PROSPER MERIMEE'S
LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA
WITH RECOLLECTIONS BY
LAMARTINE AND GEORGE SAND




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PROSPER MERIMEE'S LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA; WITH
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Oricta,3rac  eriet
PROSPER MERIMEE'S
LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA
WITH RECOLLECTIONS BY
LAMARTINE AND GEORGE SAND
EDITED BY
RICHARD HENRY STODDARD
NEW YORK
SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, AND COMPANY
I874




Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by
SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, AND COMPANY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED  BY
11. u. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.




CONTENTS.
PAGE
PREFA C.                                          v
PROSPER MtRIMZME.
LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.17
ALP~HONSE DE LAMAR TINE.
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF MY LIFE.                1. 37
GEORGE SAND.
RECOLLECTIONS..              319








PREFACE.
AMARTINE, MiRIMEE, and GEORGE SAND have
added such brilliancy to the French literature of
the present century, that their association in this
volume is entirely natural and calls for no explanation
or justification. Alphonse de Lamartine was born at
Macon on the Saone, on the 2Ist of October, I792, and
died in February, I869; Prosper Me'rimee was born in
Paris in I803, and died in Cannes, September 23, I870;
George Sand (Madame Dudevant, whose maiden name
was Amantine Lucile Aurore Dupin) was born in Paris
on July Ist, I804; and happily, the date of her death cannot yet be named. The extraordinary brilliancy of the
literary reputation of Lamartine, conjoined with the great
influence which he at one time exerted in French politics,
make him unquestionably the most prominent of the trio.
The financial embarrassments in which his extravagant
habits plunged him toward the close of his life, placed him
in such an unfortunate attitude toward those who had for
many years flattered and petted him, that his great popularity suffered a disastrous eclipse; but the matchless eloquence which he repeatedly displayed as an orator, the influence which he now and then possessed as a statesman,
and the poetic glow and fervor which breathe through all




V1                   PREFAC'E.
his writings, have secured for him and his works a reputation and a name which must endure. The wide diver.sity in the character of the writings of George Sand
makes it difficult as yet to assign her a precise place in
literature, but some of her works will live as long as the
language in which they were written. Both Lamartine
and George Sand are nearly as well known to Americans as they are to their own countrymen. For nearly
the last half century their names have been widely familiar, and the facts of their respective careers are easily
accessible. Until recently, however, Merim6e  has been
but slightly known, save to his own countrymen. He first
appeared before the public in 1825, as the translator
from the Spanish of several dramas, under the title " Theitre de Clara Gazul;" in i833, he published a moral
tale, "The Double Mistake" (" La Double Meprise "),
and then there followed at intervals, notes of journeys
in the South, and also in the West of France, "Stories
in Roman History;" "A  History of Don Pedro I.,
King of Castile;" "An Episode in the History of Russia," etc., etc. "Columba," a novel which was published
in i84I, was extremely successful, and upon this, more
than upon any other of his works, his popular reputation
will probably rest. Whether that reputation can be permanent among his own countrymen is a question which it
is hardly worth while to discuss. In the course of his career, however, first as Inspector-General of Historical
Monuments, a position to which he was appointed as early
as i834, then as member of the French Academy, with an
election to which he was honored in i844, and afterwards
as Senator (i853), he saw French society in all its phases
and constantly under circumstances which gave him the
most excellent opportunities for observation. Cynical by




PREFA CE.                  vii
nature, the lingering disease to which he finally yielded,
led him to look at men and things, especially during all
the later years of his life, in a morbidly critical way; but
that he was capable of loving ardently, these now famous
"Letters to an Incognita " abundantly prove. Indeed,
they show something even more remarkable than this;
that the lover could settle down into the devoted friend,
maintaining during a period of over thirty years, -for this
singular correspondence extends from i841 to I870, -
the sincerest admiration for the woman for whom, at one
time, Me'rime cherished something more than a Platonic
affection. As regards the identity of the "Incognita"
and the manner in which the publication of these letters
was received in Paris, it is enough to quote the opening
paragraphs from a paper suggested by them, which appeared in the "London Quarterly Review" for January,
1874. The writer says: " No literary event since the war,
has excited anything like such a sensation in Paris, as the
publication of the " Letters a une Inconnue." Even politics became a secondary consideration for the hour, and
Academicians or Deputies of opposite parties, might be
seen eagerly accosting each other in the chamber or the
street, to inquire who this fascinating and perplexing unknown could be. The statement in the "Revue des Deux
Mondes " that she was an Englishwoman, moving in brilliant society, was not supported by evidence; and M.
Blanchard, the painter from whom the publisher received
the manuscripts, died, most provokingly, at the very commencement of the inquiry, and made no sign. Some intimate friends of Merimee, rendered  incredulous by
wounded self-love at not having been admitted to his
confidence, insisted that there was no secret to tell; their
hypothesis being, that the "Incognita " was a myth, and




v iii                PREFA CE.
the letters a romance, with which some petty details of actual life had been interwoven (as in "Gulliver's Travels "
or " Robinson Crusoe "), to keep up the mystification. But
an artist like Merimee would not have left his work in so
unformed a state, so defaced by repetitions, or with such
a want of proportion between the parts. With the evidence before us as we write, we incline to the belief that
the lady was French by birth, and during the early years
of the correspondence in the position of dame de compagnie
or travelling companion to a Madame M      de B,
who passes in the letters under the pseudonym of Lady
M. It appears from one of them that she inherited
a fortune in i843; and she has been constantly identified
with a respectable single lady residing in Paris with two
nieces, and a character for pedantry fastened on her (perhaps unjustly), on the strength of the Greek which she
learned from Me'rimene."
As regards Merimiee himself, it is only necessary to
quote some passages from the "Study," with which the
distinguished author Henri Taine prefaces these "Letters to an Incognita."  He writes: "I frequently met
Meirimee in society - a tall, erect, pale man, who, excepting his smile, had very much the appearance of an Englishman; at least he possessed that cold, distant air that
in advance repels all familiarity. One was impressed,
merely on seeing him, with his natural or acquired
phlegm, his self-control, his habit and determination of
holding himself in perfect check. His countenance, especially on ceremonious occasions, was impassible even in
intimate circles, and when recounting some drollery his
voice remained even and calm, never any outburst nor enthusiasm; while he related the raciest details in fitting
words with the tone of a man asking for a cup of tea.




PREFA CE.                    ix
He so strenuously subdued all manifestations of sensibility as to seem destitute of it; but it was not so, indeed
quite the reverse; as there are racers so well broken in
by their master, that once well in hand they no longer
indulge in a caracole. This training began at an early
period with Merimee; for he was but ten years old when,
having committed some slight fault, he was severely reprimanded and sent from the room: and weeping, overcome
with distress, he had just closed the door, when he heard
a burst of laughter, and some one said:'Poor child, he
really thought us angry.' He revolted at the idea of being deceived; he swore to repress thenceforth so humiliating a sensitiveness, and he kept his word.'Remember
to distrust,' was his motto. To guard against impulse,
ardor, and enthusiasm, never entirely to allow himself full
play, to maintain always a personal reserve, to be the
dupe neither of others nor of himself, to act and write as
if perpetually in the presence of an indifferent and mocking spectator, - such was the salient feature which, graven
more and more deeply into his nature, left its imprint on
every phase of his life, his work, and his talent. He lived
as an amateur; and indeed, possessed of a critical taste
and habit, one can hardly do otherwise; by dint of reversing the tapestry, one ends by looking habitually at the
wrong side, seeing instead of handsome personages in fine
attitudes, only bits of thread. Early in life, Merimie
possessed a competency, afterwards a congenial and interesting office, that of Inspector-General of Historical Monuments, and subsequently a place in the Senate and a position at court. He was competent, active, and useful in
regard to the monuments; in the Senate he had the good
taste to be generally absent or silent; while at court he
preserved his independence and freedom of speech. To




X                    PREFA CE.
travel, study, observe, to dissect men and events, formed
his chief occupation, his official bonds holding him in but
slight restraint. A man of such wit as Merim6e possessed, is necessarily held in a certain respect, his irony
transpiercing the finest chain-mail of his adversaries. It
would be difficult to present a more serious deportment
in corporate assemblies, and to entertain less internal respect for them, than Meirimee exhibited. Grave, dignified,
studied in attitude, his manners were irreproachable when
he visited the Academy or improvised a public discourse;
nevertheless, with an occasional sly and comic touch that
turned both orator and audience into ridicule. Two distinct personages existed in Meirimee; the one fulfilling
with easy propriety the duties, and acquitting himself with
grace in the splendors of society; the other holding himself apart and above his second half, whose performance
he regarded with a bantering or resigned air; and so also
there was a dual self in his ties of affection or sentiment.
On the one hand a perfectly natural man, good and even
tender, than whom no one was more loyal, unfailing in
friendship, and who once having offered his hand, never
withdrew it. This characteristic was strikingly shown in
his defense of M. Libri against the judges of the court
and public opinion; the action of a true knight who
singly throws his gage of battle to a whole army. Condemned to fine and imprisonment, he did not assume the
air of a martyr, but showed as much grace in submitting
to the penalty of his ill-fortune, as bravery in provoking
it; and made no mention of it, save with quiet humor,
in a preface, saying that he'had passl d   fortnight of
July in a retreat, where he was in no wise incommoded by
the sun, and where he enjoyed profound leisure.' He
was obliging and earnest in serving others; and persons




PREFA CE.                      Xi
who, in begging his good offices, left him disconcerted by
his cold manner, would be surprised by his appearance a
month afterwards, having in his pocket an affirmative answer to their petition. In his correspondence a striking
statement escapes him, which his friends find true, -' It
rarely chances that I sacrifice others to myself, but lwhenever it happens, I suffer all possible remorse.'
" Towards the close of his life two elderly English ladies
were seen at his house, to whom he seldom spoke, and
about whom he did not seem to trouble himself greatly;
yet a friend saw tears in his eyes because one of them
was ill. He never made any allusion to his deepest feelings; and here we have a correspondence, first lover-like,
then merely friendly, that continued during thirty years,
and yet the name of his correspondent is unknown! By
those who read these letters aright, he will be found gracious, affectionate, delicate, earnestly in love, and, almost
incredibly, at times a poet, even moved to superstition,
like a lyrical German. But by the side of the lover, the
critic still appears, and the conflict between these opposing forces in the same nature produces very singular
effects; in such a case, however, it is wise not to scan too
closely.'Do you know,' says La Fontaine,'that however slightly I may love, I no more see the defects of the
one exciting the sentiment, than does a mole a hundred
feet below the earth. With the sowing of the first grain
of love, I never fail to surround it with my entire stock of
incense.'  In this, perhaps, lay the secret of his charm.
In  Merim&e's letters harsh words were showered with
caresses.  Tenderness, altercation, and  reconciliation
reigned successively: for he seems to have met a character as restive, as unyielding, and independent as his own,
--, lioness tzough tame.  After a violent quarrel, an affec



xii                 PREFACE.
tionate word recalls him to her feet: and these alternations of love and anger finally subside into a calm and
enduring friendship. They met at the Louvre, at Versailles, in the neighboring woods, took long clandestine
walks together several times a week, even in January; he
admired'a radiant countenance, a subtle charm, a white
hand, superb black hair,' an intelligence and attainments
worthy of his own, the graces of an original beauty, the
attractions of a comprehensive culture, the seductions of
delicious toilet and skillful coquetry; he breathed the perfume of an education so choice, and'a nature so refined,
as to epitomize for him a rounded civilization;' in short,
he was under the spell. The critic, however, in turn re..
placed the lover; he unraveled the meaning of a reply,
of a gesture; he disengaged himself from sentiment, the
better to judge a character; and wrote her rather biting
truths and epigrams which were returned to him the following day.
" Such he was in life, and such we find him in his books.
He studied and wrote as an amateur, passing from one
subject to another, as fancy or occasion prompted, giving
himself up to no science, using his talent for the illustration of no theory. This was the want neither of application nor capability; on the contrary, few men possessed
more varied attainments. He was master of the Italian,
Greek, Latin, Spanish, English, and Russian languages,
with their history and literature: and I believe that he
also read German. From time to time a phrase, a note
shows the point to which he had pursued these studies.
He spoke Calo in a manner to astonish the Spanish gypsies; he understood the various Spanish dialects, and
deciphered ancient Catalonian charters, and scanned English poetry. Only they who have studied an entire litera



PREFA CE.                   xiii
ture in print and manuscript, during the four or five suc.
cessive periods of the language, its style and orthography,
can appreciate the facility and the perseverance necessary
to enable one to understand Spanish so thoroughly as the
author of'Don Pedre;' and Russian as the writer of
the'Cosaques' and the'Faux Demetrius.'  He possessed a remarkable lingual gift, and acquired languages
up to a ripe age, becoming a philologist towards the end of
his life, applying himself at Cannes to the minutia of study
pertaining to comparative grammar. To this knowledge
of books he joined extensive learning respecting monuments, his reports proving him to be a specialist as to
those of France, comprehending not only the effect but
the technicalities of architecture.  He studied  each
church on the spot, aided by the best architects; his
memory of locality was excellently trained, and born of a
family of painters, he had early handled the brush, being
an artist in water-colors; in short, he investigated the
subject exhaustively, and -having a horror of specious
phrases, touched no topic unless with certainty of detail.
He travelled frequently; once in the East, twice in
Greece, a dozen or fifteen times in England, in Spain,
and elsewhere, studying the manners, not only of good
company but of bad; consorting familiarly with gypsies
and bull-fighters, and relating stories to the peasants beneath the Andalusian stars. Possessed of these varied
acquirements, and of such noble faculties, M(erim~e
might easily have attained an eminent position, both
in history and art; but as a historian he occupies
only an average rank, while his place, though high,
is but limited in art. Nearly always he seems to have
written only when occasion prompted, simply to amuse
and occupy himself, subjected to no ruling idea, sub



xiv                   PRE'/ CE.
ordinating himself to no task, conceiving no harmonious whole. In this, as in all else, he became disenchanted, and in the end disgusted. Skepticism induced
melancholy, and his correspondence in this connection is
most sad. His health failed by degrees, and he wintered
regularly at Cannes, sensible that his life was fading
away; but he carefully watched over it; the one anxiety
that accompanies us to the last breath. By order of his
tlphysician he practiced archery, sketched for his amusement the lovely scenery of the neighborhood, and could be
met every day in the country walking in silence, with his
two English lady friends, one carrying his bow, the other
his box of water-colors. So he killed time and learned to
be patient. He often went to a lonely cabin, half a league
distant, to feed a cat; and caught flies for a lizard which
he kept by him; and these were his pets. When the railway brought him a friend, he revived, and his conversation
was again brilliant and charming; his letters were always
so, his mind and wit the most original and exquisite, remaining unimpaired.  But happiness failed him; the
future looked dark, nearly as gloomy as it does to us of today; and before closing his eyes, he sorrowfully witnessed
our national disaster, dying September 23, I870. In summing up his character and talent, it will be found that,
born with an excellent heart, endowed with a superior
intellect, having lived an honest man, labored much, and
produced several works of the first order, yet he neither
utilized his gifts to their utmost extent, nor attained the
full happiness to which he might have aspired. Through
the fear of being deceived, he was mistrustful in life, in
love, in science, and in art, and was himself the dupe of
this distrust. One is always so to some degree, and perhaps it is better to resign one's self to it in advance."




PREFACE.                     xv
Thb mystery which surrounds these " Letters to an Incognita," their freshness, their epigrammatic brilliancy,
their keen and flashing wit, the careless boldness with
which they dash off the portraits of the leading men and
women of the day, in English as well as in French society, combine to draw attention first of all to them, and
they are therefore assigned the first place in this volume.
In the translation, special care has been taken to avoid
the repetitions which were allowed to disfigure the letters
as they were originally published. Everything of general
interest has been carefully preserved, so that the letters as
they stand reflect with sufficient fullness Me;rimee's relations to the Incognita, while they give us as well his
pointed comments upon the men and events of his day.
This translation of the " Lettres a une Inconnue " is, by the
way, the qnly one through which they have thus far been
made accessible to the English reader.
In that section of the volume assigned to Lamartine we
have his last published work, "Twenty-five Years of My
Life," in Lady Herbert's translation, slightly abridged.
The passages which have been exscinded, were mainly
digressions or rhapsodies, which any reader of the volume
itself would be very likely to omit. The integrity of the
narrative itself has been carefully preserved, and all those
who have ever felt at all attracted toward Lamartine, will
turn to it with an eager interest which cannot fail to be
satisfied.  "In these Memoirs," as M. de Ronchaud who
edits them in the original French, remarks, "his whole
nature comes out in its living simplicity. Lamartine's
books are full of his genius, but nowhere else has he
shown us much of his heart." The second volume of
these "Memoirs of Lamartine " is occupied by a transla2




xvi                  PRERFA CE.
tion of the diary of Mme. de Lamartine, "Memoirs of
my Mother."  These traverse to so great an extent the
same ground which is covered by " Twenty-five Years of
My Life," that only a few pages have been selected from
them for this volume. It is enough to say of " Memoirs
of My Mother," in general, that they exhibit Mme. de
Lamartine as a deeply spiritual and devout woman, a tenderly affectionate mother, keenly anxious for the welfare
of her children, and pardonably proud of the brilliant
career of her illustrious son.  The distressing circum
stances of her death were in painful contrast with the
peace and serenity which would seem to have been the
more appropriate close of so saintly a life. There are few
more affecting passages in any of Lamartine's works than
the " Epilogue " in which he describes the heart-rending
affliction which overwhelmed him  in the death of his
mother.
Doubtless George Sand might have given us one
of the most notable volumes of reminiscences ever published, had she chosen to do so. Possibly she still holds
her material for such a book in reserve. Certainly, her
" Reminiscences and Impressions " "(Souvenirs et Impressions ") is not by any means the work its title would lead
the reader to anticipate. It seems to be a rechauf6e of
articles furnished from time to time possibly to reviews,
with scattering personal recollections, few of them so
pointed as to possess any general interest. If the share
of this volume which is assigned to her may seem disproportionate, the only explanation must be found in the fact
that we have here all of her " Reminiscences and Impressions " which is likely to interest the American reader.




LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
ARIS, Thursday. - Everything about you is mysterious; and the causes inducing in others a certain line
of conduct, impel you always to opposite action. I am
becoming accustomed to your ways, and nothing any
longer surprises me. Spare me, I beg of you; do not put to
too harsh a test the unfortunate habit I have contracted of finding good in all that you do. I was perhaps a little too frank in
my last letter, in speaking of my character. An old diplomatist,
a shrewd man of the world, has often advised me, " Never say
any ill of yourself; your dear friends will say quite enough."
Do not, however, take literally my self-depreciation; believe,
rather, that my chief virtue is modesty, which I carry to excess,
and I tremble lest it injure me in your estimation. I may at
another time, when inspired, supply you with an exact catalogue of my qualities; for the list will be long, and being today slightly indisposed I dare not project myself into this
" progression of the infinite."  You cannot guess where I was
on Saturday evening, and in what engaged at midnight. I
was on the platform of one of the towers of Notre Dame,
drinking orangeade and eating ices in the society of four
friends and a magnificent moon, with the accompaniment of a
great owl flapping his wings. Paris at this hour, and by moonlight, is a superb spectacle, resembling a city of the Thousand
and One Nights, the inhabitants of which have been enchanted
during their sleep; but Parisians usually go to bed at midnight,
and are most stupid in so doing. Our party was a curious




I8          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
one, four nations being represented, each of us with a differ.
ent way of thinking; but the bore of it was, that some of us,
inspired by the moon and the owl, thought it necessary to assume a poetic tone and indulge in platitudes — in fact, little
by little every one began to utter nonsense.
I do not know by what chain of ideas this semi-poetic evening
leads me to think of one that was not in the least so; a ball
given by some young men, to which all the opera dancers were
invited. These women are usually very stupid; but I have
observed how superior they are in moral delicacy to the men
of their class. Only one vice separates them from other
women - that of poverty.
PARIS. - Frankness and truth towards women are not desirable - indeed quite the reverse; for see, you regard me as
a Sardanapalus because I have been to a ball of figurantes.
You reproach me as for a crime, and reprove as a still greater
crime my praise of these poor girls. Make them rich, I
repeat, and only their good qualities will remain; but insurmountable barriers have been raised by the aristocracy between
the different classes of society, so that few persons understand
how entirely what passes beyond the wall resembles what
passes within. I will tell you a story that I heard in this
perverse society.  In the Rue Saint Honore lived a poor
woman who never left her miserable attic, and who had a little
girl twelve years old, neat, reserved, well behaved, who never
spoke to any one. Three times a week this child left home
in the afternoon, returning alone at midnight, being a supernumerary at the opera. One night she came down to ask for
a lighted candle, which being given to her, the porter's wife
followed her after a while to the garret, where she found the
woman dead on her wretched pallet, and the child occupied in
burning a quantity of letters which she drew from a battered
trunk. She said, " My mother died to-night, and charged me
to burn these papers without reading them."  The child
knows the name neither of father nor mother, is entirely alone
in the world, having no other resource than that of personat



