the readers. But since
these poems, these novels, these works exist, it
is necessary to vindicate religion against the
sarcasms of impiety ; since it has been so gene-
rally said and written, that Christianity is barba-
rous, ridiculous, and an enemy to the arts and
genius, it is of essential importance to demon-
strate that it is none of these ; and that what is
represented as little, mean, destitute of taste,
beauty and feeling, by the pen of scandal, may
appear grand, noble, simple, dramatic, and
divine, under the pen of a religious writer.
II. If it be not permitted to defend reli-
gion with reference to its human beauty; if"'®
ought not to use our endeavours to prevent
DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY. 289
ridicule being attached to its sublime institutions ;
will not one side ot this religion always remain
unprotected. Against this side will all attacks
be directed ; here yon will be surprised without
defence and ultimately perish. Had not this
already nearly happened ? Was it not by means
of ridicule and burlesque, that M. de Voltaire
wa3 enabled to shake the very foundations of the
faith ? Would ycu answer licentious stories and
absurdities with theological arguments and syllo-
gisms ? Will formal argumentation prevent a
frivolous age from being seduced by pointed
verses, or kept back from the altars by the fear
of ridicule ? Do you not know that with the
French nation a bon mot , an impious witticism,
felix culpa , have more influence than volumes of
sound reasoning and metaphysics ? Persuade
youth that an honest man may be a Christian
without being a fool ; erase from their minds
the idea that none but capuchins and simpletons
can believe in religion, and your cause will
soon be gained. It will then be the time,
in order to secure your victory, to resort to
theological reasonings ; but begin with mak-
RECOLLECTIONS, &C. VOL. II. U
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
ing them read what you write. What you first
stand in need of is a religious work that shall be
j
what is termed popular. Whuld you conduct
your patient in one single excursion to the top of
a steep mountain, when he is scarcely able to
crawl, shew him at every step varied and pleas-
ing objects ; allow him to stop and gather
the flowers that present themselves by the way,
till proceeding from one resting-place to another,
he will at last reach the summit.
HI. The author has not written his
apology exclusively for scholars , for Christians ,
for priests , for doctors* ; he has written more
particularly for persons of literary pursuits and
for the world. This has already been observed
above, and may be inferred from the two pre-
ceding paragraphs. You ao not set out fiotn
this point, if you constantly pretend to mistake
the class of readers to whom the spirit of Chris-
tianity is especially addressed, and it is e\ ident
* And yet it is not genuine Christians, nor the
Doctors of the Sorbonne, but the philosopere, as we have
already observed, that are so scrupulous in regard to
work. This ought not to be forgotten.
DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY. 2QI
that you do not rightly comprehend the work. It
was composed to be read by the most incredu-
lous of literary men, by the gayest of the youth-
ful votaries of fashion, with the same facility as
the first turns over the leaves of an impious
book, and the second, those of a dangerous
novel. “ Would you then,” exclaimed these
well-intended zealots in behalf of religion,
“ would you then make religion a fashionable
thing?” Would to God that this divine reli-
gion were the fashion, considering fashion taken
in tliie sense, as signifying the opinion of the
world ! This indeed might perhaps, to a cer-
tain degree, encourage private hypocrisy, but
it is certain, on the other hand, that pub-
lic morals would be gainers by it. The
rich man would no longer exert his self-love to
corrupt the poor, the master to pervert his ser-
vant, the father to give lessons in atheism to his
children ; the practice of the forms of religion
would lead to a belief in its doctrines, and with
piety, the age of morals and of virtue would
return.
IV. M. de Voltaire, when he attacked
u 2
3^2 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
Christianity, was too well acquainted with the
human mind, not to endeavour to secure what
is termed the opinion of the ivorld : accordingly
he exerted all his talents to make impiety a kind
of bon ton. He accomplished his purpose, by
rendering religion ridiculous in the eves of
frivolous persons. It is this ridicule that the
author of the Beauties of Christianity has
attempted to wipe away ; this is the aim of all
bis laboprs ; the object which should never be
lost sight of, by those who would form an im-
p^rti^l judgment of his work. But has the
author wiped away this ridicule ? 1 hat is not
question. You should ask: has he exerted
a)l his efforts to counteract it ? Give him credit
for what he has attempted, not for what he has
actually accomplished. P eniiitte divis extra,
Ha defends no part of his book but the idea
which constitutes its ground-work. 1 o consider
ebistianity in its relations with human society;
shew what changes it ha? produced in the
reason and the passions of man ; how it has
civilized the Gothic nations ; how it has modi-
fied the genius of the arts and of letters ; how it
DEFENCE OF CHRISNIANITT.
lias directed the spirit and manners of the people
of modern times ; in a word, to develope all the
excellencies of this religion, in its relations
poetical, moral, political, historical, &c. will
always appear to the author one of the finest
subjects for a work that can possibly be imagined.
