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 
 RECOLLECTIONS, 8 $ C. VOL. II. G 
 
 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 
 RECOLLECTIONS, &C. VOL. II. H 
 
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. 
 
 LONDON I PRINTED BY SCHULZE AND DEAN, IS, POLAND STREET