A FIGURANTE.                     19
ing monkeys, vultures and devils on the stage. Her mother's
last counsel to her was, to remain a figurante and to be very
good; which she certainly is, even very pious, and does not
care to relate her history. Will you be good enough to tell
me if there is not infinitely greater merit in this child leading
such a life, than belongs to you who enjoy the singular happiness of irreproachable surroundings, and are endowed with
a nature so refined as to picture for me, in a measure, the
bloom of civilization? I will tell you the truth. I can only
endure low society at rare intervals, and through an inexhaustible curiosity respecting all varieties of the human species,
seldom entering that of men, there being to me something
inexpressibly repulsive in it, especially with us; but in Spain,
muleteers and bull-fighters were my friends. I have more
than once eaten from the platter of people at whom an Englishman would not look for fear of compromising his self-respect; and I have even drunk from the same leathern bottle
with a galley-slave; there was, however, but one bottle, and
one must drink when thirsty. Do not believe that I have a
predilection for the canaille. I simply like to study different
manners, different faces, and to hear a different language. Ideas
are the same everywhere, and aside from the merely conventional, I do not find good breeding limited to the Faubourg
Saint-Germain. All this is Arabic to you, and I know not why
I say it. My mother has been very ill, exciting in me great
uneasiness, but is now out of danger, and will be in a few days
entirely restored to health. I cannot endure anxiety, and
during the period of danger I have been in a state of distraction.
As a rule, never select a woman for a confidante; soon or
late you would repent of it. Learn also, that there is nothing
more common than to do evil for the very pleasure of it.
Shake off your ideas of optimism, and be convinced that we
are in this world simply to fight against each other. In this
connection, I remember that a learned friend who reads
hieroglyphics told me that on the Egyptian sarcophagi are
often engraved these two words: life, war; which proves




20          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
that I did not originate the maxim just given you. The
charac ers are represented by one of those vases called
canopes, and a shield with an arm holding a lance.
PARIS. - Your reproaches afford me great pleasure. As to
your over-moral relative who says so much evil of me, he recalls Thwackum, who asks:  Can any virtue exist without
relzgiion?  Have you read " Tom Jones," a book as immoral as
all of mine put together. If it was prohibited, of course you
read it. What a droll education you receive in England!
And what avails it! Breath is wasted for years in preaching
to a young girl, with the certain result that she will desire to
know precisely that immoral person for whom it was hoped to
inspire her with a holy aversion. What an admirable story
is that of the serpent!
All that I know of you pleases me prodigiously. I study
vou with ardent curiosity. I have certain theories respecting
the veriest trifles, - gloves, boots, buckles, to which I attach
much importance, having discovered that a certain relation
exists between the character of women and the caprice, - or
rather, the connection of ideas and the ratiocination, - that
dictates the choice of such or such stuffs. I could show, for
instance, that a woman who wears blue gowns is a coquette
and affects sentiment.
I went the other day on a boating excursion, a number of
sailing vessels being on the river, in one of which were several women of a vulgar class. As the vessels reached the
shore, from one of them stepped a man about forty years of
age who was persistently beating a drum for his own amusement; and while I was admiring the musical organization of
this animal a young woman approached him, called him a monster, saying that she had followed him from Paris, and if he
declined to admit her to his society he should dearly rue it.
The man continued to pound his drum vigorously during this,appeal, replying phlegmatically that he would not have her in
his boat, whereupon she ran to the vessel moored farthest
from the shore and within twenty feet of our own, and sprang




PIIL OSOPH Y OF ENGA G EIENTS.            2 1
into the river, splashing us infamously; but although she had
put out my cigar my indignation did not hinder me, aided by
my friends, from dragging her out before she had swallowed
two glasses of the muddy water. The noble object of such
despair had not budged, and grumbled between his teeth:
"Why did you pull her out if she wished to drown herself?"
Why is it that these cold, indifferent men are the most beloved? I asked myself this question as we sailed home; I ask
it still, and I beg you to tell me if you know.
PARIS. - Afariqzuita de mzi a/lva - it is thus I should begin
were we at Granada. I believe, notwithstanding my anger,
that I love you better in your fits of pouting than I do in
any other mood.  One sentence of your letter made me laugh
like one of the blessed. Without hostile preliminaries, for the
blow, you tell me short aund stweet. " My love is promised."
You say that you are engaged for life as if it were simply for
a quadrille! Very good! My time, it seems, has been profitably employed in discussing love, marriage, and the rest of it!
You still say and believe, that when told to " love Monsieur,"
you at once love. Has your engagement been signed before a
notary? When I was a school-boy I received a love-letter with
two flaming hearts pierced with a dart, from a seamstress,
which precious effusion was captured by the school-master, and
I locked up; and, as a denouement of the drama, the object
of this budding passion consoled herself with the cruel schoolmaster. Engagements are fatal to the happiness of those who
subscribe to them. It is a primal law of nature to hold in
aversion whatever savors of the obligatory. All bonds are inherently irksome; and if so trammeled, I seriously believe
that you would love me; me, to whom you have promised
nothing.
To me you appear very devout, superstitious even. This
reminds me of a pretty little girl from Granada, who when
mounting her mule to cross the Ronda Pass, a route famous for
robbers, devoutly kissed her thumb and struck her breast three
times, assured by this pious action that the robbers would not




22          LETIERS 7' ANV INCOGNITA.
dare to show themselves, provided that the Ingles — that is
myself; with these people all travellers are English - would
not swear by the Blessed Virgin and the saints: but only this
wicked mode of speech will make these horses move among
such roads. See "Tristram  Shandv."  You are weak and
jealous, two qualities not objectionable in a woman, but defects in a man, and I possess them both. Let us cease quarreling and be friends. I kiss the hand that you offer me in
pledge of peace.
Sejptenzbe:. - You allude to special reasons that prevent you
from seeking to be with me. I respect secrets, and will not
pry into your motives. Some kind busybody may have taken
me for the text of a sermon that sways you; nevertheless, in
fearing me you would be doing me an infinite wrong. Be reassured I shall never be in love with you; I am now too old
and have been too unhappy. I once felt myself falling in love
and fled to Spain, one of the finest actions of my life, the
cause of the journey never being suspected by the lady. To
remain, would have been to commit a great folly- that of
offering to a woman in exchange for all that was dear to her, a
tenderness that I was conscious of being inadequate to the
sacrifice I should have tempted her to make. " Love excuses
all, but we must be quite sure that it is love; " and this precept, be assured, is more inflexible than those of your Methodistical friends. In me you will acquire a true friend, while I
may find a woman with whom I am not in love and in whom
I can confide. Should I die this year, you will feel regret at
having hardly known me.
The remembrance of your splendid black eyes is no inconsiderable element of my admiration for you. I am old, and
nearly insensible to beauty, yet on hearing a fastidious man
say that you are very handsome I could not repress a feeling
of sadness, and for this reason: that I am horribly jealous (I
am not the least in love with you) of my friends, and distressed
at the thought that your beauty exposes you to the attentions of
men who only appreciate in you that which attracts me the
least. The truth is, I am in a frightful humor; nothing makes




WEDDING-DA Y SPECULA T7ONS'.             2 3
me so melancholy as a marriage.  The Turks who buy a
woman after examining her like a fat sheep, are more honest
than we who cover our shameful bargain with the transparent
varnish of hypocrisy. I have often asked myself what I could
say to my wife on my wedding-day, and have found nothing
possible unless it be a compliment to her nightcap. The devil
would be very cunning to entrap me to such a fete. The
woman's rote is easier than that of the man. On that day she
models herself after the Iphigenia of Racine; but if she observe at all keenly, what droll things she must see! Of course
at this fete love will be made to you, and you will be regaled
with allusions to domestic happiness. When angry, the Andalusians say: " I would stab the sun but for the fear of leaving
the world in darkness."
You jest in saying so charmingly that you are afraid of me.
You know that I am ugly, capricious in temper, always abstracted, and often tormenting when suffering. Do you not
find all this reassuring?  You are no pythoness; you will
never be in love with me. You are a combination of the
angel and the devil, but the latter predominates. You call me
a tempter! Dare to say that this word does not apply more
strongly to yourself! Have you not thrown a bait to me, poor
little fish that I am? And holding me at the end of your line
you keep me dancing betwixt heaven and earth, until weary of
the sport it may please you to cut me loose, and I shall swim
about with the hook in my gills, but never again to find the
angler. Adieu, nzina de mni ojos.
Lady M     announced to me yesterday that you are going
to be married. This being so, burn my letters: I burn yours,
and adieu. You know my principle that does not permit me
to maintain an intimacy with a married woman whom I have
known as demoiselle, with a widow whom I have known as
wife. The change in a woman's legal status affects also her
various social relations, and always for the worse. In a word,
I cannot bear my female friends to marry, therefore, should
you marry, let us forget each other. I still love you and commend myself to your prayers.




24          LETTERS TO AN IANCOGNITA.
PARIS. - We are becoming very tender. You say to me,,4migo de mi alma, which is very pretty on a woman's lips.
It is needless to say that the answer to my question has
greatly pleased me. You say, perhaps involuntarily, to my delight, that the husband of a woman who should resemble
you would inspire you with true compassion. I believe this
readily, and I add that no one would be more unhappy, unless
it be the man who should love you. You must be cold and
mocking in your fits of ill humor, with an invincible pride that
prevents you from saying, " I am in the wrong." Add to this
an energy of character causing you to despise complaints and
tears. When by the lapse of time and force of events we
shall become friends, it will be seen which of the two can
more skillfully torment the other. The mere thought of it
makes my hair stand on end. Cannot we meet without mystery and as good friends? I am ill and terribly weary. Come
to Paris, dear Mariquita, and excite my love anew. I shall
never be weary then.
PARIS. - What is your malady?  Some heart sorrow?
Some mysterious phrases of yours would seem to imply as
much. You both suffer and enjoy through the head, but entre
nous, I do not believe that you are yet in the enjoyment of
that viscus (viscere) called heart, which is only developed towards twenty-five years of age, in the forty-sixth degree of latitude. Now you are knitting your beautiful black eyebrows and
saying: " The insolent fellow, to doubt that I have a heart!"
This is, indeed, the great pretension of the day; since the
manufacture of such numbers of so-called passionate romances
and poems, all women pretend to have a heart. Wait yet a
while; when you have a heart in earnest, send me the tidings.
You will then regret the happy time in which you only lived by
the head, and the ills you now suffer will seem only pin-pricks
in comparison with the stabs that will rain upon you with the
birth of passion. Your gracious promise to give me your portrait is a double pleasure, as a proof of your increased confidence in me. I am thinking at this moment of the expression




TRAMAAIELS OF SOCIETY.               25
of your countenance, which is a little hard: a lioness, though
tame. I kiss your mysterious feet a thousand times. Adieu.
LONDON, December. - Tell me, in the name of God, if you
be of God, querida Mariquita, why have you not answered
my letter? Your last one put me into such a flutter that my
reply, on the impulse of the moment, was hardly common
sense. Why will you not see me? Your chief motive appears
to be the dread of doing something improper, as they say
here. I do not accept as serious your fear that a more intimate knowledge of me may destroy your illusions. Were
this indeed your motive, you would be the first woman, the
first human being even, the gratification of whose desires or
curiosity had been hindered by a similar consideration. The
thing can be improper only as regards society. You know in
advance that I shall not eat you. Note in passing, that this
word society makes us unhappy from the moment of donning
inconvenient garments at its behests, until the day of our
death. A man's discretion, and mine exceptionally, is the
greater in proportion that it is trusted. There is, and there
will be throughout your life, a conflict between your intuitions
and your conventual discipline; thence arises the whole
difficulty.
The sea always makes me excessively ill, and the glad
waters of the dark blue sea are only agreeable to me when
seen from the shore; after my first voyage to England it
required a fortnight to restore my usual color, that of the pale
horse of the Apocalypse. One day at dinner I was seated
opposite to Madame V -, who suddenly exclaimed, " Until
to-day I thought you were an Indian! "
PARIS, March, I842. - Since you do not refuse my gifts, I
send you conserves of rose, bergamot, and jasmine. I
offered you Turkish slippers, but have been plundered. Will
you have this Turkish mirror in exchange? It may be more
acceptable, for you strike me as being even more coquette
than in the year of grace I840. It was in December, and you
wore ribbed silk stockings.




26          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
You are now rich - rich, that is to say free. A capital idea
this of your friend, who is another Auld Robin Gray.  He
must have been in love with you, which you will never confess,
for you too dearly love mystery. Why not go to Rome and
Naples to see the sun? You are worthy of comprehending
Italy, and would return richer in ideas and sensations. I do
not advise Greece; your skin is not sufficiently tough to resist
all the villainous insects that devour one in that classic land.
Speaking of Greece, I send you a blade of grass gathered
on the hill of Anthela at Thermopyle, on the spot where fell
the last of the "three hundred."  It is not improbable that
particles of the dead Leonidas mingle with the constituent
atoms of this little flower. It was, I remember, at this very
spot, while lying on heaped-up straw and talking to my friend
Ampere, that I told him that among the tender memories remaining to me there was only one unmixed with bitterness.
I thought of our beautiful youth. Pray keep my foolish flower.
I revisited my dear Spain in I840, passing two months at
Madrid where I saw a droll revolution, admirable bull-fights,
and the triumphal entry of Espartero, the most comical show
possible. I stayed at the country-house of a friend, who -in
her devotion to me is a sister, and went every morning to
Madrid, returning to dine with six charming women, of whom
the eldest was thirty-six years old. Owing to the revolution
I was the only man permitted to go and come freely, so these
six unfortunates had no other cortejo. They spoiled me prodigiously. I was not in love with any of them, in which
perhaps I was wrong; and though not deceived by these
privileges conferred by the revolution, I found it very sweet
to be Sultan, even ad hoiores. On my return I indulged in
the innocent pleasure of having a book printed, not published,
magnificent in binding and engravings. I would offer you
this rarity, but it is historic and pedantic, and so bristling with
Greek, Latin, and even Osque (do you know in the least what
Osque is?), as to be beyond your mark. Last summer, finding
myself with money in my pocket, I roved between Malta,
Athens, and Constantinople for five months, during which




THE INCOGNITA SKETCHED.                  27
there were not five tedious minutes. I saw the Sultan in
varnished boots and a black frock coat, afterwards, covered
with diamonds, in the procession of BaYram; on which occasion a very handsome dame, on whose slipper I trod inadvertently, gave me a tremendous blow with her fist, calling me a
giaour, and this was my sole association with Turkish beauties.
At Athens and in Asia I saw the finest monuments in the
world, and the loveliest landscapes. The drawback consisted
in fleas, and gnats the size of larks. With all this I have
grown very old. My firman gives me turtle-dove hair, which
is a pretty Oriental metaphor for expressing an ugly truth.
Imagine your friend quite gray! Your claim to rival Ionic
and Corinthian capitals in my heart, made me laugh. In the
first place, I like only the Doric, and there are no capitals,
not even those of the Parthenon, which are worth to me the
memory of a friendship.
PARIS, Mfay, 1842. - If I must be frank, and you know that
I cannot correct myself of this defect, I will confess that you
struck me as much improved physically, not at all so morally;
that you have a very fine complexion, and beautiful hair
which I looked at more than your cap, which probably was
worthy of admiration, as you seem to be provoked that I did
not appreciate it; but I have never been able to distinguish
lace from calico. You have still the figure of a sylph, and
though rather blasd as to black eyes, I never saw finer ones at
Constantinople nor at Smyrna.
Now for the reverse of the medal. You have continued a
child in many things, and have acquired into the bargain a nice
little dash of selfishness and hypocrisy, which may be serviceable, only it is nothing of which one need boast.  You do not
know how to conceal your first impulses, but think to make
amends by a host of puerile evasions. What do you gain by
it? Remember Jonathan Swift's fine maxim: A lie is too
good a thing to be wasted. This magnanimous idea of being
hard to yourself, will, assuredly, lead you very far, and a few
yczars hence you will find yourself as happy as the Trappist,




28          LETTERS TO AN AINCOGNITA.
who, after having perseveringly scourged himself should one
day discover that there is no Paradise. It is your Satanic
pride that has hindered you from seeing me.  You believe, at
least, that you have pride, but it is only a petty vanity well
worthy of a devotee.  The fashion of the day tends to sermons-do you frequent them? This alone is lacking in
you! As respects myself, I am not more of a hypocrite, in
which perhaps I am wrong: certain it is that I am not therefore the better liked. Ah! great news! The first Academician out of the forty who shall die will be the cause of my
paying thirty-nine visits. I shall pay them as awkwardly as
possible, and shall gain thirty-nine enemies. It would be
tedious to explain to you this fit of ambition. Suffice it that
the Academ, is now my blue cachemire. Be happy, but remember this maxim: Never to commit other follies than those
agreeable to you. Perhaps you prefer M. de Talleyrand's
apothegm, that one must guard against good impulses, because
they are nearly always honest.
PARIS,'ultze, I842. - I have received your purse, which exhales a charmingly aristocratic perfume, and if embroidered
by yourself does you honor; in it also I recognize your recent
taste for the positive.  It would have been poetical to value
it at one or two stars; and I should prize it even more had
you deigned to add to it some lines from your white hands.
No, I will not accept your pheasants which you offer in a detestable way, saying, moreover, disagreeable things about my
Turkish sweetmeats. It is you who have the palate of a
giaour in not appreciating the food of houris. Your conscience, I am sure, is often less lenient than I, whom you
accuse of hardness and indifference. The hypocrisy that you
now cleverly practice, merely as a game, will, in the end, play
you a trick - that of becoming a reality. As to coquetry, the
inseparable companion of the deplorable vice that you affect,
you have long been duly convicted of it, and it became you
when tempered by frankness, by heart and imagination. Is it
your friendship that you designate as an essence? a word I




FRENCH AND ITALIAN  DR VO7701N              29
like. Since all that you wish for comes to pass, I humbly pray
you to intercede with destiny that I may be an Academician;
but the plague must supervene among these gentlemen to favor
my chances, to improve which I must also borrow a little of
your talent for hypocrisy. I am too old to reform, and in
making the effort I should perhaps become even worse than I
am. Formerly I had no high opinion of my precious self, but
my self-esteem has increased, simply because the world has
degenerated.  I pass my evenings in re-reading my books
which are being republished, and find myself very immoral
and sometimes stupid. The question now is to diminish the
immorality and stupidity with the least trouble; but at the cost
of blue devils to myself.
CHALON-SUR-SAONE, 7une, 1842. -Thanks for your prayers,
if they are not a mere rhetorical figure. I am aware of your devoutness, which is now the fashion, like blue cachemires. Our
French devotion displeases me, being a species of shallow
philosophy proceeding from the head and not the heart.
When you have seen the Italians you will agree with me that
their devotion is alone genuine: only one cannot have it at will,
and one must be born beyond the Alps or Pyrenees to possess
such faith. You cannot imagine the disgust with which our
present society inspires me, and one would say that it had
sought by every possible combination to augment the mass
of ennui apparently necessary in the order of the world;
while in Italy everything tends to render existence easy and
endurable.
AVIGNON, 7ulY, I842. - Since you assume this tone ma foi,
I yield. Give me brown bread, which is better than none at
all, only permit me to say that it is brown, and write to me again.
You see that I am humble and submissive. The figure of rhetoric of which you believe yourself to be the inventor has
been long in use, and might be clothed with an uncouth
Greek name, but in French it is known under the less lofty term
of lying. Make use of it with me as little as possible, and do




30          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNVITA.
not lavish it on others: it must be kept for great occasions. Do
not seek to find the world foolish and ridiculous; it is only too
much so in reality. It is better to cherish illusions, and I
hold several which are perhaps rather transparent, but I exert
myself to retain them. I am sorry that you read Homer in
Pope, and recommend as preferable Dugas-Montbel's translation, which is the only readable one. If you had the courage
to brave ridicule and the time to spare, you would read
Planche's Greek Grammar a month to make you slee'p, which
would not fail of this effect; at the end of two months you
would amuse yourself by comparing M. Montbel's translation
with the Greek; and two months afterwards you would easily
perceive from the ambiguity of phrase, that the Greek has a
meaning other than that given by the translator. At the end
of a year you would read Homer as you do a melody and the
accompaniment; the melody being the Greek, the accompaniment the translation. It is possible that this would incite the
wish to study Greek in earnest; but such assiduity is also to
presuppose you with neither dresses to occupy you, nor people
to whom they may be displayed. Everything in Homer is remarkable. His epithets, so seemingly strange in French, are
singularly appropriate.  I remember that he calls the sea
"purple," and I never understood its application until last
year. I was in a little caYque on the Gulf of Lepanto, going to
Delphi. The sun was setting, and as it disappeared the sea
wore for ten minutes a magnificent tint of dark violet —but
this requires the air, the sea, the sun of Greece. I hope that
you will never become sufficiently an artist to discover that
Homer was a great painter. I hope that you find me this
time passably resigned and decorous, Sigrnora Fornazrina!
PARIS, Augu.st, I842. - I congratulate you on your Greek
studies, and to: begin with something that may interest you,
will tell you the word by which in Greek persons possessing
like yourself hair of which they are justly proud are described:
effilokamos. Ef; much; ilokamos, curl. Homer, somewhere
says: -