As to the manner in which he has executed his
work, that he leaves others to determine.
V. But this is not the place for affecting a
modesty, which is always suspicious in modern
authors, and which deceives nobody. The
cause is too great, the interest too important not
to authorise us to rise superior to all considera-
tions of human delicacy and respect. Now, if
the author counts the number of suffrages, and
compares their weight, he cannot persuade
himself that he has totally failed in the object of
his book. Take an impious picture, place it
beside a religious piece, composed on the same
subject and borrowed from the Beauties of
Christianity, and yon may venture to assert
that the latter, imperfect as it may be, will
weaken the dangerous effects of the former.
Such is the power of unadorned truth, when
I
294 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
put in competition with the most brilliant false-
hood! M. de Voltaire, for example, has fre-
quently diverted himself at the expense of the
religious. Beside one of his caricatures place
the part relative to the mission, that in which
the orders of Hospitallers are represented re-
lieving the traveller in the deserts, the chapter
in which the monks are seen devoting themselves
to the attendance on the infected, or accom-
panying the criminal to the scaffold : what
irony will not be disarmed, what smile will not
be converted into tears ? In answer to the
charges of ignorance preferred against the reli-
gion of Christians, adduce the immense labours
of those pious men who preserved the manu-
scripts of antiquity, and the works of Bossuet
and Fdn^lon in reply to the accusations of bad
taste and barbarism. With the caricatures of
saints and angels, contrast the snblime effects of
Christianity on the dramatic department of
poetry, on eloquence and the fine arts ; and say
whether the impression of ridicule will long be
able to maintain its ground. Had the author
done nothing more than to set at ease the vanity
1
DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY- £95
of people of the world; had his only success
consisted in presenting to the view, of an incre-
dulous age, a series of religious pictures without
disgusting that age, still he would think that he
had not been wholly unserviceable to the cause
of religion.
VI. Pressed by this truth which they have
too much sense not to be sensible of, and which
is, perhaps, the secret cause of their alarm, the
critics have recourse to another subterfuge.
“ Who,” say they, “ denies that Christianity,
like every other religion, has poetical and moral
beauties ; that its ceremonies are pompous, &c.”
Who denies this ? — why you, yourselves, who
but just now made sacred things the butt of
your ridicule ; you, who finding it impossible
to reject convincing evidences, have no other
resource than to assert, that nobody has attacked
what the author defends. You now acknowledge
that there are many excellent points in the mo-
nastic institutions. You are affected at the
mention of the Monks of St. Bernard, the Mis-
sionaries of Paraguay and the Sisters of Cha-
rity. You admit that religious ideas are ne-
296 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS-
ceesary for dramatic effects, that the morality of
the gospel, at the same time that it opposes a
barrier to the passions, purifies their flame and
increases their energy. You allow that Chris-
tianity has preserved the arts and sciences from
the inundation of the barbarians, and that this
alone has transmitted down to your time the
language and the works of Greece and Rome;
that it has founded your colleges, built or em-
bellished your cities, attempered the despotism
of your governments, drawn up yourcivil codes,
mitigated your criminal laws, polished modem
Europe, and even brought it into cultivation.
Did you admit all this before the publication of
a work which is doubtless very imperfect, but
which has, nevertheless, collected all these
important truths into one single point of view?
VII. The tender solicitude of the critics for
the purity of religion has already been remarked :
it was, therefore, but natural to expect that they
would protest against the two episodes which
the author has introduced into his work. This
scruple of the critics springs from the grand
objection which they have urged against the
297
DEFENCE OF CIlllISTlANITT.
whole work ; and it is destroyed by the general
answer that has just been given to this objec-
tion. Once more tire author repeats, that he
had to combat impious poems and novels with
religious poems and novels ; he grasped the same
arms to which he saw his enemy have recourse t
this was a natural and necessary consequence of
the species of apology which he had adopted,
lie strove to furnish example combined with
precept. In the theoretical part of his work,
he asserted that religion embellishes our exis-
tence, corrects without extinguishing the pas-
sions, and throws an extraordinary interestover
all subjects in which it is employed. He said
that its doctrine and its worship blend, in a
wonderful manner, with the emotions of the
heart and the scenery of nature ; finally, that
it is the only resource in the great misfor-
tunes ot life. It was not sufficient to advance
all these positions, it was necessary also that they
should be demonstrated. This the author has
attempted to do in the two episodes of his work.
I hese episodes were, moreover, a bait to allure
that class of readers for which the work is es-
Q()8 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS#
pecially designed. Was then the author so bad
a judge of the human heart, when he laid this
innocent snare for unbelievers ; and is it not
probable that many a reader would never have
opened the Beauties of Christianity had he not
looked into the work of Ren6 and Atala ?
Sai che la corre il mondo ove piu versi
Delle suedolcezze il lusingher Parnasso,
E che ’l verso, condito in molli versi,
I piu schivi alletando, ha persuaso.
VIII. All that an impartial critic, who is
willing to enter into the spirit of the work, has
a right to expect of the author, is, that these
episodes should have an obvious tendency to
excite a love of religion and to demonstrate its
utility. Now he would ask, is not the necessity
of monastic institutions shewn in certain disasters
of life, and those in particular which are the
most afflictive ? is not the power of a religion
that alone carr heal the wounds which all the
balsams of the woild are unable to cure, irre-
fragably proved in the History of Ren6f The
author there combats, besides, the mania pe-
culiar to the young people of the present day,
DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY. 299
that mania which leads directly to suicide. It
was J. J. Rousseau who first introduced among
us these reveries so vicious and so baneful. By
secluding himself from society, and indulging
himself in his fanciful dreams, he has led num-
bers of youth to imagine that there is something
romantic in thus casting themselves into the
uncertain ocean of life. Gothe’s Werther has
since developed this germ of poison. The
author of the Beauties oj Christianity, being
obliged to introduce into his apology some pic-
tures for the imagination, was solicitous to de-
nounce this new species of vice, and delineate
the fatal consequences resulting from the love
of solitude carried to excess. The convents
formerly afforded retreats for those contempla-
tive minds whom Nature imperiously calls to
meditation. They found in the society of their
Maker wherewith to fill the void which they
felt in their hearts, and often too an occasion
to practise rare and sublime virtues. But since
the destruction of monasteries and the progress
of infidelity, we must expect to see a species
of recluses spring up amongst us (as has been
300 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
the case in England) who are at once the slates
of passion and philosophers, who, incapable
alike of renouncing the vices of the age, and
of loving that age, will take the hatred of their
fellow-men for elevation and genius, will re-
nounce every duty, divine and human, will
cherish in their retirement the vainest chimeras
and plunge deeper and deeper into a surly mi-
santhropy, leading either to madness or to the
grave.
In order to produce a stronger aversion for
these criminal reveries, the author thought it
right to take the punishment of Rene from that
circle of calamities, not relating so much to him,
individually, as to the whole family of man, and
which the ancients ascribed to fatality. He
could have chosen the subject of Phrcdra, had
it not been treated by Racine ; he had, there-
fore, nothing left but that of Europa and Thy-
estes* among the Greeks, or of Amnon and la-
* Sen. in Atr. et Th. See also Canace and Macareus,
and Caune and Byblis in Ovid’s Metamorphoses and the
Heroides. I rejected, as too abominable, the subject of
Myrro, which recurs in that of Lot and his daughters.
DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITV.
301
mar* among the Hebrews : and though this
subject has likewise been introduced upon the
stage,-)' it is less known than the former. Per-
haps too it is the more applicable to the cha-
racter which the author wishes to pourtray. In
fact, the foolish reveries of Rene began the
evil, and his extravagances completed it. By
the former, he led astray the imagination of a
feeble woman ; by the latter, he caused the un-
happy creature to unite her fate with his. This
unhappiness grows out of the subject, and
punishment is the consequence of guilt.