A TE7rE-A-7-ETE.                  31'Nimfi efplokamouta Calypso."
(Curly-tressed nymph Calypso.)
I am sorry that you should set out so late in the season for
Italy, which you will see only through atrocious rains that obscure half the charm of the loveliest mountains in the world,
and you will be obliged to accept on faith my eulogies on the
exquisite skies of Naples. Moreover, you will have no good
fruit, but in compensation, becaqicos, so called because they
live on grapes.
While packing my trunk at Avignon, two venerable figures
entered, announcing themselves as members of the Municipal
Council. I supposed them emissaries from some church, when
they informed me with much pomposity and prolixity that
they wished to commend to my loyalty and virtue a lady about
to travel with me. I replied very crossly that I should be very
loyal and virtuous but that I detested travelling with women,
whose presence precluded smoking. The mail coach arrived,
within which I found a large, handsome woman, simply and
coquettishly attired, who declared herself to be always very ill
in a carriage, and despaired of reaching Paris alive. Our tdtea-tete began, and I was as polite and amiable as I find it possible to be while remaining in a cramped position. My companion talked well, without any Marseillaise accent, was an
ardent Bonapartist, very enthusiastic, believed in the immortality of the soul, not too much in the Catechism, and saw
things generally en beau; nevertheless, I was conscious that
she felt a certain fear of me. We were some fifty odd hours
alone; but though we chatted immensely I found it impossible
to come to any conclusion respecting my neighbor except that
she was married, and a person of good society. On arriving
at Paris she precipitated herself into the arms of an excessively ugly man, no doubt her father, and raising my hat I was
about entering a cab, when my unknown, leaving the gentleman, said in an agitated voice: "Monsieur, I am much moved
by the respectful consideration shown me by you, for which I
cannot sufficiently express my gratitude; and I shall never
forget my good fortune in travelling with so illustrious a man."
3




32          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
And this word explains the Municipal Councilors, and the terror of the lady. They had evidently seen my name on the
register, and the lady, having read my books, expected to be
swallowed alive, which opinion no doubt is shared by many of
my feminine readers. This incident put me into a bad humor
for two days. It is a singular thing, that having at one period
of my life become a very worthless fellow, I lived during two
years on my former good reputation; and since resuming my
very moral life, I now am considered a scamp..... If you
are surprised that the goddesses are blondes, you will be still
more astonished at Naples at seeing statues whose hair is
painted red. It seems that beautiful women formerly used red,
even gold powder; but on the other hand you will see in the pictures of the Sttdzj;, a number of goddesses with black hair,
descriptive of which there is in Greek a terrible word: mdeiankhktis: the xa being a diabolical aspirate.
It distresses me to perceive your rapid progress in Satanism,
that you are becoming ironical, sarcastic, and even diabolical,
all which words are drawn from the Greek, the meaning of the
last being calumniator. You jest at my finest qualities, and
even your praise is impaired by a reticence and cautiousness
that deprive the commendation of all merit. As for good
company, I have often found it mortally tedious. I am vain
enough to believe myself not out of place with unpretending
persons whom I have long known, and at a Spanish inn with
muleteers and Andalusian peasant women. Write that in my
funeral oration and you will have told the truth. And if I
speak of this, it is that I believe the time approaches for you
to prepare it; for I suffer excessively from confused sight,
spasms, and frightful headaches, which would indicate some
serious affection of the brain, and I may soon become, as
Homer says, a guest of gloomy Proserpine. I should be delighted were it to sadden you for a fortnight.
I believe the ancients to have been more amusing than ourselves: they had not such paltry aims, were not preoccupied
by such inanities. Julius Caesar at fifty-three was guilty of
follies for Cleopatra, and forgot all for her, nearly to the point




GREEAK  VO VELS.                   33
of drowning himself actually and figuratively. What statesman of our generation is not callous, completely insensible at
the age at which he can aspire to be a Deputy?
The little that I have seen of Greece has enlarged my
comprehension of Homer. Throughout the Odyssey one sees
the incredible love of the Greeks for their own country. To
dwell in a foreign land is to them the greatest of misfortunes;
but to die in exile is to them beyond all imagination frightful.
You jest at my gastronomy; do you appreciate the entrails
so greedily devoured by ancient heroes? They are still eaten,
and are truly delicious, being composed of spiced and appetizing little crusts skewered by perfumed mastic wood, which
at once explains why the priests reserved for themselves this
tempting morsel of the victims.
You ask if there are any Greek novels - there are many,
but very tedious in my opinion. " Daphnis and Chloe," translated by Courier is pretentiously naif and not over exemplary.
An admirable novel, but very immoral, is " L'Ane de Lucius;"
one does not boast, however, of reading it, though a masterpiece. The worst of the Greeks is, that their ideas of morality
and decency differ so essentially from our own. If you have
the courage to attempt history you'will be charmed with Herodotus, who enchants me. Begin with "' Anabasis or the Retreat of the Ten Thousand;" take a map of Asia and follow
these ten thousand rascals in their journey; it is Froissard
gzgantesque. Lucien is the Greek with the most wit, or rather
our wit: but he is a libertine and I dare not commend him.
I gratefully appreciate your condescension at the opera in permitting me to look at your face during two hours, and I owe it
to truth to say that I admired it greatly, as also your hair, which
I had never seen so near. As to your assertion of having
refused nothing that I have asked of you, several millions of
years in purgatory will be your penance for this fine falsehood.
I do not remember comparing you to Cerberus, but you certainly bear him a resemblance, not only in your love for cakes,
but in possessing three heads, or rather brains -one of a
frightful coquette, the other of an old diplomatist; the third I




34          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
will not name, as to-day I wish to tell you nothing agreeable,
I have returned from seeing " Fredegonde," which was excessively tedious, notwithstanding Mademoiselle Rachel, who has
very handsome black eyes without white, as it is said has the
devil. You tell me amiably that you do not wish to see me for
fear of becoming wearied of me. If I am not mistaken, we have
met six or seven times in six years, and adding up the minutes,
we may have passed three or four hours together, the half of
which was in silence. Admit that it is little flattering to my selflove to be treated thus after an intimacy of six years, and in face
of the proofs of regard that you have vouchsafed me; moreover,
pardon the word, I think it somewhat silly. If you believe yourself to be doing wrong in meeting me, do you commit no fault
in writing to me? As I am not well versed in your catechism,
this remains a perplexing question. I speak harshly perhaps,
but you wound me, and I cannot imitate you in ridding myself
of a weight on the heart by eating cakes. But I will ask
nothing more of you,- for you become every day more imperious, and develop a scandalous refinement in coquetry.
You are careful to recall your eyes to me, which I have not
forgotten though so seldom seen. You should see me were it
only to escape from the atmosphere of flattery surrounding
you. When I met you at the house of our friend, your extreme elegance greatly surprised me, and the quantity of cakes
necessary to restore you after the fatigue of the opera astonished me still more; not that I do not place coquetry and
gourmandise in the first rank of your faults, but I thought the
form of these defects a moral one; believing that you bestowed little thought on your toilette, that you were a woman
who eat merely through abstraction, and preferred to make an
impression on men by your eyes and clever sayings rather
than by your dresses. See how deceived I have been.
December, I842.- Formerly the absurdities of others
amused me, but now I prefer to conceal them from the world.
I have also become more humane, and when witnessing lately
the bull-fights at Madrid, the pleasurable sensations of ten years




RA CHEL. - PERSIANI.                35
previous were not renewed. I have a horror of all suffering,
and for some tme past have believed in moral suffering. In
short, I strive as much as possible to forget my me; and this
in few words is a list of my perfections. No, I have no Vanagloria. I see things too practically, perhaps, having been
escarmentado through regarding them too poetically. I have
passed my life in being praised for qualities that I do not possess, and calumniated for defects that are not mine.
Your letter does not surprise me in the least: for I now
know you well enough to be certain that when a good thought
strikes you it is at once repented of, and you strive to have it
speedily forgotten - but this justice I will do you: that you
understand admirably how to gild the most bitter pill. You
compare me to the devil. I was quite conscious on Tuesday
of not thinking enough about my old books and too much of
your gloves and bottines. But in spite of all that you say
with such diabolical coquetry, I cannot believe that you have
the slightest fear of renewing at the Museum our former follies. It pleases you to have some vague mark for your coquetry, and you find it in me; but you do not wish it to be too
near, for should you miss the target your vanity would suffer,
and perhaps in approaching it closely you would discover it to
be not worth your shaft. Have I read you aright?
I suffer terribly and cough incessantly, nevertheless I shall
go to hear Rachel declaim tirades from " Phedre " before several
great men, and she will believe my cough to be a cabal against
her. This evening I heard Madame Persiani sing, and she
has reconciled me to human nature; were I King Saul I
should choose her in place of David.
I am told that M. de Pongerville, the Academician, is about
to die, which throws me into despair, for I shall not be chosen
to replace him, and I wish he could wait until my time shall
arrive. He has translated into verse a Latin named Lucretius,
who died at the age of forty-three from having taken a philtre
to make himself beloved, previous to which he wrote a great
poem, atheistic, impious, abominable, on "The Nature of'fhings." You appear to me to grow more handsome, wh:cb I




36          LLtY'.jeRS TO AN INCOGNITA.
had thought impossible; but one always improves in beauty
when in good health; and that comes with a hard heart and
good digestion.
December, 1842. - I have been exceedingly ill with my throat,
and all the fires of hell in my breast, and have passed several
days in bed meditating on the strangeness of this world. I
find myself on the declivity of a mountain whose summit, with
much fatigue and little pleasure, I have hardly attained, the
descent being so steep and tedious that perhaps it would be
rather an advantage to fall into a crevice before reaching the
bottom; while the only ray of consolation along the whole
route has been a little distant sunshine, a few months passed
in Italy, Spain, or in Greece while forgetting the whole world,
the present, and especially the future. All this is far from
gay: but some one brings me four volumes by Doctor Strauss,
"The Life of Jesus," which in Germany is called exegesis, a
pure Greek word they have found by which to express discussion on the point of a needle, but it is very amusing. I
have remarked that the more closely a thing is shorn of any
useful conclusion, the more amusing it becomes.
There are people who buy furniture of a color to suit their
taste, but for fear of spoiling it shroud it in linen covers that are
only removed when the furniture is worn out. In all that you
do and say, you substitute a factitious for a true sentiment -
this perhaps is decorum. You say in your letter, " I believe
that I have never loved you so well as yesterday "-you
should have added, " I love you less to-day."  I often repent
of being too loyal in my role of statue. You gave me your
soul yesterday: I would have given you mine in return but
you did not wish it. Always the linen cover!
Yesterday on returning from a dinner I discovered that I
knew by heart the speech of Tecmessa that you admired, and
being in a somewhat pensive mood I translated it into English
verse, as I abhor French verse.




RACHEL AND BERANGER.                   37
PARIS, 7anzuary, I843. — I heartily forgive your jest about
the Academy, of which I think less than you believe. Should
I ever be an Academician, I shall not be hard as a rock, though
perchance a little case-hardened and mummified; but rather a
good fellow at heart.
I am reminded of an incident that occurred a fortnight ago
at a dinner given by an Academician for the purpose of presenting Beranger to Mademoiselle Rachel. A number of
celebrities were assembled. Rachel came late and her manner of entering displeased me; while the men said so many
silly things to her, and the women did so many on seeing her,
that I remained in my corner; besides, it is a year since I
have spoken to her. After dinner, Beranger with his candor
and usual good sense told her that she was wrong to fritter
away her talent in salons, there being for her only one true
public, that of the Theatre Frangais. Rachel appeared to
appreciate the advice, and to prove that she benefited by it, at
once declaimed the first act of "Esther."  Some one was
needed to give her the cue, and by her direction a Racine was
formally brought to me by an Academician who was officiating
as cicisbeo; but I replied rudely that I knew nothing about
verses and that there were persons present who being in that
line would scan them much better. Hugo excused himself on
account of his eyes; another for some other reason, the
master of the house being finally victimized. Picture to yourself Rachel costumed in black, standing between the piano
and tea-table, with a door behind her, assuming a theatrical
pose and expression, the transformation being very fine and
vastly amusing. This lasted about two minutes, then she
began:"Est-ce toi, chore Elise?"'
The confidante in the middle of his reply lets fall both book
and spectacles, ten minutes passing before he can recover his
page and his eyes. The audience perceive that Esther is getting
into a rage. She resumes. The door behind opens, a servant
enters, who is signed to withdraw. He hurriedly retreats but
does not succeed in shutting the door, which remaining ajar




38          LETERS 7'0 AN INCOGNITA.
swings to and fro, accompanying Rachel with a melodious and
most comical creak. This not ceasing, Rachel puts her hand
to her heart and grows faint, but, like a person accustomed to
die on the stage, giving one time to come to her assistance.
During this interlude Hugo and M. Thiers fall to quarreling
on the subject of Racine, Hugo asserting that Racine had a
narrow mind (un fpetit esirit) and Corneille a master intellect
(un grand). "You say that," replied Thiers "because you
are ungrand esfrit; you are the Corneille "- here Hugo's
head assumed an air of great modesty -"of an epoch of
which Casimir Delavigne is the Racine."  Meanwhile the
swoon passes off and the act is finished, but fiascheggiando.
One of the guests who knows Rachel well, remarked: " How
she must have sworn this evening on going away." This is
my story; do not compromise me with the Academicians.
I deeply regret having exposed you through my persistency
to such a frightful drenching. It rarely happens to me to
sacrifice others to myself, and when it occurs I am filled with
all possible remorse. Happiness only gives me strength,
while it diminishes yours.  Wer besser liebt?  You laughed at
me and received as a jest what I said as to the wish to sleep,
or rather the torpor that sometimes steals over one when in a
state of happiness so great as to preclude its utterance in
words. I observed yesterday that you were under the influence of this sleep, which is worth many vigils, and I was too
content to wish to disturb my happiness. It is in exaggerating
facts by brooding on them that you have succeeded in making
a star-chamber matter of what you have yourself termed
frivolities; and allow me to say, that the very obstinacy and
rabid ferocity with which you thwart me as to these frivolities
render them more dear to me, and endue them with a fresh
importance. If I must see you only to resist the most innocent temptations, it is the rdle of a saint surpassing my
strength, and the condition exacted by you that I transform
myself into a statue, like the king in the " Arabian Nights,' is
simply insupportable. The only hypocrisy of which I am
capable is that of concealing from those whom I love all the




VIAWDO T. - HOOKA - B UL WER.           39
ill they do me; I might sustain the effort for a season; but
forever, no. As to our walk, I am like a cat that continues to
lick his moustache after lapping milk. Acknowledge that
repose, even the kef, which is superior to all that is best of
this nature, is nothing in comparison with the happiness " that
is almost a pain."  You claim to have spoiled me, but you do
not understand the art; your triumph is to put me in a fury.
Adieu, dearest!
PARIS, February, I843. — Since seeing you I have been
much in society, committing a multitude of academic meannesses which cost me a painful effort, having lost the habit,
but doubtless I shall quickly pick it up again. To-day I saw
five illustrious poets and writers of prose, and had night not
overtaken me the thirty-six visits might possibly have been
achieved at a dash. The drollery of it is the meeting one's
rivals, several of whom glared as if they wished to eat me
alive. Truth to say, I am worn out with this odious drudgery
and should be glad to forget it all in an hour with you.
I have been this evening to the Italiens, where, thanks to
the claquers, my enemy Madame Viardot had a success. I
find that I have omitted to attend the Opera House Ball —
where, alas! is the happy time in which I so enjoyed it? now
it bores me horribly. Do I not seem to you very old?
Theodore Hook is dead. Have you read Bulwer's " Ernest
Maltravers," and "Alice," which contain charming pictures of
old love and young love. You may reflect with pride on the
strange influence you have exercised over my ideas and resolutions; you have read my thought as quickly as it was
conceived — and yet yesterday, on the strength of a Greek
verse, I went to Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois, full of hope but
fruitlessly. Do you remember when we always divined each
other's wishes? The other evening at the opera your rainbow
costume inspired me with various fancies, but you have no
need of coquetry with me. I do not love you better as a
rainbow than in black. I have long suspected something
diabolical in you, but am somewhat reassured in thinking that
I have seen your feet, neither of which is cloven; nevertheless




40          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNIZA.
it may be that beneath these boflines you have a little claw
concealed. I have passed a wretched night of suffering, and
as a diversion shall think of your feet and hands.
I have received the sad news of the death by paralysis of
poor Sharp,' one of my most intimate friends whom I was
about to visit in London. I cannot yet accustom myself to
the thought of seeing him no more.
My fate will be decided at the Academy on the fourteenth,
which corresponds with the ides of March, the day of the
death of my hero, Caesar. Ominous, is it not? Reason encourages me to hope, but a depressing intuition whispers of
failure. Meanwhile I conscientiously pay my visits.' I find
people very polite, quite accustomed to their parts and enacting them very much in earnest, while I strive to play mine
with equal gravity, though I find it difficult. Does it not strike
you as comical to say to a man, " Monsieur, I believe myself
to be one- of the forty cleverest men of France; I am worthy
of. you," and similar facetie. This must, moreover, be translated into civil and fitting phrase to suit the various persons;
an occupation to weary me beyond endurance if prolonged.
I envy the fate of women who have no employment but to make
themselves beautiful, and to rehearse the effect to be produced
on others. I return your cravate, which was found in the anteroom of His Royal Highness the Duke de Nemours, but no
one has asked any explanation of its presence in my pocket.
I am full of remorse for my fury, my only excuse being
that the transition from our delicious halt in a strange species
of oasis, to our walk, was too abrupt —it was falling from
heaven to hell. You reproach me with being indifferent to
every one; I suppose you simply mean that I am undemonstrative- when untrue to my nature I suffer. Admit also
that it is sad, after becoming all that we are to each other, to
find you still distrustful of me. Two personalities exist in
you: the one all heart and soul; the other a beautiful statue
polished by society, draped in silk and cachemire, a charming
automaton with most skillfully adjusted springs. We speak
to the first, and find only the statue; but why need it be sc
1 Mr. Sutton Sharp, a very distinguished English barrister.




CA 7'UL US. -  IUSSE T.             41
lovely! You ask if I believe in the soul - not over much;
nevertheless, on reflection I find an argument in favor of the
hypothesis, namely: how could two inanimate substances give
and receive a sensation by a union that would be simply
insipid but for the idea that we associate with it? This is
rather a pedantic mode of saying that when two persons who
love, embrace each other, they experience a sensation quite
different from that communicated by kissing the softest satin.
But the argument has its value, and we will discuss metaphysics at our next meeting -a subject of which I am fond,
for it is inexhaustible.
You shall have your portrait en Turquesse, and I have placed
a narghild in your hand to add a local coloring; but I must
have my pay, or prepare for a terrible vengeance. I have been
asked to-day to contribute a sketch for an album to be sold
for the benefit of sufferers by an earthquake, and I shall give
them your portrait!
PARIS, April;, I843. - You do well not to speak of Catullus.
He is not an author to be read during Holy Week, and there
are passages in his writings quite impossible to translate into
French. We clearly see what love was at Rome towards the
year 50 before J. C.; it was, however, a little better than love at
Athens in the time of Pericles. Women were already arecognized force: they made men commit follies. Their power arose,
not, as is commonly said, through Christianity, but I think
through the influence that the barbarians of the North exercised over Roman society. The Germans were capable of
exaltation. They loved the soul; the Romans loved little
save the body. It is true that for a long period women were
without souls: they have none as yet in the East, and it is
a pity. You comprehend how two souls speak to one another,
but yours seldom responds to mine. I am glad that you value
the verses of Musset, and you are right in comparing him with
Catullus, who, however, wrote his native tongue better, while
Musset has the defect of not believing more in the soul than
Catullus, whom his time excused. Would you believe that a




42         LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
Roman could say pretty things, and could be tender? I will
show you some verses that Will fit in like wax d propios of our
usual disputes. You will see that the ancients are worth more
than your Wilhelm Meister.
Our walks have become a part of my life, and I hardly understand how I previously existed. In what mood shall I find
you? Each time that we meet you are mailed in a fresh
panoply of ice that only melts at the end of a quarter of an
hour. By the time of my return you will have accumulated a
veritable iceberg.
AVALLON, A ugust, 1843.- I came here to visit an old uncle
whom I have seldom seen. I dislike relations; one is obliged
to be familiar with persons whom one has rarely met because
they happen to be the son of the same father as one's mother.
My uncle, however, is a good fellow, not too provincial, and
whom I should find agreeable if we possessed two ideas in
common. The women here are as ugly as those of Paris,
having, moreover, ankles as thick as posts. In addition to our
moral perfections we have the advantage of being the ugliest
and most stunted people in Europe. At Vezelay I found myself
in a horrible little town perched on a high mountain, bored to
death by the country people, and preoccupied by a speech
I was to deliver. I am a Representative, and you know me
well enough to judge how odious to me is the role of a public
man. While I sketched, a crowd gathered about me, emulating each other in conjectures as to the nature of my occupation. To console me there was an admirable church which
owes to me its escape from demolition, and which I first saw
soon after meeting you; and I asked myself to-day if we
were more mad then than now. There was also a natural terrace that a poet might well call a precipice, where I philosophized on the me, on Providence, in the hypothesis that it
exists; and finished with the despairing thought that you are
far away. I send you an owl's feather that I found in the
abbatical church, having read in some book of magic that
when a woman places it beneath her pillow she dreams of her
friend.