It only remained to sanctify by Christianity
an event which was, at the same time, borrowed
from pagan and sacred antiquity. Even in this
respect, the author had not every thing to do ;
for he found the story, almost naturalized as a
Christian one, in an old ballad by Pelerin, which
the peasantry still sing in several parts of the
country.^ It is not by the maxims scattered
* II. Sam. XIII.
t In the Abufar of M. Ducis.
X C'est le Chevalier des Landes,
Malheureux chevalier, &c.
302
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECT!.
through a work, but by the strength of the im-
pression which the work leaves on the mind,
that a person ought to judge of its morality.
The sort of mysterious horror, which prevails
in the episodes of Ren£, closes and saddens the
heart without exciting any criminal emotion. It
should not escape observation, that Amelia dies
happy and cured, while Ren6 dies miserable ; so
that the person who is really culpable undergoes
punishment which his too feeble victim, deliver-
ing her wounded soul into the hands of him who
restored the sick man upon his bed, feels ineffable
delight arise even amidst the afflictions of her
bosom. In other respects, the discourse of
Father Souel leaves no doubt as to the moral
and religious object of the story of Rene.
IX. With respect to Atala, so many com-
ments have been made, that reference to them
all is out of the question. I will content myself
with observing, that the critics, who have most
severely censured this history, have uniformly
acknowledged, that it rendered the Christian re-
ligion attractive , and this is enough for the au-
thor. It is in vain that they object to particular
DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY.
303
descriptions. It appears to be no less true that
the public ha9 not been displeased with the old
missionary, complete priest as he is, and that
the description of our religions ceremonies, in
the Indian episode, has given satisfaction. It
was Atala who announced, and who perhaps
caused the Beauties of Christianity to be read.
This savage, awoke Christian ideas in a certain
class of mankind, and brought to that class the
religion of Father Aubry, from the deserts into
which it had been banished.
X. This idea of calling the imagination to
the aid of religious principles is not new. Have
we not had in our days the Count de Valmont, or
the Wanderings of Imagination ? HasnotFatber
Marin at least attempted to insinuate the truth*
of Christianity into the ntinds of the incredulous
by disguising them under the veil of fiction r* At
a still more early period Peter Camus, bishop of
* We have ten pious romances from his pen, scattered
abroad. Their titles are Adelaide of Vitzburi, or tire Pious
Pensioner; Virginia, or the Christian Virgin; Baron Van
Hesden, or the Republic of the Incredulous ; Farfalla, ar
the Converted Actress, &c;
302
ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
Bclley, a prelate remarkable for the austerity of his
manners, wrote a vast number of pious romances* * * §
to oppose the influence of the romauces issued
byd’Urfe. Moreover, St, Francis himself advised
him to undertake this species of apology, in pity
to mankind, and hoping to call them back into
the paths of of Religion, by representing ber in
a dress known to them. In like manner Paul
says : “ To the weak became l as weak that I
might gain the weak.”-f~ Do those that con-
demn the author, wish him to have been more
scrupulous than Father Marin, Pierre Camus,
Saint Francis de Sales, Heliodorus,J bishop ol
Trica, Amyot,^ Grand Almoner of Fiance, or
than another famous prelate, who iu giving
* Dorothea, Alcina, Daphuis, Hyacinthus, See,
t I Corinthians, chap. 9, verse 23.
J Author of Theagenes and Chariclea. It is known
that the ridiculous story, reported by Niceplrorus concerning
this romance, is entirely destitute of truth, Socrates, Phocius
and other authors do not say a word about the pretended
deposition of the bishop of Trica.
§ Translator of Theagenes and Charidea, as well as of
jjaphnis and Chloe.
DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY.
305
lessons of virtue to a prince — yes, and a Chris-
tian prince did not scruple to represent the
tumult of the passions with equal truth and
energy ? It is true that Faidigt and Gueudeville
reproached Fenelon with having depicted the
loves of Eucharis, but their criticisms are for-
gotten. Telemachus is become a classic book
for children, and no one now lays it to the charge
of the archbishop of Cambray, that he wished
to cure the passions by a too warm display of
them ; nor are St. Augustin and St. Jerome any
longer reproached with having pourtrayed their
own weakness and the charms of love in such
vivid colours.