THE FLEAS OF A V7GNON.                 43
SAINT-LuPICIN, August, I843, 6oo00 metres above the level of
the sea - in the midst of an ocean of very active andfamished
fleas. - This village is in the Jura Mountains, is ugly to the
last degree, filthy, and populous with fleas. I shall pass a
night like those at Ephesus, but at my awaking, unfortunately,
I shall find neither laurels nor Greek ruins. There are immense quantities of colossal flowers, a singularly keen and
pure air, and the human voice can be heard at a league's distance. I have had leaden skies, a broken wheel, and a poulticed eye, all tolerably remedied: but I cannot become habituated to solitude -solitude in motion, than which there is
nothing more sad; and were I in prison, I should be more at
my ease than thus roving alone about the country.
AVIGNON, I843. - The district that I am now traversing is
very fine, but the natives are stupid beyond measure. No
one opens his mouth but to praise the country, and this from
the priest to the porter. There is no appearance of that tact
constituting the gentleman, which I found among the common
people of Spain; but with that exception it is impossible to
find a country more nearly resembling Spain. There is the
same aspect of town and landscape; the workmen lie in the
shade and drop their cloaks with a tragic air that is Andalusian; the odor of garlic and oil is mingled with that of oranges
and jasmine; the streets are shaded with linen during the day,
and the women have small, well-shod feet; there is nothing,
even to the patois, that has not a flavor of Spain. A still
closer relation exists in its abundance of gnats, fleas, and
other insects, and I have yet two months of this life to pass
before seeing human beings!
I have sent my sketches to Paris; besides, a Roman capital
would not interest you,- devils, dragons, and saints forming
the decoration. The devils of the first centuries of Christianity
are not very seductive, and I am sure that you would not
value dragons and saints. I have sketched a Magon costume
for you, the only graceful one I have seen, though the sash is
so drolly placed as to afford no advantage in a slender over a




44          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
thick waist, - the dress would seem to require a special physical organization. The cheapness of cotton stuffs and the
facility of communication with Paris have wrought the disappearance of our national costumes. Avignon is filled with
churches and palaces, all provided with battlemented and
machicolated towers. The palace of the Pope is a model of a
fortification for the Middle Ages, which proves what amiable
security reigned toward the fourteenth century. There are
subterranean chambers used by the Inquisition, with the remains of an infernal complicated machine, and furnaces for
heating the irons with which heretics were tortured. The
natives are as proud of their Inquisition as the English of
their Magna Charta. "We also," say they, "have had autoda-fd, and the Spaniards had none until after us!"
TOULON, October. - It is impossible to find a place dirtier
or prettier than Marseilles; and these words are especially
appropriate to its women. They have expressive countenances, fine black eyes, beautiful teeth, very small feet, and
imperceptible ankles; but the pretty feet are shod in thick,
cinnamon-colored stockings the color of Marseilles mud, and
darned with cotton of twenty different tints. Their dresses
are badly made, untidy and covered with stains, while their
fine hair owes its lustre mainly to candle-grease. Add to
this an atmosphere redolent of garlic mixed with fumes of
rancid oil, and you have a picture of the Marseilles beauty.
What a pity that nothing can be perfect in this world! Yet,
in spite of all, they are ravishing -a positive triumph.
Your letter is admirably diplomatic; you practice the axiom
that language has been given to man to conceal his thought;
and yet I see between the lines the tenderest things in the
world. I think unceasingly of my return to Paris, and my
imagination paints I know not how many delicious moments
F ssed at your side.
PARIS, I843. -I wearyforyou, to make use of an ellipsis
that you affect. I did not clearly realize that we were about




SUNSHINE.                     45
to part for so long a time. Shall we really see each other no
more? We separated without a word, almost without a look.
I was sensible of a calm happiness not usual with me, and for
a few moments I seemed to wish for nothing more. How
ingenious you are in depriving others and yourself of an enchantment that comes so near! Doubtless I am wrong to use
the word enchantment, as marmots- probably never experience
the sensation, and you were one of those pretty animals before
Brahma transferred your soul to the body of a woman. But
nowithstanding my ill-humor I love better to see you with your
grand air of indifference than not at all. The affection you
bear me is merely an emanation of the intellect. You are all
mind, one of those chilly women of the North who live only
through the head. Our characters are as opposite as our
stanzina, and though you may divine my thoughts, you can
never comprehend them. Yet, with all these conflicting characteristics a great affinity exists between us; it is Goethe's
Walverwandschaft. Throw  away your faded flowers and
come with me to seek fresh ones. You say that sunshine
exercises a cheering influence over you, —and for myself,
though I love you at all seasons, in all weather, the happiness
of seeing you in sunshine is a more exquisite happiness still.
Is it possible that you cannot say to me all that you write?
What is this bizarre timidity that hinders frankness, prompts
you to wrap your thoughts in words more perplexing than the
Apocalypse, and to assert the most extraordinary falsehood
rather than allow a word of truth to escape which would give
me such pleasure? Do you believe in the devil? In my
opinion the pith of the matter lies there. If he terrifies you,
contrive that he do not carry you off. I do not guaranty my
catechism, which, however, I believe to be the best. I have
never sought to make converts, but, up to the present time,
neither has my conversion been accomplished by others.
Yesterday evening I went to the opera, where they proposed
to close the doors, Ronconi being drunk or in prison for debt;
but yielding to our clamor they gave us " L'Elisir d'Amore;"
after which I corrected proofs until three o'clock in the morn



46          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
ing. I do not concern myself so much about the Academy as
you suppose. I have hardly a chance of success. Do you
know any magic that will conjure my name from the deal-box
called Urn?
PARIS, M1arch, I844.1- Many thanks for your congratulations, but I wish for something better; to see and walk with
you. I think you take the matter too tragically. Why do you
weep? The "forty chairs " were not worth one little tear.
I am very heartily gratified, the more that I expected defeat;
and my mother who was suffering from acute rheumatism was
suddenly cured. I am worn out, demoralized, and completely
" out of my wits."  Then my novel, " Arsene Guillot," makes a
signalfiasco and rouses the indignation of all the self-styled
virtuous people, especially the women of fashion who dance
the polka and throng to the sermons of Pere Ravignan,
and who go so far as to liken me to a monkey who climbs to
the top of the tree and makes grimaces at the world below. I
believe that some votes have been lost by this scandal; on
the other hand, some have been gained. Now, to show my
greatness of soul, I must rush about thanking friends and
enemies.  I had the good fortune to be blackballed seven
times by persons whom I detest, yet who tell me that they
were my warmest partisans; but it is a happiness not to be
burdened with gratitude towards those whom we hold in slight
esteem. My Homer deceived me, or rather it was M. Vatout
to whom the threatening vaticination was addressed.
Alarch, I844. - I fear that the address may have seemed too
long. I am still shivering from the cold, and you may have
perceived my terrible cough, which might have been mistaken
for a cabal. Did you prefer the full dress to the frock coat?
I had some difficulty in discovering you hidden beneath your
neighbor's bonnet - another bit of childishness. Did you see
what I sent you, in full view of the Academy? But of course
you never wish to see anything.  Why will you dispute on
1 His election to the French Academy.




" WHICH LOVES THE BEST?"                 47
this text: " Which loves the best? " A desirable preliminary
would be to come to an agreement as to the meaning of the verb,
and this we shall never do; we are both too ignorant, and above
all too ignorant of each other. More than once I have fancied
you to be clearly revealed, but you always escape me. I was
right in calling you Cerberus, " three gentlemen in one." Our
mutual concessions only result in making us more unhappy;
and, more clear-sighted than you, I greatly blame myself, for
I have made you suffer in prolonging an illusion that I should
never have conceived. For you I have no reproaches. You
wished to reconcile two incompatible things, but in vain.
Should I not be grateful that you essayed the impossible for
my sake? On the whole, perhaps you will one day come to
regard our folly only in its fairest light, will remember only
the happy moments we have passed together.
Consider if it be not sad for me to find myself always in conflict with your pride, my great enemy, or rather rival in your
heart, and which triumphs over your tenderness, in comparison
with which it is a Colossus to a pigmy. This premeditated
pleasure, or, I prefer to believe, instinct that leads you to excite
in me a desire for what you obstinately refuse, is in reality a species of selfishness. All that wounds your pride stirs you to rebellion; and unconsciously this colors the most trivial details.
You are happy, you tell me, when I kiss your hand, and you
yield yourself to the feeling because your pride is satisfied by
this demonstration of humility. You wish me to be a statue
that you may be my life, my soul-awakener; but you wish for
no reciprocity in the happiness to which I aspire, as that would
imply an equality that displeases you. I shall never place my
pride and happiness in the same scale, therefore if you will
kindly suggest new formulas of humility, I will adopt them
without hesitation. Is not the friendship which so strangely
unites us, a sweeter, more living force than all the victories
gained by your demon pride?
PARIS, I844. -It is decided that I go to Algeria next
month; and while you are learning Greek I am  studying
4




48          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
Arabic, a diabolical language of which I shall never acquire
two words.  I passed a day at Strasbourg, exhorting the
authorities with sublime eloquence to restore an ancient
church; their reply being that they were in greater need of
tobacco than monuments, and that they should convert the
church into a storehouse. The cathedral that formerly I liked
so much appears absolutely ugly, and even the wise and foolish
virgins of Steinbach hardly found grace in my eyes.  You are
right in liking Paris so well; it is, after all, the only city in
which one can truly live.
I dined yesterday with General Narvaez - an entertainment
in honor of his wife's birthday.  Few ladies except Spanish
were present. One was pointed out to me who is starving herself to death through love, and is gently fading away. This
species of suicide must seem very cruel to you. There was
another demoiselle, whom General Serrano has deserted for her
fat Catholic Majesty; but she is not dying of it, and seems
even to be in excellent health.  There was also Madame
Gonzalez Bravo, sister of the actor Romea, and sister-in-law
of the same Majesty, who, it is said, gives herself a large
number of sisters-in-law. This one is very pretty and very
clever.
PARIS, I844.  We separated yesterday mutually discontented, and both were in the wrong. It is evident that we can
no longer meet without quarreling horribly. We both desire
the impossible. You - that I should be a statue; I - that
you should cease to be one. Every fresh proof of this impossibility, which at heart we have never doubted, is cruel for
both. For my part I regret all the pain I have caused you. I
too often give way to impulses of absurd anger; it would be
as reasonable to feel angry against ice for being cold. I hope
that you will forgive me; no resentment remains, only a heavy
sadness. Adieu, since only at a distance can we be friends.
When both shall be old, we may perhaps meet again with
pleasure; meanwhile, in misfortune or in happiness, remember
me. Once more, while I have the courage, adieu.




ACADEMY OF INSCRIPTIONS.                 49
PARIs, I844. - My occupation at this moment is tedious and
low beyond measure; I am soliciting votes for the Academy
of Inscriptions. The most absurd scenes occur, and I am
often seized with a wish to laugh, which must be repressed for
fear of shocking the gravity of the Academicians. I embarked
somewhat blindly in the affair, but my chances are not bad.
You are wrong to be jealous of Inscriptions. I have a little
amozirpropfre in the matter; just as in a game of chess with a
skillful adversary, but neither loss nor gain will affect me a
quarter so much as one of our quarrels. But what a vile calling is this of solicitor! Did you ever see dogs enter the hole
of a badger? When experienced in the game they have an
appalled look on entering, and often come out more quickly
than they go in, for it is an ugly brute to visit, is the badger.
I always think of the badger when about to ring the bell of an
Academician, and " in the mind's eye " I see myself an exact
likeness of that dog. However, I have not yet been bitten.
POITIERS, I844. — No doubt you have amused yourself
exceedingly, which I cannot but believe to be synonymous
with an indulgence in coquetry. Since leaving Paris my life
has been unspeakably disagreeable. Like Ulysses, I have seen
much of manners, men, and cities, and find them all very ugly.
I have had several attacks of fever that astonished and grieved
me as proving that I am growing old. I find the country the
flattest and most insignificant in France, but fine forests, great
trees, and vast solitudes abound, wherein I should like to
meet you. I pass my time in meditating on our walks. I applaud Scribe for having made a virtuous and neo-catholic
public laugh with the prizes for virtue; and I am equally surprised as to what you say of his elocution, as formerly he read
abominably. It must be the academic robe that bestows this
self-command; and this restored a little hope to me.
PERPIGNAN, I844. —I have been tormented by an absurd
idea which I hardly dare to tell you. While visiting the arena
of Nimes with the architect of the department, who was ex.




5o          LETTERS TO AN IA-'OGNITA.
plaining some repairs under his direction, I observed ten paces
from me a charming bird a little larger than a titmouse, gray
body, with white, red, and black wings, which, perching itself
on a cornice, looked fixedly at me. The architect, a great
sportsman, had never seen one resembling it. As I approached
it flew off, poising itself again a few steps distant, still regarding me closely; and wherever I went, in every story of the
amphitheatre, it followed me, its flight being noiseless, like
that of a night bird. The next day the scene was repeated.
I brought bread, it would not touch it; I then threw it a
grasshopper, which it equally disregarded, still watching me.
The most learned ornithologist of the town tells me that
no bird of this species exists in this region. Finally, at my
last visit to the amphitheatre, my bird still followed my steps
so far as to enter a dark and narrow corridor where a day
bird would seldom venture. I then remembered that the
Duchess of Buckingham saw her husband under the form of
a bird the day of his assassination, and the idea flashed upon
me that you were dead and had assumed this shape to visit me.
In spite of myself this nonsense distressed me, and I was enchanted to find your letter dated the day on which I first saw
my marvelous bird.
A fair is in progress here, and the town additionally thronged
with Spaniards flying from the epidemic, so that I was unable
to obtain lodging at an inn, and should have been reduced to
a bed in the street but for the commiseration of a hatter. I
write in a cold little room with a smoking chimney, cursing the
rain that dashes against my window; the woman who serves
me speaks Catalan, and only understands me when I speak
Spanish; while, worst of all, the flood threatens to carry
away the bridge and detain me here, a wretched prisoner. An
admirable situation for the expression of ideas.
I have been to the Fountain of Vaucluse, where I wished to
inscribe your name, but there were so many atrocious verses,
so many Sophies and Carolines, that I would not profane it by
such bad company. Parthenay I found a horrible town of;houans, with an abominable tavern where they inade an in



DISGUSTED  WITH POLITICS.                5 
fernal noise, and mixed so much stable with my dinner as to
make it impossible for me to eat. At Saint-Maixent I saw
women with headgear of the fourteenth century, and the waist
of the dress of nearly the same period, allowing the chemise to
be seen, which is of coarse house-cloth, buttoned under the
chin, and open like men's shirts; and in spite of the ginger.
bread beneath I thought it very pretty.
PARIS, February, 1845.- Everything passed off better than
I had hoped.' I was perfectly self-possessed, and am well
content with the public, though I know not if it be so with me.
All is well since you did not find me ridiculous. I should have
lost my confidence had I known you to be present, in view
especially of my tarragon-colored coat, and my face idem.
TOULOUSE. - Fortunately I find here your letter, for I was
furious at your silence. You are never so near forgetting me
as when persuading me that I am in your thought. You ask
me to pet you, but I am in too bad a humor, having been in a
continuous rage this past fortnight against you, against myself,
the weather, and the architects.  I passed four-and-twenty
hours at the house of a Deputy and if I were ambitious of
being a politician this visit would have completely quenched
my aspirations. What a calling! what people one must see,
conciliate, flatter! I say with Hotspur: "I had rather be a
kitten and cry mew."  Slavery for slavery, I prefer the court
of a despot; at least the greater part of despots wash theil
hands.  In England, no doubt, Lady M       will beset you
again with her fine theories " about the baseness of being in
love." God knows if you will not return three quarters English. While you are luxuriating in melting peaches, I am
eating yellow, acid ones of a singular but not unpleasant
flavor, and figs of every color. I am immeasurably bored in
the evening, and begin to wish for the society of bipeds of my
own species. I count the provincials as naught, being fatiguing
to my eyes and entirely foreign to my circle of thought.
1 His reception at the French Academy.




.52 1LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
BARCELONA, I845. -I have reached the goal of my long
journey, and have been admirably received by my archivist,
who had already prepared my tables and the ancient books in
which I shall lose what remains of my sight. To find his
despacho, a gothic hall of the fourteenth century must be traversed, and a marble court planted with orange-trees as tall as
our lime-trees, and covered with ripe fruit.  This is very
poetical, and as regards comfort and luxury recalls, as does
my chamber, the Asiatic caravanserai. However, it is better
than Andalusia, though the natives are inferior and have a
fatal defect in my eyes, or rather ears, in that I understand
nothing of their gibberish. At Perpignan, I met two gypsies
who were cropping mules, and I spoke cald to them to the great
horror of my companion, a colonel of artillery; while they,
finding me even more skilled than themselves in the patois,
offered a striking testimony to my attainments of which I was
not a little proud. In summing up the results of my journey, my conviction is, that it was unnecessary to come so
far, and that my history could have been satisfactorily accomplished without disturbing the venerable dust of Aragonese
archives.
MADRID, Novembeer, I845. -I have been installed here a
week in the midst of intense cold, rain, and a climate quite
similar to that of Paris; only, I look on snow-capped mountains
and live familiarly with very fine Velasquez. Thanks to the
ineffable slowness of these people, I have only to-day begun
to ferret among the manuscripts, as an academic council was
necessary to permit me to examine them, and I know not how
many intrigues to enable me to obtain information as to their
existence.
I find this country much changed, and less agreeable since
my last visit. Persons whom I left friends are now mortal
enemies; many of my former acquaintances have become
grandees, and very insolent. Every one thinks aloud, with
but slight consideration for others, and a frankness prevails that
amazes us Frenchmen, and me the more, inasmuch as you have




LOVERS AND HUSBAzAVDS.                 53
lately accustomed me to something very different. You should
make a tour beyond the Pyrenees to take a lesson in frankness. You can form no conception of the expression of the
swain's face when the beloved object does not arrive at the
appointed hour, nor of the noise of the escaping sighs; but
such scenes are so common as to create no scandal nor tittletattle. I see happy lovers, and find that they take advantage
of the confidence and intimacy accorded by their innamoratas.
The most romantic do not comprehend in the least what we
term gallantry: the lovers here, truth to say, are merely husbands non-authorized by the church. They are the souffre
douleur of the legal husband, execute commissions and nurse
Madame when she takes medicine. Notwithstanding your infernal coquetry, and your aversion for the truth, I love you far
more than all these over-frank people. Do not take advantage
of this avowal. It is so cold that we shall have no bull-fight 
but a number of balls are announced, the tedium of which is
inexpressible.
August, I846, on board a steavmboat. - I have been among
the mountains seeking some spot remote from electors and
candidates, but I found such quantities of flies and fleas that
I am not sure if the elections be not preferable. Yesterday
evening I spent with peasant men and women, making their
hair stand on end with ghost stories. There was a magnificent
moon that lighted up their regular features and showed the
fine black eyes of these damsels, while idealizing the condition
of their hands and stockings.  I went to bed very proud of my
success with this, to me, novel audience; but in the morning
on seeing my Arde'choises by sunlight, con villanos manos y
pies, I almost regretted my eloquence.
PARTIS, I846. - I find the provinces more stupid and unendurable each year. I could not well describe the tedium and
various annoyances of this little tour. It recalls Clarence's
dream:' I would not spend another such a night,
Though't were to buy a world of happy days.:




54          LETTERS TO AN IVNCOGNITA.
Paris is absolutely empty of intelligent inhabitants, only
calp-makers and Deputies remaining, which is nearly the same
thing. I am even more isolated here than usual, depressed by
something of the feeling of an emigre who on returning to his
country finds a new generation. It will strike you that I have
grown horribly old - all of which simply means that I am sad,
very cross, and that it is you, our walks, which I need. Perhaps when the sea air shall have tarnished your dresses, or
fresh ones arrive from Paris, you will send me a thought.
There is nothing on earth half so charming to a woman, it is
said, as to display pretty toilettes. I can offer you no equivalent
for these joys; but I should suffer too much in believing you
to be so constituted. I learn, with pleasure, that you are so
heartily wearied at —, which I predicted. After living in Paris,
the provinces are insupportable; one says and does numberless enormities that are overlooked in Paris, but which in a
village are magnified to the size of a house.
BONN, 1846. - When once launched on a journey I have the
utmost difficulty in coming to a halt; and very seductive promises will be needed to prevent me from pushing on to Lapland.
I have been six days in this admirable country, I mean Rhenish Prussia, where civilization is very advanced, with the exception of the beds, which are still four feet long, the sheets
three. I lead an altogether German life. I rise at five o'clock
and go to bed at nine, after partaking of four meals, which
routine suits me quite well; and I am not yet ill with doing
nothing save opening my mouth and eyes. Only, the German
women have become horribly ugly since my last visit.
With respect to monuments, I am by no means satisfied with
those I have seen, the German architects appearing to me even
worse than our own.  They have denuded the Minster at
Bonn, and painted the Abbey at Lahr in a way to make tone
grind one's teeth. The scenery of the Moselle is very much
overpraised, and I have seen nothing really striking since
passing the Tmolus.  My admiration is exclusively reserved
for the umbrageous foliage and for -their fine conception c f the




PARIS IN A FERMENT                    55
cuisine; here the most important occupation is zu sf5eisen.
All honest people after dining at one o'clock take tea and
cakes at four, go to a garden at six to eat a roll and stuffed
tongue, which enables them to sustain nature until eight, when
they go to a hotel to have their supper. What becomes of
the women during this period I do not know, but it is certain
that from eight to ten o'clock not a man remains in the house,
each one being at his favorite hotel, eating, drinking, and
smoking; and the reason of this may, I think, be found in the
large feet of these ladies and the excellence of Rhenish wine.
PARIS, March, 1848. - I have never been more sadly shocked
by the stupidity of the Northern people, and also by their inferiority to those of the South, than during my recent tour,
the average native of Picardy striking me as much below the
lowest class of Provence; in addition to which I nearly perished with cold in all the inns to which my evil destiny led me.
I am tormented by the failure of the  ~ firm, in which I fear
your interests also are at stake; and each day will bring us
fresh disturbance. We must sustain each other and share the
little courage remaining to us. You are too much alarmed;
but it is difficult to give advice and to see clearly through the
fog that stretches over our future.  Many persons believe
Paris, all things considered, to be safer than the country, and I
am also of this opinion. I have no fear of a street battle,
first, because no sufficient motive exists; then that strength
and audacity are on the one side, while I see only dullness and
cowardice on the other. If civil war should break out, it will
be first declared in the country, as great irritation has been
aroused against the dictatorship of the capital, and perhaps
measu-es, now impossible to foresee, may lead to this result
in the West.  As to the consequence of the riots, contrast
those of the first revolution in Paris with the one two years
ago at Buzangais, -more deplorable than all those of'93.
Everything passed off quietly yesterday, and we shall have
numerous similar processions before any shot will be fired, if
indeed that should ever happen in this timid country.