XI. But have these censors, (who doubtless
know every thing, from the lofty tone in which
they pass sentence on the author) really convinced
themselves that this mode of defending religion,
of rendering it soft and impressive, and of adorn-
ing it with the charms of poetry, was so very
extraordinary a proceeding ? “ Who will dare
to assert,'* exclaimed St. Augustin, “ that truth
is to remain disarmed against falsehood, and that
the enemies of our faith are to have the liberty
KECOLLECTIONS, &C. VOL. II. X
306 essays on various subjects.
of frightening the faithful by hard words, and
gratifying them by agreeable recitals, while the
Catholics are only allowed to write with a cold-
ness of style which makes their readers fall
asltep ? It was a severe disciple of Port-Royal
who translated this passage of St. AugustiD,
for it was Pascal himself, and he added to it that
there are two things in the truths of our religion
“ a divine beauty which renders them amiable,
ami a sacred majesty which renders them ve-
nerable.”* To demonstrate that rigorous exam-
ples are not always those which should be em-
ployed in matters of religion he further statesf
that the heart has its reasons which reason
knows nothing about. The great Arnauld, chief
of a most austere school of Christianity, attacks
the academician of Blois, who also pretended
that we ought not to avail ourselves ot human
eloquence to prove the truths of religion. Ram-
say, in his life of Fenelon, speaking of the trea-
* Provincial Letters, L. II.
f Reflections of Pascal, chap. 58, p. 170.
X In a little treatise, entitled Reflections on the eloquence
of preachers.
DEFENCE OF CHRISTI ANI YY. 307
tise on the existence of a God, by that illustrious
prelate, says M. de Cam bray knew that the de-
fect of most unbelievers was not in their heads
but in their hearts, and that consequently it
became requisite every where to inculcate senti-
ments, which tended to touch, to interest, and
take possession of the heart.* Raymond de
Sebonde has left a work, written soon afterwards,
with the same views as the Beauties of Christia-
nity. Montaigne undertook the defence of this
author against those who assert that Christians
are wrong in wishing to support their faith by
human argument. f “ It is faith alone,” adds
Montaigne, “ which vividly and certainly com-
prehends the high mysteries of our religion.
But we are not to infer from this truth, that it
is otherwise than a most praiseworthy and excel-
lent attempt to combine with the service of our
faith the natural and human means which God
has granted us. There is no occupation and no
undertaking more worthy of Christian man than
* History of the Life of F enelon.
t Montaigne’s Essays, vj 4, Book 2. chap. 12.
2
308 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
to aim, by all his studies and reflections, at em-
bellishing, extending, and amplifying the truth
of his creed.*
The author would never end if he were to
quote all the writers, who have been of his
opinion as to the necessity of rendering religion
attractive, and all the books, in which imagina-
tion, the fine arts, and poetry have been em-
ployed as the means of arriving at this object.
An entire religious order, remarkable for its
piety, its amenity of manners, and knowledge
of the world, was occupied during several ages
with this sole idea. No species of eloquence can
be interdicted by that wisdom which opens the
mouths of the dumb, and loosens the tongues
of little infants.
A letter of St. Jerome has descended to us,
in which that father justifies himself for having
employed Pagan erudition to defend the doctrine
of Christianity. Would St. Ambrose have
caused St. Augustin to become a member of our
church, if he had not employed all the charms
* Montaigne’s Essays, Vol. 4, Book 2, chap. 12.
309
\J»
DEFENSE OF CHRISTIANITY.
of elocution ? “ Augustin, still quite enchanted
with profane eloquence,” says Rollin, “ only
looked in the sermons of St. Ambrose for the
beauties of preaching, not for solidity of doc-
trine, but it was not in his power to separate
them.” And was it not upon the wings of ima-
gination that St. Augustin, in his turn, was
lifted up to the city of God ? This father has no
difficulty in asserting that we ought to borrow the
eloquence of the Pagans, leaving them their
falsehoods, as Israel carried away the gold of
the Egyptians without touching their idols, for
the purpose of embellishing the holy ark.* It
was a truth unanimously recognized by the fa-
thers that it is right to call imagination in aid
of religions ideas ; nay, these holy men even
went so far as to think that God had availed
himself of the poetic philosophy of Plato, to lead
the human mind into a belief of Christianity.
XII. There is an historic fact, which in-
contestibly proves the strange blunders of the
critics, who have thought the author guilty of
* De Doctr. chz. lib. 1. n 7.