56          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
PARIS, May, 1848. - All has passed off well, for the reason
that they are such fools that the Chamber, notwithstanding all
its faults, has proved to be stronger than they. There are
neither killed nor wounded, everything is quiet, and an excellent feeling prevails between the people and the National
Guard. The leading insurgents have been arrested, and so
many troops are under arms that for some time to come there
will be nothing to fear. I have witnessed some highly dramatic scenes. I am worn out with a night's service with the
Guards, but, after all, fatigue has its advantage at this time.
The happiness of seeing you is as great under the Republic as
under the Monarchy, and you must not be avaricious in its
bestowal. But the most important, pressing thing to tell you
is, that each day I love you more and mole, and I should be
glad could you summon courage to say the same to me..zune, I848. —I returned this morning from a little campaign of four days, during which I ran no danger and was enabled to see the horrors of the day and of this country. In the
midst of my distress I grieve above all for the folly of France:
it is unequaled. I cannot see that it will ever be possible to
turn her aside from the savage barbarism in which she shows
so strong an inclination to wallow. I hope that your brother
is safe: I do not think that his legion was seriously in action.
I will hastily relate a curious incident or two before going to
bed. The La Force prison was protected for several hours by
the National Guard and surrounded by the insurgents, who said
to the soldiers: " Do not fire on us and we will not fire on you
-take care of the prisoners." To watch the battle I entered
a house that had just been rescued from the rebels, and asked
the occupants, "' Did they take much from you? " " They stole
nothing." Add to this, that I led a woman to the abbey who
had employed herself in cutting off the heads of the Guards
with her kitchen knife; and that I saw a man whose two arms
were red with the blood of a dying soldier whose belly he had
ripped up, laving his hands in the gaping wound. Do you
begin to understand somewhat of this great nation? What is
quite certain is, that we are going headlong to the devil.




TRANQUILLITY RESTORED.                  57
71zdy, 1848. — Paris is, and will be quiet for some time to
come. I do not think that the civil, or rather the social war
is at an end, but another battle so frightful as the recent one
seems impossible, the recurrence of the infinity of circumstances necessary to bring it about not being probable. Of its
hideous results which your imagination doubtless paints, you
will find but few traces, the glazier and house-painter having
already effected their removal; but you will see many long
faces. What can one do? the rezgime is de facto, and we
must accustom ourselves to it. By and by we shall cease
to think of the morrow, and on awaking in the morning shall
be happy in the certainty of an undisturbed evening. The
days are long and warm, and as tranquil as could be wished,
or rather hoped for under the Republic. All the signs foretell a prolonged truce. The disarming is effected with vigor.
and produces good results.  One curious symptom  is remarked; namely, that in the insurgent.faubourgs any number of informers can be found to point out the hiding-places
and even the leaders of the barricades. It is a good sign,
you know, when wolves fall to fighting among themselves.
The I4th of July passed by very quietly, notwithstanding the
sinister predictions with which we were favored. The truth
-if it can be discovered under the government under which
we have the good fortune to live-the truth is, that our
chances for tranquillity have been singularly increased. To
bring about the events of June, several years of organization
and four months of arming were requisite. A second representation of this bloody tragedy appears to me impossible;
nevertheless, some little plot, several assassinations, and a few
riots are still probable. We shall have perhaps a half century
in which to perfect ourselves, the one party in the construction of barricades, the other in their destruction. Paris is noxbei~lg filled with mortars and howitzers, both transportable
and efficacious - a novel argument, and said to be excellent.
I went yesterday to Saint-Germain to order a dinner for the
Society of Bibliophiles, where I found a cook not only capable,
but eloquent, who comprehended at once the most fantastic




58          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNI7A.
dishes that I proposed. This great man resides in the portion of the palace in which Henry IV. was born, which commands one of the loveliest views in the world, while a few
steps bring one to a wood with great trees and magnificent
undergrowth. And not a soul to enjoy all this!
You resemble Anteus, who renewed his strength in touching
the earth. You no sooner touch your native soil than you
relapse into your old defects. Your letter does not tell me
how long I am to suffer the purgatory of your absence. It
was redolent of a perfume so much the more delicious from
being familiar to me, and which brings to nme so many charming associations. I think of you unceasingly; even while
looking at the fighting at the Bastille my thoughts were of you.
August, I848.- This evening while my friend M. Mignet
was strolling with Mademoiselle Dosne in the little garden
fronting the residence of M. Thiers, a ball came down without
the least noise, struck the house very near Madame Thiers's
window and glancing thence wounded a little girl seated
beyond the garden railing. The ball was quickly extracted,
and no ill will ensue save a slight scar: but for whom was
it intended?  Mignet? that is impossible.  Mademoiselle
Dosne? still more so. Neither Madame nor M. Thiers was
at home. No one heard the explosion, the ball was of regulation size, and air-guns are of a much smaller calibre. I
believe it to have been a republican attempt at intimidation,
as foolish as all else that is done in this our day. Cavaignac
says: "They will kill me, Lamoriciere will succeed me, then
Bedeau; after whom will come the Duc d'Isly, who will
sweep everything clean." Does this not strike you as prophetic? No one believes in an intervention in Italy. The
Republic will be even rather more cowardly than the Monarchy; they may, however, make a pretence of allowing it to be
supposed that intervention is probable, hoping by this ruse to
obtain a congress, protocols, and a compromise. One of my
friends, just returned from Italy, was plundered by the Roman
volunteers, who find that travellers are made of better stuff




FRESH RIOTS RUMORED.                   59
than the Croats. He asserts that it is impossible to make the
Italians fight, with the exception of the Piedmontese. Throw
aside your Romaic; it will be love's labor lost. In vainly
trying to learn it I forgot my Greek, and it will play you the
same trick. I am surprised at your facile comprehension of
this gibberish, which as a language, moreover, will soon disappear, for Greek is already spoken at Athens, and Romaic
will only be used by the lower orders. Since I84I, not a single Turkish word, formerly so frequent, has been heard in the
Greece of King Otho.
Yesterday, at the general competition for prizes, one was
awarded to an urchin named Leroy, whereupon his comrades
exclaimed " Vive le roi! "
General Cavaignac who assisted at the ceremony laughed
with a very good grace: but the same boy receiving yet another prize, the applause became so uproarious that the general lost countenance and twisted his beard as if he would
pluck it out by the roots.
Azugust, I848. - We hear rumors of fresh riots; and now
the cholera is coming to complicate matters. M. Ledru is
thought to be inciting a disturbance by way of protest against
the administrative inquiry. The situation closely resembles
that of Rome during Catiline's conspiracy, only there is no
Cicero. A most grievous symptom is, that Citizen Proudhon
has a great number of adherents, his little sheets being sold
in the faubourgs by thousands - all of which is sad, but to
me the ennui cf the approaching rain and cold is more serious
and much more certain than the riot. I suffer much, and
should be excessively vexed to die before our breakfast at
Saint-Germain.
LONDON, 7une, I85o. - The most decided impression received from this journey is that the English are individually
stupid (betes), but an admirable people en masse. Everything
that can be done by the aid of money, good sense, and patience, they do; but of the arts they have no more notion
than my cat.




60          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
The Nepaulese princes are here, with whom you would fall
in love. They wear flat turbans bordered with enormous pearshaped emeralds, and are a mass of satin, cachemire, and gold.
They are of a deep milk and coffee color, have a good air, and
appear to be intelligent.
We are going to Hampton Court to avoid the chances f(
suicide thlat the Lord's Day in this city would not fail to offei
I dined yesterday with a bishop and a dean, who have made
me even still more a socialist. The bishop belongs to what the
Germans call the rationalist school; he does not even believe
what he preaches, and on the strength of his black silk apron
enjoys five or six thousand pounds a year and passes his time
in reading Greek. The women all look as if made of wax;
and wear such expansive bustles that the pavement of Regent
Street is only wide enough to hold one woman at a time. I
passed yesterday morning in the new House of Commons,
which is a frightful monstrosity; I had previously no conception of what could be accomplished with an utter want
of taste and two millions sterling. I have strong fears of becoming a thorough socialist by dint of eating admirable dinners from silver gilt plates, and seeing persons who win forty
thousand pounds sterling at the Epsom races. There is as
yet no probability of a revolutionary outbreak here. The servility of the lower orders, of which we see each day some fresh
example, conflicts with our democratic ideas: it is a question
of moment to know if they are more happy.
SALISBURY, _imne, I850.- I begin to have enough of this
region. I am worn out with the perpendicular architecture,
and the manners, equally perpendicular, of the natives. I have
passed two days at Cambridge and Oxford with the reverends,
and, all things considered, I prefer the Capuchins. I am especially furious against Oxford. A Fellow had the insolence
to invite me to dinner. There was a fish four inches long, in
a great silver dish, and a lamb cutlet in another: all this
served in magnificent style, with potatoes in a dish of carved
wood. But never was I so hungry. This is the result of the




THE SPA4NISH DANVCERS.                 1
hypocrisy of these people. They like to show their abstinence to foreigners, and, eating luncheon, they do not dine.
Were it not broad day at eight o'clock in the evening, one
might believe it to be December, which does not hinder the
women from going out with open parasol. It is impossible to
see anything more ridiculous than an Englishwoman in the
hoop that is worn here.
I have just committed a blunder. I gave half a crown to
a man in black who showed me over the cathedral, and then I
asked him for the address of a gentleman for whom I had a
letter from the dean. He proved to be the very person to
whom the letter was addressed. He looked very foolish, and
so did I: but he kept the money.
Who is a Miss Jewsbury, rather red-haired, who writes
novels? I met her recently and she told me that she had
dreamed all her life of a pleasure that she believed impossible,
that of seeing me - verbatim. She has written a novel entitled "Zoe." Will you, who read so much, tell me who is this
person for whom I am a romance.
PARIS, _rune, I85I. -Yesterday I accepted an invitation
from the Princess Mathilde to see the Spanish dancers, who
are very mujdiocre. The dance at the Mabille has killed the
bolero, and these dames wore such a quantity of crinoline as
to prove clearly the encroachment of civilization. A girl and
her old duenna amused me by their intense surprise at finding themselves beyond the tierra of Jesus; they were as perfect barbarians as could be desired.
PARIS, December, I85I.- The last battle, I believe, is now
being fought; but who will win? Should the President lose,
it seems to me that the heroic Deputies should give way to
Ledru-Rollin.  I have returned home horribly fatigued, and
have met none but madmen. The look of Paris recalls that
of February, except that now the soldiers are very fierce and
terrify the citizens. The military are sure of success, but we
understand their almanac. However this may be, we have
just escaped a reef and are s-iling towards the unknown.




62          LETTERS TO AN INACOGNITA.
PARIS, i852. - I am threatened with a lawsuit for contempt
of court and attack upon the final judgment; while the School
of Charts is also sharpening its claws to tear me to pieces.
I shall be compelled to undergo an examination and to engage
in desperate polemics. In case I fail, try to keep well and
come to see me in prison. I do not know whether they will
hang me, but I am very fidgetty at the thought of a public
ceremony in presence of the very cream of the rabble, and
three imbeciles in black gowns as stiff as pickets and convinced of their own importance, to whom one cannot dream
of expressing one's contempt for their gowns, their person,
and their mind.
May, 1852. - Four days in prison and a thousand francs
fine! My lawyer argued well, the judges were civil, and I
not at all nervous. I shall not appeal. I pass my time in
reading Beyle's correspondence.  It has rejuvenated me
twenty years. It is as if I were making the autopsy of the
thoughts of a man whom I have known intimately and whose
ideas respecting men and things had grown singularly colorless
by the side of my experience. This renders me sad and gay
twenty times within the hour, and makes me regret having
burned Beyle's letters to me.
CARABANCHEL, i853.- On arriving here I found preparations for a fete at which a comedy was to be played and a /oa
(a dithyrambic dialdgue) recited in honor of the lady of the
house and her daughter. My services were called into requisition to paint skies, repair decorations, and design costumes,
not to enumerate the rehearsals of five mythological goddesses,
who on the fatal day looked exceedingly pretty but were overcome with terror. The audience applauded warmly, without
understanding in the least the nonsensical rigmarole of the
poet author of the boa. The comedy was better, and I admire
the facility with which the young girls of society transform
themselves into passable actresses. During supper a prote'ge
of the Countess improvised some pretty verses that moved




A BULL-tiGHT.                    63
the heroine to tears and disposed every one else to drink
rather too generously. As there are nine ladies here without
a gentleman, I am called at Madrid, " Apollo."  Of the nine
Muses five unfortunately are mothers, but the remaining four
are true born Andalusians with little ferocious airs that are
ravishing, especially when in their Olympian costume with
peplum, which through love of euphony they persist in calling
petlo.
MADRID, October, I853. - I went yesterday to see Cuchares,
the best matador since Montes. The bulls were so indifferent
that it was necessary to excite them by little fiery darts. Two
men were thrown into the air, and for a moment we thought
them dead, which imparted some slight interest to the spectacle; otherwise everything was detestable.  The bulls no
longer have any spirit, and the men are not much better than
the bulls. The ugly convent of the Escurial is as sad as when
I saw it twenty years ago, but civilization has penetrated its
walls and one finds iron bedsteads and cutlets, but no longer
fleas and monks. The absence of the latter distinctive element renders Herrera's heavy architecture still more ridiculous.
I will bring you the garters, which I had dfficulty in finding.
Civilization makes such rapid progress that on nearly every
leg the elastic has replaced the classic ligas of former days;
and when I asked the chamber-maids to show me a shop
where they were sold they indignantly crossed themselves,
saying that they no longer wore such obsolete fashions, which
were only in use by the common people. Mantillas are nearly
as rare; they are superseded by bonnets; and such bonnets!
Last week the fete of Saint Eugfznie was celebrated at the
French embassy by a ball, at which Madame -, wife of
the United States Minister, appeared in a costume so designed
as to make one split with laughter — black velvet bordered
with gold lace and tinsel, and a tawdry diadem. Her son,
who looks like a boor, made inquiries respecting the position
of the persons present, and having obtained satisfactory information sent a challenge to a very noble, very rich duke, a
iS




64          LETTERS TO ANV INVCOGNITA.
great simpleton, and desirous of living yet a long tine. The
parley still continues, but no one will be killed.
I am re-reading " Wilhelm Meister," a strange book, in which
the finest possible things alternate with the most absurd childishness. In all that Goethe wrote there is a singular mingling
of genius and German silliness (niaiserie).' was he laughing
at others or at himself? On my return remind me to give you
"The Elective Affinities," the oddest, most anti-French of all
his works. No one reads at Madrid. I have asked myself how
the women pass their. time when not making love, and I find
no plausible reply. They are all thinking of being empresses.
A demoiselle of Granada was at the play when it was announced in her box that the Countess de Teba was to marry
the Emperor. She rose with impetuosity, exclaiming: "En ese
pueblo no hay farvenir." 1
The absorbing question here is, whether the Ministry will
remain in, or whether there will be a coupt dt'eat. The house
in which I reside is neutral ground, where the Ministers and
leaders of the Opposition meet, which is agreeable for lovers
of news. What is called here society is composed of so
small a number of persons, that to break up into factions
would be fatal. In all public places one is sure of meeting
the same three hundred faces, from which results a more
amusing and infinitely less hypocritical society than elsewhere.
It is the custom here to offer in return everything that is
praised. At a recent dinner I sat next the Prime Minister's
fair friend, who is as stupid as a cabbage and excessively
stout. She displayed somewhat handsome shoulders, on which
rested a garland with glass or metal acorns, and not knowing
what to say to her, I praised both beads and shoulders, to
which she replied:'"Todo ese a la disf5osicion de V."
PARIS, I854. — You will find the Sydenham Crystal Palace
a vast Noah's Ark, marvelous as to its collection of curious
objects, but regarded from an artistic stand-point, perfectly
ridiculous; yet there is somethingat once so grand and so
1 In this country there is no chance of rising.




SPEECH-MA KING                    65
simple in its construction that one must go to England to
form a conception of it. It is a toy costing twenty-five millions; a cage in which several churches might waltz; and to
you who are gourmande, I recommend its dinners.
The last days I passed in London interested me.  I met
socially all the eminent politicians, and was present at the
debates on the Supplies in the Houses of Lords and Commons,
in which the most renowned orators spoke, but in my opinion
very abominably. I have brought a pair of garters from London. I do not know with what Englishwomen keep up their
stockings, nor how they procure this indispensable article, but
I believe it to be a very difficult matter and very trying to their
virtue. The shopman who gave me these garters blushed up
to the eyes. All the charming things you say to me would be
a delight if experience had not taught me to distrust you. I
dare not hope for what I desire so ardently. There is something very painful in conforming to your protocols, which, in
point of contempt of logic and probability, are worthy of
Nesselrode.  I returned this morning from Caen.  On my
arrival there I proceeded to the hall of the Law School, where
I found about two hundred men and a dozen ladies.  I delivered my little discourse without the slightest emotion, being
very civilly applauded. The ceremonies terminated with the
reading of some rather good verses by a humpbacked dwarf,
immediately after which I was conducted by the authorities to
the ho'tel de vile, where a banquet was given in my honor, at
which excellent fish and delicious lobsters were enjoyed. At
last the hoped-for moment of release came, when to my dismay the President of the Antiquaries arose, every one standing,
and proposing my health, referred to me as remarkable in the
three qualities of senator, a man of letters, and a scientist.
Only the table separated us, and I was much inclined to throw.t dish of rum jelly at his head. While he spoke I was meditating my reply, with no apparent possibility of finding a word.
I returned thanks, however, in a speech of five minutes, with
but a slight idea of what I was saying, which, however, I was
assured was very eloquent. But my sufferings were nct over.




66          LET7'ERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
I was seized by the mayor and led to a concert of the Philharmonic Society, where I was exhibited to a large number of
well dressed people, the women very fair and very pretty,
attired much like Parisians except in a less lavish display of
shoulders, and in wearing maroon colored half boots with
their ball dress.
INNSPRUCK, AtgiusI, 1854. —I am intoxicated with magnificent landscapes and panoramas. From Basle to Schaffhausen, on the right hand and left, are enchanting mountains,
far finer than those of the lower Rhine so much admired by
Englishwomen. At Constance we had capital trout and heard
Tyroleans play on the zitther.  Thence to this place we have
traversed a region of forests, lakes, and mountains of increasing beauty and grandeur, but are overcome with fatigue such
as one experiences after examining a fine picture gallery. I
am recruiting here with delicious woodcock and extraordinary
soups. The drawback of the journey lies in an ignorance of
the manners and ideas of the people, far more interesting to
me than all the landscapes. In the Tyrol the women seem to
be treated according to their merit. They are harnessed
to wagons and easily draw heavy loads, are excessively ugly,
with enormous feet; and the ladies whom I met on the railway
and boats are not much better. They-wear indecent bonnets,
sky-blue boots with apple-green gloves. It is in great part
the above peculiarities that constitute what the natives call
gemliitl, and of which they are exceedingly vain. It. strikes
me that the radical deficiency in the works of art of this country is that of imagination, upon which, nevertheless, they pique
themselves, falling consequently into the most pretentious extravagances.
P RAGUE, Seg5emlber, 1854. - This city is exceedingly picturesque and there is admirable music.  Yesterday I strolled
through several gardens and public concerts, and saw the
national dances performed decently and soberly; while nothing can be more captivating than a Bohemian orchestra. The




PRA GUE.  VIE NNA.                 67
physique here differs much from that of Germany; very large
heads, broad shoulders, very small hips, and no legs whatever
that is a picture of Bohemian beauty. We have exhausted
our knowledge of anatomy in striving to understand how these
women walk. They have, however, fine black eyes, very long
and fine black hair, but feet of a length, thickness, and breadth
to surprise travellers accustomed to the most extraordinary
sights. Crinoline is unknown. At the public gardens in the
evening they drink a bottle of beer, after which they take a
cup of coffee, which disposes them to partake of three veal
cutlets with ham, the interstices being filled up with some
light pastry cakes resembling our buns. The blanket of my
bed of various pretty colors, is one metre long, to which is
buttoned a napkin that serves me for sheet, and when I have
arranged that in equilibrium, my servant places over the whole
an eider down coverlet which I pass the night in throwing
down and replacing.
VIENNA, October, I854.- Really, this good city is an agreeable place of sojourn, and it requires a certain degree of
courage to leave it, now that I have learned to enjoy sauntering about its pleasant places, and have made many friends.
We are agitated by news from the Crimea.  Is Sebastopol
taken? It is believed so here; and the Austrians, with the
exception of a few ancient families who are Russian at heart,
congratulate us. God grant that the news may not be an invention such as the telegraph delights in when at leisure.
However it may be, I think it a fine thing that our troops, six
days after landing, should have pommeled the Russians so
vigorously. We enjoy the looks of the Russians now here.
Prince Gortschakoff says that it is an "incident" that will
effect no change as to principles. The Belgian Minister, the
wit of Vienna, says that Gortschakoff is right to intrench himself behind principles, because they are never taken with the
bayonet. A propos of wit, willing or unwilling, I have been
made a lion.  Society here being so geniithlich, everything
that a Frenchman says is accepted as wit. I am thought very




68          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
amiable. I write sublime thoughts in albums, I make drawings, in a word I have been perfectly ridiculous. I passed
three days at Pesth, where my modesty suffered in being
shown a public bath, in which Hungarian men and women
were together in the hot mineral water. I saw one beautiful
Hungarian who hid her face with her hands; in this unlike the
Turkish women, who wear the chemise for that purpose. I
have heard Bohemian musicians play very original Hungarian
airs that intoxicate the natives. The music begins lugubriously and ends with a mad gayety that quickly spreads to the
audience, who stamp, break the glasses, and dance on the
table; but foreigners are not affected by these phenomena.
Magnificent furs are obtained here for a trifle -the only bargains in the country. I am ruined by hack hire and dinner
parties. The custom is to pay the domestics who serve the
dinner, and the hall porter; in fact one pays at every turn.
LONDON, t7uly, I856. — I am about to visit a real Scotch
chieftain, who has never worn any breeches, has no staircase
in his house, but maintains a bard and a seer. I find the
people here so amiable, so pressing, so monopolizing, that my
arrival is evidently a relief to their ennui. Yesterday I saw
two of my former beauties; the one has become asthmatic, the
other a Methodist. I have also made the acquaintance of
eight or ten poets, who struck me as rather more ridiculous
even than our own.
EDINBURGH. -I have passed three days at the Duke of
Hamilton's, in an immense castle, and a very fine country. At
no great distance is a herd of wild oxen, said to be the only
ones now remaining in Europe. but which appeared to me as
tame as the deer at Paris. Throughout this castle are pictures by the great masters, magnificent Greek and Chinese
vases, and richly bound books from the greatest collections of,he last century. All this is arranged without taste, and one
sees that it affords the proprietor but small enjoyment. I now
understand why the French are so much in request in foreign




LIFE IN SCOTLAND.                   69
countries; they take pains to be amused, and in so doing
amuse others. I found myself the most entertaining person
of the very numerous society assembled, and was at the same
time conscious of being rather the reverse. I find Edinburgh
altogether to my taste with the exception of the execrable
architecture of the monuments, the claim of which to be
Greek is about as well founded as an Englishwoman's pretension to be a Parisian because her toilettes are prepared by
Madame Vignon. The accent of the natives is odious to me.
The women, as a rule, are very ugly. The country necessitates short skirts, and they conform to the fashion and to the
exigencies of the climate, by holding up their gown with both
hands, a foot above the petticoat, displaying sinewy legs and
half-boots of rhinoceros leather, with feet to match. I am
shocked at the proportion of red-haired women whom I meet.
Azugust, I856, at a country house near Glasgow. - I lead a
pleasant life, going from chateau to chateau, and everywhere
entertained with a hospitality for which I despair of finding
adequate expression, and which is only practicable in this
aristocratic country. I am contracting bad habits. The guest
here of poor people who have little more than thirty thousand
pounds a year, I have thought myself not sufficiently honored
because of dining without wind instruments and a piper in
grand costume.
At the Marquis of Breadalbane's I passed three days in
driving about the park. There are about two thousand deer,
besides eight or ten thousand in his forests not adjacent to the
castle. There are also, for the sake of singularity, at which
every one aims here, a herd of American buffaloes, very fierce,
inclosed in a peninsula, and which one goes to look at through
the palings. Every one there, Marqttis and buffalo, had the
at. of being bored. I believe that their pleasure consists in
mnaking people envious, and I doubt whether this compensates
for the pother of playing innkeeper to all sorts of people.
Amidst all this luxury, I observe, from time to time, bits of
stinginess which amuse me.




70          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
KINLOCH-LINCHARD, August, i856. -I begin to be satiated with grouse and venison. The truly remarkable scenery
has still a charm for me, but my curiosity is satisfied. What
I am not weary of admiring is, the bristling attitude the people here maintain: being chained together at the galleys even
would not make them more sociable. This arises from their
fear of being "caught in the act of being stupid," as Beyle
says, or rather an organization that inclines them to prefer selfish pleasures. We arrived here at the same time with two gentlemen and a middle-aged woman accustomed to high society,
and who had travelled. At dinner the thick ice necessarily
thawed; but in the evening the husband took up a newspaper,
the wife a book, the other gentleman began to write letters,
while I was left to play a single-handed game against my
hosts. I am told that the Celtic race (who live in frightful
holes near the palace in which I am a guest)know how to talk.
The fact is, I fancy, that on market day a continual noise of
animated voices, laughter and shouts, is heard. Gaelic is very
soft. In England and the Lowlands, complete silence.
CARABACEL, December, i856. - I have been besieged by
Russian and English cards, and have been offered a presentation to the Grand Duchess Helen, an honor that I pointedly
declined. To furnish us with gossip we have a Countess
Apraxine, who smokes, wears round hats, and keeps a goat in
her salon, which she has strewn with grass. But the most
amusing person is Lady Shelley, who commits some fresh
drollery every day. Yesterday she wrote to the French Consul: " Lady S    informs M. P    that she has a charming
dinner party of English people to-day, and she will be delighted
to see him afterwards, at five minutes past nine o'clock." She
wrote to Madame Vigier, ex-Mademoiselle Cruvelli: "Lady
Shelley would be charmed to see Madame Vigier if she would
be good enough to bring her music with her." To which the
ex-Cruvelli immediately replied: "Madame Vigier would be
charmed to see Lady Shelley, if she would be good enough to
come to her house and behave as a lady."




BRITISH fMUSEUM  ON SUNDA Y.             71
LONDON, British Museum, i858. - You can form no conception of the beauty of the Museum on Sunday when there
is no one present except M. Panizzi and myself; it seems to
be permeated by a marvelous atmosphere of thought.  Last
Wednesday I fell into rather a droll scrape. I was invited to
the Literary Fund dinner presided over by Lord Palmerston,
and at the moment of setting out was notified that I should
be expected to make a speech, as my name would be associated
with a toast to the literature of Continental Europe. I was
victimized with a satisfaction that you may imagine, and during
fifteen minutes uttered nonsense in bad English before an assemblage of three hundred literary men, and a hundred women
admitted to the honor of seeing us eat stringy chickens and
tough tongue. I have never been so saturated with foolishness, as Pourceaugnac says.
Yesterday I received a visit from a gentleman and wife who
brought me a number of autograph letters from Napoleon to
Josephine, which they wished to sell. They are exceedingly
curious in the fact of touching on nothing but love, and are
doubtless authentic; but it is difficult to. understand why
Josephine did not burn them as soon as read.
PALACE OF FONTAINEBLEAU, May, I858. — I am excessively annoyed and half poisoned from having taken too much
laudanum; in addition to which, I have written verses for His
Majesty of the Netherlands, played charades, and " made a fool
of myself " generally. Shall I describe the life we lead here?
Yesterday we took a stag and dined on the grass; the other
day we were all drenched with rain; every day we eat too
much, and I am completely exhausted. Destiny did not fashion me for a courtier.  I shall try to snatch a little sleep
while awaiting the fatal hour of getting under arms, which is
to say, donning tights. How much I should prefer to stroll
through this fine forest with you, chatting of fairy-land. I am
exceedingly vexed with your ridiculous prudery. The book in
question has the misfortune to be badly written, that is to say,
in an enthusiastic tone that Sainte-Beuve extols as poetic, so




72          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
much do tastes differ. One does not, when possessed of your
taste, exclaim that it is frightful, immoral, but finds all that is
good in the volume very good.  You allow your prejudices to
sway your judgment, and each day you grow more prudish, more
in consonance with the affectation of the age. Your crinoline
I overlook, but not your prudery.
VENICE, Atugust, I858. -Venice filled me with sadness. I
have been moved to indignation by all the commonplaces
uttered of the architecture of the palaces, which is effective,
but destitute of taste and imagination. The canals resemble
the Bievre, and the gondola an inconvenient hearse. The pictures of the second-rate masters at the Academy pleased me;
but there is not a Paul Veronese worth "The Marriage of
Cana," not a Titian to be compared with " Christ with the
Tribute Money " at Dresden, or even " The Crown of Thorns "
at Paris. On the other hand, I am pleased with the physiognomy of the people. The streets swarm with charming girls
with bare feet and head, who, if bathed and scrubbed, would
serve as models for the Venus Anadyomene. I was present
at an amusingfuzzione in honor of the Archduke. A serenade
was given, six hundred gondolas following the colossal boat
that carried the music, all bearing lanterns and burning red
and blue Bengal lights, which touched the palaces on the
grand canal with a magical tint. In passing the Rialto no
gondola would draw back, nor give way, so that the mass
formed a solid bridge, and at every moment was heard the
crash of collision and breaking oars; but an observable feature
was, that amid all the excitement of the throng, which in
France would have led to a general battle, no abusive language
was heard, not even a cross word. These people are made of
milk and maize. To-day I saw a monk, in the middle of St.
Mark's Square, fall on his knees before an Austrian corporal
about to arrest him.  There was never any thing more pitiable,
and in front of the lion of St. Mark!
In a pretty villa on the banks of Lake Como I saw Madame
Pasta, whom I had not met since her palmy days at the Italian




MME. PASTA. -LORD BR'C JGHAM.              73
Opera. She has singularly increased in size, cultivates cabbages, and says that she is as happy as when crowns and
sonnets showered on her. We discussed the theatre, music,
and she remarked, justly, that since Rossini, no opera had
been composed in which there was unity of thought and
treatment.
CHiTEAU DE COMPIEGNE, November, I858. - This morning
I saw my friend Sandeau in the frame of mind natural to
one who has appeared in knee-breeches the first time. He
asked me a hundred questions with a naivetdthat alarmed me.
We have had great men from over the Channel, Russians and
the Ministers, but the greater part of the guests took their
departure yesterday, and we are left en fetit comitd, that is to
say, we are but thirty or forty at table. One cannot sleep in
this place. The time is passed in being frozen or roasting,
and this has given me an irritation of the chest that exhausts
me. But it is impossible to imagine a more amiable host or
a more gracious hostess. When I think that I could have
seen you to-day in Paris, I am tempted to fly from here; and
also to hang myself at your resignation: a virtue that I do
not possess, and which enrages me in others. Nothing is
easier here than to absent one's self from breakfast, or the
morning walk, but dinnier is the momentous ceremony; and
when I spoke to the old courtiers of my intention to dine in
town, they frowned in such evident consternation that I saw
it must not be thought of.
CANNES, 7anuary, I859. — There are great numbers of
English here. 1 dined yesterday with Lord Brougham and I
know not how many Misses freshly arrived from Scotland,
whom the sight of the sun appeared greatly to surprise. Had
I the talent to describe costumes, I could amuse you with
those of these ladies; you have never seen anything to parallel it since the invention of crinoline.
I have just read the Memoirs of Catherine II., which present a strange picture of the people and courts of that period.




74          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
Catherine on her marriage with the Grand Duke, afterwards
Peter III., had a quantity of diamonds and superb brocaded
robes, and for her lodgings a chamber that served as a passageway for her women, who, to the number of seventeen, slept
in a single room next that of the queen. There is not to-day
a grocer's wife who does not live more comfortably than the
empresses of a hundred years ago. Catherine gives us sufficient strong reasons for believing Paul I. to be the son of
Prince Soltikoff; and the curious thing is, that the manuscript
in which she narrates these fine histories was addressed to her
son, this same Paul, an animal for whom strangling was the
best mode of suppression. I am glad that my critique on Mr.
Prescott has pleased you. I am not altogether satisfied with
it as I only expressed half of what I should like to say, acting
on the aphorism of Philip II.: that one must say only good
of the dead. In fact, the work is only of slight interest, and
not above mediocrity.  It strikes me that had the author been
less Yankee, he could have done something better. We have
marvelous moonlight, the sea like glass, and the heat of June.
I am more and more convinced that heat is my great restorative. When it rains I have horrible spasms: as soon as the
sun returns Richard is himself again. Cannes is becoming
too civilized: one of the loveliest walks is to be destroyed for
the railway; we shall become the prey of Marseilles, and
the picturesque will be lost.
PARIS, Afril, I859. - The -war in Italy will be sharp, but
not long; the financial state of the world could not allow it;
and after the first shock I hope that England will intervene.
Austria has no money, and many persons believe h-er motive
to be simply a pretext for declaring her bankruptcy. Our
people are warlike and confident, the soldiers gay and sanguine. There is an enthusiasm, a buoyancy in our army, in
which the Austrians are totally deficient. Little of an optimist as I may be, I have full faith in our success. Our reputation is so well established that those who fight against us
enter into it with little heart. A Russian alliance is still




CONTINENTAL COMAPLCA TION.                75
spoken of, in which I have no faith, for Russia has nothing to
lose in the quarrel, and however it may terminate she will find
it to be to her advantage: meanwhile she amuses herself with
panslavist intrigues among the Austrian subjects, who regard
the Emperor Alexander as their Pope. The Austrians are
said to wear a modest, somewhat shamefaced air. The mass
of our people are intensely interested and offer vows for success. The salons, especially those of the Orleanists, are perfectly anti-French and arch fools, who imagine that they will
float back with the tide, and that their burgraves will resume
the thread of their discourse that was snapped in I848. Poor
people! who do not understand that after this will come division,
a republic, and anarchy. Germany is bawling against us; a
mere jet of underlying red liberalism which just now assumes
the Teutonic form. Russia is a terrible ally who would
devour Germany, but who would gain for us England's ill-will,
and perhaps hostility. We have so long led a sybaritic life
as to ignore the emotions of our fathers; but we must now
return to their philosophy. Our troops, rest assured, will be
well taken care of, and will eat macaroni stupendi while the
Austrians will sometimes find verdigris in their soup. Were
I a young man, an Italian campaign would Le to me the most
attractive way of seeing a spectacle always noble - the awaking of an oppressed people.
PARIS, 3~ay, I859.- Germany is still fermenting, which will
result, apparently, rather in beer drinking than in blood shedding. Prussia resists to her utmost the pressure of the
Franzosenfresser, and proclaims her intention to retake not
only Alsace, but also the German provinces of Russia. This
last jest would indicate that this Teutonic enthusiasm is neither serious nor well-considered. M. Yvan Tourguenieff, who
comes direct from Moscow, says that all Russia is offering
prayers for us, and that the army would be delighted to have
a brush with the Austrians, whom, the priests are preaching,
God will punish for their persecution of the orthodox Greeks
of the Sclavonic race; and subscriptions are open to send




76          LETTERS TO AN  iNCOGNITA.
Sclavonic Bibles and tracts to the Croats to preserve them
from papal heresy. This looks verylike a political propaganda
of panslavism.
A strong attack is now being organized against the Derby
Ministry. Lord Palmerston and Lord John would be reconciled -rather an improbable event - or still more unlikely
would unite for the destruction of the present Cabinet. The
radicals will support them. Whatever may be the issue, we
shall gain little by the change. Lord Palmerston, though the
main promoter of the Italian agitation, would no more uphold
it than would Lord Derby, only he would treat Austria with
less consideration and would not seek to embarrass us. Tht
wiseacres announce that all Europe will intervene: not improb
able; but after the famous phrase Sin all' Adriatico, how car,
we leave Italy only half-delivered? How hope that a young
emperor, suckled and governed by the Jesuits, beaten and irn a
bad humor, should confess his folly and ask pardon! Would
not the Italians, who until now have been circumspect, be
goaded into every imaginable imprudence pending the negotiations?
PARIS, uly, I859. - You alone reconcile me to the Peace.
Perhaps it was necessary; but on the whole what matters to
us the liberty of a parcel of smokers and musicians? We
heard this evening the Emperor's speech, which was well
delivered, with a grand air, an air of frankness and good faith:
there is sense and truth in it. The returning officers say that
the Italians are brawlers and cowards; that only the Piedmontese can fight, who, however, pretend that we were in
their way, and that without us they could have done better.
The Empress asked me in Spanish what I thought of the
speech; to which I replied, combining candor with courtesy:
" Muy necesario."
PARIS, I859. — I am reading the "Letters of Madame du
Deffand." They are very amusing, giving an excellent picture
of the society of her day, which was very amiable and somewhat




A SINGULAR ANAIMAL.                  77
frivolous. A striking contrast to the present era is manifest
in their general and earnest endeavor to please; as also in the
sincerity and fidelity of their affections. They were more
obliging people than ourselves, and especially than you, Pxroom
I no longer love.
PARIS, September, 1859. —The other day I met Edmond
About, who is always charming. He resides at Saverne and
passes his life in the woods, where a month ago he encountered a singular animal walking on all fours, wearing a black
coat and varnished boots without soles.  It proved to be a
professor from Angouleme, who had been driven to the Baden
gambling table by conjugal unhappiness, where he lost everything. Returning to France through the forests he missed his
way and had eaten nothing for eight days. About carried and
dragged him to a village where he was supplied with linen and
food, but he survived only a short time. When the man-animal lives in solitude for a certain period, and reaches a certain
state of physical dilapidation, it appears that he walks on all
fours.. About assures me that this chef-d'ceuvre makes a very
ugly animal.
You are growing stout and brown with the sun: but however you may be, fat or thin, I shall love you always tenderly.
I have frightful spasms, am still ill, and suspect that I am on
the great railway leading beyond the tomb. At some moments
this thought is painful, at others I find the consolation that
one experiences on the railway - the absence of responsibility in the presence of a superior and irresistible power.
PARIS, September,  5, I859. - I was summoned from Tarbes
by letter to Saint-Sauveur to pass the day, my visit being returned by their majesties; which occasioned a great disturbance in M. Fould's household, Madame Fould improvising a
dinner and breakfast, taxing to the utmost the resources of
the little village. Their majesties were in excellent health and
capital spirits at Saint-Sauveur, and I admired the natives, who
had the good taste to leave them entirely to themselves. The




78          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
Emperor has bought a dog rather larger than a donkey, of
the ancient Pyrenean breed: a magnificent brute which
climbs rocks like a chamois.
MADRID, October, I859.- Everything here is changed. The
ladies whom I left as thin as spindles have become elephants,
the climate of Madrid having a very fattening quality. Not
only the manners, but the picturesque aspect of old Spain are
notably altered by politics and a parliamentary government.
At this moment nothing is discussed but war, the question
of avenging the national honor exciting a general enthusiasm
that recalls the Crusades.  It is imagined that the English
view the African expedition with displeasure and even wish
to prevent it, which redoubles tile warlike ardor. The army
wish to lay siege to Gibraltar, after taking Tangiers!
CANNES, I86o. - Baron Bunsen is here with his two daughters, both mounted on crane's feet, with ankles resembling the
club of Hercules; one of the young ladies, however, sings very
well. Bunsen is clever enough and knows the news, of which
you keep me but ill-informed. I have read the pamphlet by
Abbe -, which strikes me as even more clumsy than violent. He must be thought an enfant terrible at Rome, where
neither good sense nor finesse is lacking, and where the priests
are skillful intriguers. Ours have the national blustering instinct, and are devoid of tact.
Here is a nice little incident characteristic of this region. A
farmer in the neighborhood of Grasse is found dead in a ravine where he had fallen or been thrown during the night.
Another farmer comes to see a friend and tells him that he
has killed the man. " How? and why?" "    Because he cast
a spell over my sheep; then I asked the advice of my shepherd, who gave me three needles to boil in a pot, over which I
pronounced the words he taught me. The same night that I
put the pot on the fire the man died." Do not be surprised
should my books be burned in the church square at Grasse.
The recent brochure by my colleague Villemain, is singularly




BALLS, DRESSES, ETC                  79
vapid. When one has attempted to write a book against the
Jesuits, and has boasted of being the defender of liberty of
conscience against the omnipotence of the Church, it is droll
to hurl forth a recantation and to support it by such feeble
argument. I believe that every one has gone mad, except the
Emperor, who reminds one of the shepherds of the Middle
Ages whose magic flute inspired the wolves to dance. I
am seriously told that the French Academy, which has been
markedly Voltairian these few years past, wishes to nominate
Abbe Lacordaire as a protest against the violence to which the
Pope is subjected. The matter is really one of perfect indifference to me. So long as I shall not be compelled to listen
to their sermons, all the members of the Sacred College may
be nominated to the Academy.
I have been on a little excursion in the region of eternal
snow, where I saw fine rocks, cascades, and precipices, and a
great subterranean cavern of unknown extent, supposed to be
inhabited by all the gnomes and devils of the Alps. In fact,
I passed a week in the enjoyment of pure nature and lumbago.
We have here a Siberian wind, and this morning some snowflakes fell before my window; an unheard-of scandal in the
memory of the oldest inhabitant of Cannes. I am ill, melancholy, wearied. My sight is failing and I can no longer sketch.
What a sad thing is this growing old! Bulwer's novel, " What
will he do with it?" appears to me senile to the last degree;
nevertheless it contains some pretty scenes and has a very good
moral. As to the hero and heroine, they transcend in silliness
the limits of romance. A book that has amused me is a work
by M. de Bunsen on the origin of Christianity and on everything, to speak more exactly; but it styles itself: "Christianity and Mankind." M. de Bunsen, though calling himself
a Christian, has little respect for the Old and New Testaments.
PARIS, May, I86o. - The ball at the Hotel d'Albe was superb; the costumes were very fine, many of the women very
pretty, and typifying the audacity of the age being d&colletdes
in the most outrageous fashion both as to skirt and waist.
6




8u          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
During the waltz I saw a number of charming feet and ma,.y
garters. Crinoline is declining. Be assured that within two
years dresses will be worn very short, and the natural advantages of those so fortunate as to possess them will be distinguished from artificial charms. Some of the Englishwomen
passed belief. The captivating daughter of Lord  -  represented a Dryad, or some mythological personage, in a dress
that would have left the entire bust exposed but for the semiveil of a sort of swaddling band. It was nearly as conspicuous
as the scanty drapery of the Mamma. The ballet of the Elements was danced by sixteen quite pretty women in short
petticoats and covered with diamonds. The Naiads were
powdered with silver, which, falling on their shoulders, resembled drops of water. The Salamanders were powdered with
gold; one among them, Mademoiselle Errazu, being wondrously beautiful.  The Princess Mathilde, painted a deep
bistre, personated a Nubian, and was much too exact in costume. In the midst of the ball, a domino embraced Madame
S, who uttered loud screams. The dining-room with its
surrounding gallery, the servants in their dresses as pages of
the sixteenth century, and the electric light, recalled Martin's
picture of Belshazzar's Feast. The Emperor changed his domino in vain; he would have been recognized at a league distant.
The Empress wore a white bournous and black velvet mask,
which did not disguise her in the least. There were many
foolish dominos; the Duc de -    walking about as a tree,an excellent imitation. At the ball given by M  Aligre, a wife
was pinched black and blue by her ferocious husband. The
wife screamed and fainted; general tableau! The jealous
idiot was not thrown out of the window, which would have
been the only sensible thing to do. At a recent masked ball
a lady had the temerity to appear in a costume of I8o6, without crinoline, which produced a great sensation. These are
fine commentaries on the times and women.
An amusing incident occurred lately. M. Boitelle, Prefect
of Police, who should certainly be the best informed man in
Paris, learned through the reports of faithful agents that M.