310 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECT9.
innovation, as to the manner in which he has
defended Christianity. When Julian, surrounded
by his sophists, attacked religion with the weapons
of ridicule, as has been done in our days ; when
he forbade the Galileans to teach or even learn
the belle-let tres,* when he despoiled the altars
of Christ, hoping thereby to shake the belief of
the priests, or at least reduce them to a degraded
state of poverty; several of the faithful raised
their voices to repel the sarcasms of impiety, and
to defend the beauty of the Christian religion.
Apollonarius the elder, according to the histo-
rian Socrates, rendered all the books of Moses
into verse, and composed tragedies as well as
comedies from other parts of scripture. Appollo-
liarius the younger, wrote dialogues in imitation
of Plato, conveying, in this form, the morality of
the Evangelists, and the precepts of the Apostles.
That father of the church too, Gregory of Na-
zianza, surnamed by the distinguished appellation
of the theologian, combated the sophists with the
weapons of poetry. He composed a tragedy on
♦We are still in possession of Julian’s Edict. Jul. l>» -i
Vid. Greg.Naz, or 3 cap. 4 Amm. lib. 22.
DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY. 311
the death of Jesus Christ, which has descended to
us. He explained in metre the doctrine and
even the mysteries of the Christian religion.*
The historian of his life positively affirms that
this illustrious saint only used his poetic talent
to defend Christianity against the derision of the
impious, f and this is also the opinion of the sage
Fleury. “ Saint Gregory,” says he, “ wished to
give those, who were fond of poetry and music,
useful subjects for their diversion, and not to
leave the Pagans the advantage of believing that
they were the only people who could succeed in
the belles-lettres.
This species of poetic apology for religion
has been continued, almost without interruption,
from the time of Julian to our own. It gave a
new impulse to the revival of letters. Sannazarius
wrote his poem de partie Virginis, and Vida his
* The Abbe de Billy has collected a hundred and forty-
seven poems by this father, to whom St. Jerome and Suidas
attribute more than thirty thousand sacred lines,
t Naz. vit. p 12.
312
ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
essays
Chrisliad, or Life of Christ* Buchanan gave
to the public his tragedies of Jephtha, and
Saint John the Baptist. The Jerusalem Deli-
vered, the Paradise Lost, Polyeuctes, Esther and
Athulia have since abundantly demonstrated the
beauties of religion. Bossuet in the second
chapter of his preface, entitled De Grandilo-
quentid et suavitate Psalmorum, Fleury, in his
Treatise on Sacred Poetry, Rollin, in his chap-
ter on the Eloquence of Writing, and Lowth,
in his excellent work De sacrd poesi Ilebrceorum,
have all found pleasure in admiring the grace and
magnificence of religion. But why should I
quote so many examples,- when any one s good
sense will point out to him the truth of what I ad-
vance. Though attempts have been made to prove
religion ridiculous, it is quite easy to shew that
it is beautiful. But to go higher still than l have
yet done, God himself caused his worship to
be announced by divine poets. In order to
♦ From which this line, on the last sigh of Christ, has
been attained :
Supremamque auram ponens caput y expiravit .
DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY.
313
pourtray the charms of wedlock, he used the
mellifluous tones of the royal prophet’s harp.
Are we then now incapable of describing her
beauty, who came from Lebanon,* * * § who looketh
from the top of Shenir and Hermon,-J~who looketh
forth as the morning, J who is as fair as the
Moon,§ and whose stature is like to a palm-tree ? ||
The new Jerusalem, which St. John saw de-
scending out of Heaven from God, was of ra-
diant splendour, her light was like unto a
stone most precious/’^
Sing nations of the Earth ! Jerusalem
Rises with renovated greater pomp.*
Yes, let us fearlessly sing the praises of
* Come with me from Lebanon, my spouse, Solomon's
Song, chap. 4, ver. 8.
t Ibid, ibid .
X Solomon’s Song, chap. 6, ver. 10.
§ Ibid, ibid .
H Solomon’s Song, chap. 7, ver. 7.
If Revelations, chap. 21, ver. 11.
* Athalia.
RECOLLECTIONS, 8$C. VOL. II.
Y
314 ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
this sublime religion. Let us defend it against
derision ; let us impart their full weight to its
beauties, as in the time of Julian, and when similar
insults are offered to our altars, let us employ
against the modern sophists the same sort of
apology which Gregory and the Apollinarii used
against Maximus and Libanius.
FINIS.
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