LAMORICIERE. - ANTONALLI. - CA VOUR.    81
Fould, the Minister of State, had gone to sleep in his newly
built house in the Faubourg Saint-Honord. Very early in the
morning the Prefect appeared, pressed the Minister's hand very
demonstratively, explaining the important part he had taken in
what had just occurred. M. Fould thought that he referred to
his son, who is committing follies in England. This quid fpro
quo lasted until the Prefect asked permission to know the
name of his successor in the Cabinet, to which M. Fould replied, that he had come to his new residence merely as a
house-warming, and had found it more convenient to sleep
there than at the Ministerial palace.
It appears that Lamoriciere is already somewhat weary of
the imbroglio that greets him in the papal territory. Cardinal
Antonelli remarked a short time ago to a foreign minister,
that he had never met a man of more comprehensive mind
-than Lamoriciere. "I have discussed the intricate situation
of affairs with him, for which he immediately suggested five or
six remedies; and he talks so well, that within the hour he
gave me four different opinions on the same question, all so
strongly fortified that I am perplexed as to a choice." Every
one here is preoccupied by Garibaldi's expedition, which will,
it is feared, result in a general complication. Should he break
his back in Sicily, I think that perhaps M. de Cavour would
not be too much distressed, but if he succeed, he will become
ten times more dangerous.
Read Granier de Cassagnac's book on the Girondins.
Portions of it are exceedingly curious, and it presents a horrible picture of the massacres and revolutionary atrocities;
all written with much fire and vigor. Three days ago I received a visit from M. Feydeau, who is a very fine fellow, but
artlessly betrays an extreme vanity. He is going to Spain
to complement what Cervantes and Lesage have merely outlined! He has still thirty romances to write, the scene of
which will be laid in thirty different countries; this is why he
travels. I think of you incessantly in spite of your faults.




32          LETTERS T7  AN4 INCOGYVITA.
PARIS, 7ltty, I86o. -The funeral of Prince Jerome was a
terrible ceremony. I do not know how many vacancies it has
created in our ranks, but fear that only the undertakers have
profited by it. More than thirty thousand persons came to
sprinkle holy water, which shows the flunkyism of this highminded nation! It is even more senseless than is supposed,
and that is saying much. You lost a fine spectacle, that of
seeing me inz focchi and black gloves, pass through the Rue
de Rivoli amid the admiring populace. We were one hour
and three quarters in defiling between the Palais Royal and
the Invalides, then came the mass, then the funeral oration by
Abb6 Cceur, who praised the principles of'89, while declaring
our soldiers to be ready to die in defense of the Pope. He
also said that the first Napoleon had no love for war, but was
always forced to the defensive. The finest part of the ceremony was a Deprofizndis chanted in the vault, and which we
heard through black crape that separated us from the grave.
Were I a musician I would profit in opera by the admirable
effect of this crape in modifying sound.
The Orleanists pretend that M. Brenier has been knocked
in the head by an uncivil husband; but the more credible
rumor is that the lazzaroni have thus sought to avenge the
violence offered to their king. The liberals, in retaliation,
have assassinated the police, which has been of much benefit
to M. Brenier. The northern Italians have not the quick sensibility of the Neapolitans. They have logic and common
sense, as Stendhal said, while the Neapolitans are merely
badly trained children.
In the evening every one goes to the Champs-Elys6es to
hear Musard's music; fine ladies and Zorettes mingled pellmell, and are difficult to distinguish one from the other. And
people go to the circus to see the learned dogs roll a ball up
an inclined plane by leaping on it! This generation is losing
all taste for intellectual pleasures.
SOUTH  I'ARADE, BATH, AugAust, I86o. —Such a life as
mine here would make a thorough-bred horse broken-winded:




LONDON A TMOSPHERE.                  8 3
in the morning, walks, shopping, and visiting; in the evening,
dinners with the aristocrats, where I always find the same
dishes and nearly the same faces. I could hardly remember
the names of my hosts, for in their white cravats and black
coats, all Englishmen look very much alike. We are extremely
detested here, and still more dreaded. Nothing is more
droll than the fear they have of us, which they are at no pains
to disguise. The volunteers are even more stupid than the
National Guard was with us in I830; for in this country everything is invested with an air of gravity not to be seen elsewhere. I know a very honest fellow sixty years of age, who
drills every day in Zouave breeches. The Ministry is very
weak and does not know its own mind, and the Opposition is
not more wise. But great and small agree in believing that
we covet general annexation. At the same time, there is no
one who supposes a war to be possible, unless the question of
annexing the three kingdoms should be agitated. I am not
very well pleased with the Emperor's letter to M. de Persigny.
It would have been much better in my opinion, to say nothing
at all, or simply to tell them what I repeat every evening:
that they are great fools.
LONDON, i8 A4rlzinton Street, i86o. - Only after some time
in London do I accustom myself to its singular light, which
seems to pass through brown gauze, the effect being that of
an eclipse. This atmospheric peculiarity and the curtainless
windows will annoy me for some days to come; but on the
other hand I am regaling on all manner of good things, breakfasting and dining like an ogre.
It is evident that the affairs of the East are becoming more
complicated every moment. The disembarking of the French
n Syria would be followed by a general explosion of massacre
and pillage throughout the East; very probably, also, the
Turkish provinces of Greece — that is to say, Thessaly,
Macedonia, and Christian Albania-would be excited to retaliation. Everything will be on fire this winter in the East,
and to visit Algeria at such a moment seems to me perfect




84          LETTERS TO AN INCOGIT,4A.
madness. The " Times " to-day announces four feet of snow at
Inverness. Shall I find enough charcoal and plaids in Scotland
to remedy this evil?
GLENQUOICH, AUgust, I86. - The weather here is always
detestable, but it does not hinder people from going out. They
are so accustomed to rain, that unless it be of extraordinary
violence they are not deterred from walking. The paths are
sometimes torrents, and the mountains are invisible within a
hundred paces; but these people return, saying "Beautiful
walk." One of the greatest annoyances of this region is a little
fly called midge, which is exceedingly venomous; and though
there are two young ladies here, the one blonde, the other
red-haired, and both with skin of satin, these horrible insects
prefer to attack me. Our chief amusement is fishing, and fortunately the insects do not venture on the lake. There are
fourteen persons here.  During the day each one goes his
own way; in the evening, after dinner, each one takes a book
or writes letters. To chat and seek to amuse each other is a
thing unknown to the English. The Highland air has benefited me, and I breathe more easily. Our hunters kill deer
and grouse; and every day we have excellent birds; but I
cannot eat, the main pleasure amid this rain and fog; and I
sigh for a souje maizgre, or for a solitary dinner at home, or
with you at Saint-Cheron: this last wish will never be realized, I fear.
PARIS, Seftember, I86o. - Panizzi has been with me for ten
days, and I am acting cicerone, showing him everything, from
cedar to hyssop. I understand nothing of the disorders that
have begun. My guest thinks that the Pope and the Austrians
will be driven out. For the first, appearances are unfavorable;
as to the others, I believe that if Garibaldi meddles with them
he will burn his fingers. From Naples comes a royal philosophical witticism. Previous to embarking, His Majesty received, every five minutes, the resignation of a General or an
Admiral: " Now they are too thoroughly Italians to fight against




FE TES A  MARSEIZ LES.                85
Garibaldi; a month hence they will be too much of royalists
to fight against the Austrians." It would be impossible for
you to imagine the fury of the Orleanists and Carlists. A
rather sensible Italian tells me that M. de Cavour caused the
Sardinian army to enter the States of the Church, because
Mazzini was about to incite a revolution there.
I hear that the feles at Marseilles in the Imperial honor
were very fine: that the enthusiasm was at once deliberate
and clamorous, and that perfect order was maintained notwithstanding the immense, overexcited Southern multitude.  The
spectacle of the Marseillaise, in their ordinary state, is always
sufficiently anmusing, but, when under excitement, they must
be still more absurd. But they not only lost their heads on the
occasion of the Emperor's visit, but also two barrels of
Spanish wine that I have been expecting. The merchant who
should have received them writes to me very naively, that he
was too much occupied with the fetes to think of my wine, and
could only attend to it after taking a little rest.
I lately passed a few days at Saintonge, where I found every
one discomfited, weeping their eyes away for the misfortunes
of the Holy Father and General Lamoriciere. It is said that
General Changarnier is writing a narrative of his colleague's
campaign, in which, after bestowing the highest eulogies, he
proves that Lamoriciere committed the most enormous follies.
In my opinion, the only one of the martyr heroes at whom one
cannot laugh, is Pimodan, who died like a brave soldier.
Those who exclaim against the martyrs because they have
been taken, move me to no pity. Moreover, the present time
is perfectly comic; and it is comfortable to learn every morning, through one's paper, of a catastrophe, to read Cavour's
notes and the encyclicals. I see that they have shot Walker,
in America, which surprises me, for his case is precisely that
of Garibaldi whom we all admire.
Two evenings ago, wishing for some music, I went to the
Italiens, where they gave the " Barber of Seville." This music,
the gayest ever written, was executed by people with the air
of having just returned from a funeral. Alboni, who played




86          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
Rosina, sang admirably, with the expression of a bird organ.
Gardoni sang like a gentleman who fears to be mistaken foI
an actor. Had I been Rossini I should have beaten them
every one. Only Basilio, whose name I do not recall, sang as
if he understood the words.
I am told that the Empress, whom I have not yet seen, is
still terribly afflicted. She sent me a fine photograph of the
Duchesse d'Albe, taken twenty-four hours after death, which
was very calm; she looks as if in a quiet sleep. Five minutes before her death she laughed at her waiting-maid's Valencian palois. I have no direct news of Madame de Montijo
since her departure, but I fear that the poor lady will not bear
up under this dreadful blow.
I am in the midst of academical intrigues; the question not
one touching the French Academy, but that of the fine arts,
An intimate friend of mine is the favored candidate, but he
has received an intimation from His Majesty to give place to
M. Haussmann, the Prefect. The Academy is annoyed, and
wishes to nominate my friend in spite of himself, which I encourage to the utmost; and I should like to tell the. Emperor
the wrong he does himself in mingling with matters that do
not concern him. I hope for success, and that the Colossus
will be finely blackballed.
Italian affairs are very amusing, and what is said of them by
the few honest people here is still more droll. The martyrs
of Castelfidardo are beginning to arrive, among them a young
man of eighteen years who allowed himself to be taken, and
whose aunt I saw a few days ago. She said: "The Piedmontese behaved in an atrocious manner to my nephew."
I awaited some appalling revelation. "Only imagine, Monsieur, five minutes after being made prisoner the poor fellow's
watch was gone. A gold hunting watch that I had given
him!"
October, I86o. — I quite understand that the first view of
Oriental life should dazzle you. One sees things both droll
and to be admired at every step; in fact, there is always some



SPECULAT rON ABOUT EASTERN WOMEN.   87
thing droll in Orientals as in certain strange, pompous beasts
that we formerly saw at the Jardin des Plantes. Decamps
has caught this ludicrous phase, but not the very fine, noble
side of their character.
Thanks to your sex you are privileged to enter the harems
and chat with the women. Do they in Algeria, as in Turkey,
make a display of their charms? Tell me how they dress,
what they say, and what they think of you. What is the character of the dances that you saw? Were they modest, and
did you comprehend their sentiment? I imagine that they
are more interesting than those of Parisian balls; and they
probably resemble the dances of the gypsy women of Granada.
I do not doubt that an Arab, from Sahara, in witnessing a
waltz in Paris, would conclude, and naturally, that the Frenchwomen were enacting pantomime. In going to the root of
things we always find the same primal ideas. Have you seen
the women at the Moorish baths? I am inclined to believe
that the habit of living with crossed legs must give them horrible knees. I suppose you will adopt kohl for your eyes,
which is very pretty, being also, it is said, an excellent preservative against ophthalmia, an affection common and dangerous for European eyes in hot climates. I grant you my permission to try the effect. You give me sketches; I wish for
details. There is nothing that you cannot say to me, and besides, you are renowned for your euphuisms. You have the art
of academical expression. I congratulate you on your courage
in learning Arabic. I once glanced through M. de Sacy's
grammar and recoiled in terror, but I remember that there are
lunar and solar letters, and I know not how many conjugations.
My cousin, one of the most learned Arabists, who had passed
twenty-five years at Djeddah, told me that he never opened a
book without learning some new word, of which there were,
for instance, five hundred for the one word lion.
PARIS, October, I86o. - I went to Saint-Cloud yesterday,
where I breakfasted almost t/te-a-/e/e with the Emperor, the
Empress, and " Monsieur fils," as they say at Lyons. I talked




88          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
a long while with the Emperor, principally of ancient history
and Caesar. He surprises me by the ease with which he comprehends erudite subjects, for which he has only recently
acquired the taste. The Empress related some curious anecdotes of her journey to Corsica. The Bishop spoke to her of
a bandit named Bosio, a thoroughly honest youth, whom the
counsels of a woman had driven to commit several little murders. He is pursued for some months, but uselessly; women
and children suspected of carrying him food are thrown into
prison, but to lay hands on him is impossible. Her Majesty,
who has read a certain romance,' became interested in this
man, and said she should be very glad if he could be enabled
to leave the island and go to Africa or elsewhere, where he
might become a good soldier and an honest man.  "Ah!
Madame," said the Bishop, " will you allow me to have this
told to him?"  " How, Monseigneur, you know where he is?"
General rule: the most worthless fellow in Corsica is always
related to the most honest man. It greatly surprised the Imperial party that they should have been asked for a prodigious
number of favors (graces), but not for a sou; so the Empress
returns full of enthusiasm.
The meeting at Warsaw is a failure. The Emperor of
Austria invited himself, and was received with the politeness
that is accorded to the indiscreet. Nothing of importance
was accomplished. The Emperor of Austria essayed to prove
that if Hungary was a source of danger to Austria, Russia had
Poland; to which Gortschakoff replies: "You have eleven
millions of Hungarians, and you are three millions of Germans. We are forty millions of Russians, and have no need
of assistance in bringing six thousand Poles to their senses.
Consequently, there is no necessity for mutual guaranties."
England is calming down, and it is possible that she may make
us overtures to adopt a joint policy with regard to Italy. In
that event war would be impossible unless Garibaldi should
attak Venice. They write me from Naples that the muddle
is at its height, and the Piedimontese are expected there with
1 Merimde's novel of Colomtba.




"I BRING  YOU MY GUILTY HEA.D."             89
the same impatience with which we in Paris in 1848 looked for
the arrival of the troops of the line. They sigh for order
and rest their hopes for its restoration on Victor Emmanuel
alone.  Moreover, Garibaldi and Alexandre Dumas have
prepared their minds for peace, much in the same way as a
a freezing rain disposes one to a hot dinner.
PARIS, November, I86o. -Affairs are still complicated by
the condition of the East, which is such that our Ambassador
at Constantinople expects the old machine to crack from top to
bottom at any moment. The Sultan is selling his cachemires;
and does not know if he will be able to buy a dinner next
month. Do you knew the Emperor Francis Joseph's greeting
to the Emperor Alexander? "I bring you my guilty head!'
The serf's formula on approaching his master in the fear of
being beaten. This he said in good Russian, for he knows all
languages. His servile meanness did not profit him much;
Alexander preserved a most discouraging coldness, and the
Prince Regent of Prussia, following his example, put on airs.
After the departure of the Emperor Alexander, the Austrian
emperor remained four hours alone at Warsaw, where there
was no great Russian or Polish noblemen so poor to do him
reverence. All this has been a great triumph to the old Russians, who detest the Austrians still more than the English or
ourselves.
You have heard of our victory over these poor Chinese.
What an absurdity to go so far for the purpose of killing
people who have done us no harm. True, being a species of
ourang-outang, the Grammont law alone can be invoked in their
favor. I am preparing for our Chinese conquests by reading
a new romance just translated by Stanislas Julien. It is the
story of Mademoiselle Can and. Mademoiselle Ling, who are
very witty, making verses and crambo on every occasion.
They meet with two students possessing the same poetic
facility, and a never-ending combat of quatrains ensues, the
prominent idea of which is the blue lotus and white doves. It
is impossible to conceive of any imaginative effort more uncouth




90          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
and more barren of passion. The people who can be amused
by this style of literature are evidently abominable pedants,
who well deserve to be beaten and conquered by us, who are
disciples of the noble Greek literature.
I dined to-day with Prince Napoleon. The Princess Clotilde admired my wrist buttons, and asked the address of my
jeweler.
MARSEILLES, November, 86o. - My friend Mr. Ellice, of
Glenquoich, will be my neighbor this winter. He has just
purchased a Scotch estate next his own; or rather lakes,
rocks, and heaths several leagues in extent. I cannot conceive what it will produce, unless;t be grouse and deer.
I have brought with me a new edition of Pouschkine's
works, and have promised to write a notice of him. I find
magnificent things in his lyric poems, entirely after my own
heart; that is to say, Greek in their truth and simplicity. I
should like to translate several that are marked by great
sprightliness, in which, as in precision and clearness, he
strikes me as preeminent. One in the style of Sappho's ode
reminds me that I am writing in the chamber of an inn, dreaming of happy moments in the past. I am ill and suffering;
but of all petty miseries the worst for me is sleeplessness,
when thoughts are gloomy, and one takes a dislike to one's
self. The journey of the Empress to Scotland creates much
gossip, and every one is mystified.
CANNES, December, I86o. —The political disturbance has
somewhat agitated me, however unprejudiced in the premises
I may be. You know how intimate I have been with the chief
victim, M. Fould. As yet I know nothing positive respecting
the reasons for his disgrace. It is evident, however, that a
beautiful woman is somewhat implicated, who is anxious to
dislodge him, and who has long sought to accomplish this
end. M. Fould is less philosophical than I had thought, or
than I should have been in his place; but he has been
wounded by certain proceedings. As to the liberal measures,




M. FOULD OUT OF OFFICE.                 91
%e must wait to see the result. As a principle, it is letter
to take the initiative in giving than to grant what has been
long and impatiently demanded. On the other hand, the Emperor may be seeking support in the Chambers to enable him
to withdraw from our false position in Italy, -- protecting a
Pope who excommunicated us in petto, while we risk a quarrel with our friends out of tenderness for the vanity of a
puppet (the Emperor of Austria) who has never wished us
well. Here, throughout France, the people who wear black
coats and claim to be powerful are in favor of the Pope and
the King of Naples, as if they had incited no revolution in
France, but their love for the papacy and legitimacy does not
stretch to the point of expending a crown for them. What
will be the effect of the recrudescent eloquence witl which
the new concessions threaten us? The old Parliamentarians
begin to prick up their ears. M. Thiers, it is said, will enter
the lists as a candidate for the Deputies, and this example
will be followed by many others. I can hardly imagine what
will become of the Ministers without portfolio commissioned
to represent the eloquence of the Legislative Body and the
Senate; but it will be diverting to see orators like Messieurs
Magne and Billault, with the Jules Favres and tutti quanti.
My friend Mr. Ellice is at Nice, whence he occasionally
comes to visit me; he complains of finding no intellectual
associates. I see that you have had a visit from Mr. Cobden,
a man of talent and very interesting, the opposite of an Englishman, in that he never utters commonplaces and has few
prejudices. I can give you no political news, for my correspondents tell me nothing, except that nothing is done. It is a
characteristic of our generation to set out with a great hubbub
that ends in loitering and amusing ourselves on the road.
CANNES, February, I86I. - I have been to Nice on a visit
to my friend Mr. Ellice who is cruelly tortured by the gout. I
confess to an involuntary sentiment of satisfaction in passing
the bridge of the Var free from custom-house officers, gensdarmes, and passports. It is a fine annexation and makes one
feel several willimetres taller.




92          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNIT4A.
M. Fould has been on a visit to me, and related many
curious stories touching both men and women who intermeddled in his affairs. I doubt if he will have the courage to persevere in sulking. It appears that when one has carried a red
portfolio under the arm for some time, the loss of it reduces
him to the state of an Englishman without his umbrella.
If you find some pretty silk stuff that washes, and not too
much like a woman's gown, order me a robe de chambre the
longest possible, and buttoned down the left side, and in the
Oriental fashion. Bring it with you, for 1 have no wish to
wear silk gowns when the ice of the Seine is two feet thick.
The cold reported at Paris makes my hair stand on end;
nevertheless I am summoned there by the President. Do not
be alarmed to see my illness announced. A dignity has been
conferred on me which I could very well have dispensed with,
but which compels me to be punctual; and they also write me
that our Senate is papistical and legitimist, and that my vote
will not be one too many for the ballot.
The poor Duchess of Malakof is an excellent person, not
very bright, especially as to French. She appears to be entirely domineered over by her frightful monster of a husband,
who is rough by habit and perhaps through policy. It is said,
however, that she accommodates herself to the inevitable.
Should you see her, speak of me and of our theatrical performances in Spain. I am told that her brother is an amiable
fellow, very handsome, and a poet into the bargain. Thanks for
the tobacco pouch, the gold and colored embroidery of which
is exquisite. Only barbarians can do these things, our workmen having too much acquired art and not enough sentiment
to equal them. Thanks also for the bananas, to my taste the
most delicious fruit in the world.
PARIS, March, I86I.- Since my return to Paris I have
been in a condition of utter stultification; first, as regards our
exhibition at the Senate, where, I may say with M. Jourdain,
I have been surfeited with nonsense. Every one had a speech
prepared, that it was necessary to display, and so contagious




THE EMPRESS OF A USTRIA.                 93
was the example of dullness that I delivered my own like an
idiot. I was cruelly frightened, but overcame it by reminding myself that I was in the presence of two hundred imbeciles, and with no reason for agitation. The joke of it was
that M. Walewski, for whom I wished to obtain a satisfactory
budget, was offended by my praise of his predecessor, and
honestly declared that he would vote against my resolution.
M. Troplong, near whom in virtue of my office as Secretary
I was seated, condoled with me in a low tone; to which I
replied that it was impossible to make a Minister drink who
was not thirsty. This was repeated piping hot to M. Walewski, who took it for an epigram, and has frowned at me ever
since.
The second ennui of the day is the official and private dinners, where one sees the same turbot, fillet, and lobster, and
the same tiresome persons as on the preceding occasion. But
the most irksome of all is Catholicism. You can hardly imagine the degree of exasperation to which Catholics are moved,
flying in one's face for a mere nothing; for example, if one
does not show the whites of one's eyes in hearing them
discourse of the sainted martyr; and still more if one innocently inquires, as I have done, who has been martyrized. I
have also got into a scrape in expressing astonishment that
the Queen of Naples should be photographed in boots! - an
exaggeration of my words and a surpassing stupidity. The
other evening a lady asked me if I had seen the Empress of
Austria. I said that I thought her very pretty. "Ah! she
is ideal! "-No, it is an irregular face, more agreeable perhaps than if perfectly classical. — "Ah! Monsieur, she is
beauty itself! Tears of admiration come to one's eyes!"
And this is the society of to-day! I fly from it as from the
plague. What has become of the French society of former
-ears!
The latest, but a colossal bore, has been "Tannhauser."
Some persons say that its representation at Paris was one of
the secret clauses of the treaty of Villafranca; others, that
Wagner has been given to us to compel our admiration of Ber



94          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
lioz. The fact is, itis prodigious. I am convinced that I could
write something similar if inspired by the scampering of my
cat over the piano keys. The Princess de Metternich bestirred
herself enormously in feigning to understand it and to lead
the applause, which, however, never came.  Every one
yawned; but at first the audience assumed the air of comprehending this keyless enigma. Beneath Madame de Metternich's box. it was said by the wits that the Austrians were
taking their revenge for Solferino. It was also said that one
wearies of the recitatives, and tires of the airs (se tanne au.r
zirs). Try to catch the pun. Your Arabic music, I fancy,
would be a capital preparation for this infernal uproar. The
failure is stupendous! Auber says that it is Berlioz without
melody.
I am satisfied that within two months the Pope will either
be off, or that we shall leave him to his own devices, or that
he will come to some arrangement with Piedmont; but matters cannot remain in their present status. The bigots are
raising a horrible outcry, but the Gallic bourgeois and the
people are anti-papists.
You tell me nothing of your health, which appears to be
good, nor of your complexion, which must be, I fear, somewhat browned.
PARIS, May, I86I. - You must have been sadly impressed
with the aspect of winter in Central France, coming as you
do from Africa. Whenever I return from Cannes I am horrified at the sight of the leafless trees and damp, dead earth.
The Catholics have rendered our salons insupportable. Not
only have the former devotees become acid as verjuice, but
all of the ex-Voltairians of the political opposition have
turned papists. What consoles me, is, that some among
them believe themselves obliged to attend mass, which must
bore them sufficiently. My old Professor, M. Cousin, who
formerly never spoke of the Pope but as the Bishop of Rome,
is converted and never misses a mass. It is even said that
M. Thiers is becoming devout, but I find some difficulty in
believing it, for I have always had a weakness for him.




PRINCESS DE ME TTERNICH.                95
I am, at this very moment, a prey to the herrings that the
sea-calves of Boulogne have raised up to torment us, and I
await the Maronites as a finishing stroke - that is to say, we
are disputing in the Senate, and very sharply, a propos to
herrings, and we are menaced with daily sittings. Is it true
that all the Boulogne herring fishers are thieves who buy the
herrings taken by the English, and which they pretend to have
caught themselves? Is it also true that the herrings have
been seduced by the English, and pass no more along our
coasts?
CHATEAU DE FONTAINEBLEAU, g7une, I86I. - I am resting
under the trees with great happiness after my tribulations.
Never have I seen men so enraged, so out of their senses as
the magistrates. I console myself in thinking that if twenty
years hence some antiquary shall burrow in the " Moniteur " of
this week, he will say that one philosopher of moderation and
calmness was found among an assembly of lunatics. This
philosopher, without vanity, is myself. In this country magistrates are selected from men too stupid to gain their living
as lawyers; they are badly paid, and are allowed to be crabbed
and insolent. I have done my duty, and all is at an end. I
was well received here, with no raillery on my defeat. I very
clearly gave my opinion of the matter, and they do not appear
to think me in the wrong. It is magnificent weather and the
air of the forest is delicious. There are rocks and heather
which would have their charms could I walk with you among
them, chatting of all manner of things; but we go in a long
file of chars ac bancs, where one is not always well matched in
point of capacity for amusing. There is not a republic, however, where one can have more freedom or find a host and
hostess more amiable and kind to their guests. There are
few people here. We have the Princess de Metternich, who
is very animated after the German fashion, that is to say, she
affects a species of originality composed of two parts lorette,
one part great lady. I suspect that in reality there is not too
much wit to sustain the rcile that she has adopted. One ac7




96          LETTERS TO AY _IVCOGNITA.
complishes nothing here. Sometimes I am summoned for a
stroll in the woods; sometimes to make verses; but time is
especially wasted in waiting. The great philosophy of the
day is to know how to wait, and I have some difficulty in
educating myself in the art. Thanks to Caesar, doubtless, I
shall be here until the end of the month.  I am working for
the bourgeois (the Emperor), with whom I am more pleased
every day. I went last week to Alise with the Emperor, who
is becoming an accomplished archeologist. He passed three
hours and a half on the mountain, under the most terrific sun,
examining the vestiges of Cesar's siege, and reading the
"Commentaries." We returned with the skin peeled from
our ears, and the color of chimney-sweeps.
CHATEAU DE FONTAINEBLEAU, tune, J86I. - We have had
a capital ceremony here, reminding me of that in the " Bourgeois
Gentilhomme." It was the most diverting spectacle possible,
that of twenty black men exceedingly like monkeys, dressed
in gold brocade with white stockings and varnished shoes, and
swords at their side, all flat on their face and crawling on
hands and knees the whole length of the Henri II. gallery,
each one with his nose level with the back of the crawler preceding him. The hardest task fell to the first ambassador,
who wore a felt hat embroidered in gold that danced on his
head with each motion, and who held a bowl of gold filagree
work within which were two boxes containing each a letter
from their Siamese Majesties.  The letters were inclosed in
purses of gold-woven silk, the whole being very pretty. After
delivering the letters to the Emperor, it became necessary to
retire backward, and confusion fell upon the embassy. A succession of blows on the face of those behind them' by the first
rank, whose swords pierced the eyes of the second rank, who
in turn made blind of one eye the third rank, was the result
of this masterly retreat. They presented the appearance of a
swarm of black beetles on the carpet. The Minister of Foreign Affairs had arranged the ceremony and exacted that the
ambassadors should crawl, the effect of which moreover failed,




ABROUT A LORD CHANCELLOR.                 97
for the Emperor at length lost all patience, rose, made the
beetles rise, and spoke in English with one of them. The
Empress kissed a little monkey whom they had brought, said
to be the son of one of the ambassadors, who ran about on
all fours like a little rat, but had an intelligent expression.
The temporal king of Siam sent his portrait to the Emperor,
and that of his wife, who is hideously ugly. You would be
charmed by the beauty and variety of the stuffs they brought;
gold and silver tissues so light and transparent as to resemble
the clouds of a fine sunset. They gave the Emperor trowsers
embroidered with ornaments in enamel and gold, and a vest of
gold brocade as flexible as foulard, the designs, gold on gold,
being really exquisite; while the buttons are of filagree gold,
diamonds, and emeralds. They have a red gold and a white
gold which produce an admirable effect when blended. In
short, I have never seen anything at once so bewitching and
splendid.  The tastes of these savages is singular, in that
their fabrics are not glaring although they use only brilliant
silks, gold, and silver. All this is marvelously combined, producing on the whole a quiet and harmonious effect.
LONDON, British Museumz, _7uly, I86i. - You know, or you
do not know, that there is a new Lord Chancellor, Lord B-,
who is old, but his morals by no means so. A lawyer named
Stevens sends his clerk with a card for the Chancellor; the
clerk makes inquiries, and is told that my lord has no house
in London, but that he often comes from the country to Oxford
Terrace, where he has a temporary lodging. Thither the clerk
proceeds and asks for my lord.  "He is not here."  "Do
you think he will return for dinner? " " No, but to sleep certainly; he sleeps here every Monday."  The clerk leaves the
letter, and Mr. Stevens is greatly astonished that the Chancellor should look frightfully black at him. The gist of the story
is, that my lord maintains a clandestine eizenage.
I have not had a moment's rest since my arrival; dinner parties, balls, arnd concerts without cessation.  Yesterday I attended a concert at the Marquis of Lansdowne's, where there




98          LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
was not a single pretty woman, a remarkable circumstance
here; but, on the other hand, they were all dressed as if the
first modiste of Brionde had composed their toilette. I have
never seen anything to parallel their headdresses; one ancient
dame, who wore a diamond crown composed of small stars
with a huge sun in the centre, being an absolute counterpart
of the wax figures that one sees at fairs!
Yesterday I dined at Greenwich with some great personages
who exerted themselves to be lively, not like the Germans by
throwing themselves from the windows, but by making an excessive noise.  The dinner was abominably long, but the
white bait excellent. We have unpacked two cases of antiquities just arrived from Cyrene. There are two statues and
several remarkable busts, one of a good period and quite
Greek; a Bacchus, that is especially captivating though with
rather a mincing expression, the head being in an extraordinary
state of preservation.
M. de Vidil is committed and will be tried at the next assizes. He is not admitted to bail, and the worst that can
happen to him will be a sentence of imprisonment for two
years; for where death does hot supervene the English law
does not recognize murder.
Lord Lyndhurst said to me that one must be extremely
zaladroit to be hung in England. I went the other evening
to the House of Commons and heard the debate on Sardinia.
Anything more verbose, more pointless (gobe-mouche), and
fuller of bragadocio than the majority of the speakers it is
impossible to imagine, and notably so Lord John Russell, now
Lord Russell.
I have been interrupted by a visit to the Bank. They
placed in my hand four small packages amounting to four million pounds sterling, but I was not allowed to bring them away.
They showed me a very pretty machine that counts and weighs
three thousand sovereigns per day. It hesitates a moment,
and after a short deliberation throws the good sovereign to the
right and the bad to the left. There is another that takes a
bank bill, stoops and gives it, as it were, two little kisses, im



WHEN WOMEN ARE TYRANTS.                   99
pressing on it marks that forgers have not as yet been able to
imitate. Finally, I was conducted to the vaults, where I might
have imagined myself in a grotto of the Arabian Nights; all
filled with sacks of gold and ingots sparkling in the gaslight.
PAUIS, Agusg.., I86I. - I do not know whether in consequence of too much turtle soup, or exposure to the sun, but I
have again suffered from my former agonizing pains, which
must resemble those of hanging, and which create in me no
desire to be suspended. After six weeks of dinner parties I
find it very comfortable not to don a white cravat. I passed a
week in Suffolk County in a fine chateau, almost in solitude.
It is a flat country, but covered with magnificent timber, with
much water; it is very near the fens whence Cromwell came.
The quantity of game is astonishing, and at every step one
runs the risk of crushing partridges or pheasants.
Should Madame de Montijo go to Biarritz I shall join her
and pass some days with her. She is inconsolable, and I find
her even more sad than last year when her daughter died.
I see by your letter that you are as much occupied as a
general-in-chief on the eve of battle. I remember reading in
"Tristram Shandy," that in the house with a newly born babe
all the women believe themselves entitled to tyrannize over
the men; and I feared to be treated with the disdain inseparable from your present height of grandeur. For myself, I am
but slightly inclined to love' children; nevertheless, I can
imagine that one may be attached to a little girl as to a kitten,
an animal to which your sex bear a strong resemblance.
There is perfect solitude here, by which I profit in preparing
something promised to my master, and which I wish to take to
Biarritz. I read little except Roman history; nevertheless, I
have read M. Thiers's nineteenth volume with great pleasure.
It strikes me as being written with greater negligence than its
predecessors, but full of curious matter. In spite of his desire to speak ill of his hero, he is continually carried away by
his involuntary love. He gives exceedingly amusing stories
of Montrond, to whom I only regret not having related them




100         LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
while he was living. M. Thiers paints him correctly as an
adventurer in love with his trade, and honest towards his
employers during the period of his service, much the same as
Dalgetty in the " Legend of Montrose."
BIARRITZ, September, I86I.- I am still here, dear friend,
like a bird on a branch. It is not the custom here to make
plans in advance, indeed they are resolved on only at the last
moment. It is excessively cold after dinner, it being impossible
to keep warm with the system of doors and windows that has
been contrived here. The sea air is of service, and I breathe
more easily, but sleep badly, as I am immediately on the shore,
for the slightest wind rouses the waves to a terrific uproar.
Time passes here as in all imperial residences — in doing
nothing and in waiting that something may be done. I work
a little, sketch from my window, and walk a great deal. There
are but few persons at the Villa Eug6nie, and all agreeable.
Yesterday we took a charming walk along the Pyren6es, sufficiently near the mountains to see them in all their beauty
and escaping the discomfort of constant ascents and descents.
We lost our way and found only people who were ignorant of
our fine French tongue: and this happens as soon as one quits
the suburbs of Bavonne.
Yesterday the Prince Imperial gave a dinner party to a troupe
of his young friends. The Emperor himself mixed the champagne with seltzer-water, but the effect was the same as if
they had drunk the pure wine. They were all tipsy a quarter
of an hour afterwards, and my ears still ache with the noise
they made. I boldly undertook to translate a Spanish memoir
respecting the site of Munda for His Majesty, which I begin
to perceive is terribly difficult reading. I am working like a
negro for my master, whom I shall go to see in a few days.
COMPIEGNE, NTovember, I86I. - Our anticipated fetes have
been postponed by the death of His Majesty of Portugal. As
lions we have four Highlanders in kilts, the Duke of Athol,
Lord James Murray, with the son and nephew of the Duke.




THE PRINCE IMPERIAL.                I 0 I
It is droll enough to see these eight bare knees in a drawingroom where all the men are in knee breeches or pantaloons.
Yesterday his Grace's piper was introduced, and they all four
danced in a way to alarm the company when they whirled about.
But there are some ladies here whose crinoline is still more
alarming as they enter a carriage. As lady guests are not
obliged to wear mourning, legs of every color are seen, the
red stockings having a very good effect. In spite of walks
through damp, icy woods, and red-hot drawing rooms, I have
escaped a cold; but I am oppressed and do, not sleep.
I was present at the great ministerial comedy, where we were
in expectation of several additional victims. The faces were
a study, the speeches still more so; inasmuch as M. Walewski,
the tottering Excellency, paraded his griefs indiscriminately to
friends and enemies. An inveterate prejudice is the strongest
provocation to the utterance of nonsense, especially when one
is in the habit of it. Oh human platitude! His wife, on the
contrary, was wonderfully cool and self-possessed.  What
is said of the Emperor's letter? He has a way peculiar to
himself of saying things, and where he speaks as a Sovereign
contrives to convey the impression that he is of a finer porcelain. I believe it to be precisely what is needed by our hightoned nation which has no love for common clay.
Yesterday the Princess of  ~, when taking tea, asked a
footman, in her German accent, " De lui aborder ti sel bour le
bain."  After a quarter of an hour the man returned with thirty
pounds of bay salt, supposing that she wished to take a salt
bath.
A picture by Muller, representing Queen Marie Antoinette
in prison, was lately brought to the Empress. The Prince
Imperial asked who this lady was and why she was not in a
palace. They explained to him that it was a Queen of France,
and told him the meaning of a prison. He immediately ran
off to ask the Emperor to be pleased to pardon this Queen
whom he kept in prison. He is an odd child, and sometimes
terrible. He says that he always bows to the people because
they drove away Louis Philippe who was not on good terms
with them. He is a charming child.




102         LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
CANNES, 7anuary, i862. - I have here as neighbor and
companion M. Cousin, who has come to be cured of laryngitis,
and who talks like a one-eyed magpie, eats like an ogre, and
is surprised that he does not get well under this beautiful sky,
which he sees for the first time. He is, moreover, very amusing, for he has the tact to draw out every one around him. I
believe that when he is alone with his servant he talks with
him as with the most coquettish Orleanist or Legitimist Duchess. The Cannites, fiur sanzg, cannot get over their astonishment, and you may fancy, their look on being told that this man,
who talks on every subject, and talks well, has translated Plato
and is the lover of Madame de Longueville. The inconvenient
part of it is that he does not know when to stop talking. For
an eclectic philosopher it is a misfortune not to have adopted
the conspicuous virtue of the sect of peripatetics.
How do you govern the little children who absorb you so
much?  It appears to be an interesting occupation. The
worst thing about children is their tardy development which
leaves us so long uncertain if they have mind or power of reasoning; it is vexatious that their struggling intelligence cannot
be demonstrated by themselves. The main question is to
know whether we shall talk sense or nonsense to them; each
system has its pros and cons. I have made the acquaintance
of a poor cat that lives in a cabin deep in the woods; I carry it
bread and meat every day, and it runs a quarter of a league to
meet me.  I regret not being able to carry it off, for it has
marvelous instincts.
LONDON, British Museum, May, I862. - Frankly, the
Exhibition is something of a failure. True, everything is not
vet unpacked, but the building is horrible; although very large
it does not impress one with its size, and one must walk and
be lost in it to appreciate its extent. The English have made
great progress in taste and the art of arrangement; we make
furniture and painted paper assuredly better than than they,
but we are in a deplorable path, and if this continue we shall
be distanced. Our jury is presided over by a German who




AMERICAN RE VERA GES.               103
speaks English that is nearly incomprehensible, and nothing
can be more absurd than our conferences; no one even-understands what subject is under discussion. Nevertheless, we
vote. The worst of it is, that in our division there are some
English manufacturers, and medals must necessarily be given
to these gentlemen, who do not merit them. I am bombarded
by speeches and routs. Two days ago I dined with Lord
Granville. There were three small tables in a long gallery,
which arrangement was expected to promote general conversation, but as the guests were but slightly known to each other
nearly a general silence prevailed. In the evening I went to
Lord Palmerston's, where the Japanese Embassy wore great
swords which kept getting caught in all the women's dresses.
I saw some women who were very beautiful and others who
were very ugly; both making a complete exhibition of their
personal charms; some attractive, others quite the reverse;
but each one displaying the same assurance.
LONDON, 7une, I862. - I read my report yesterday to the
International Jury, in the purest Anglo-Saxon, not a word
drawn from the French. In vain do the Commissioners appeal
and beat the drum, they cannot attract a crowd. Since the
price has been reduced to a shilling fashionable people no
longer go, and the lower class seem to find little pleasure in it.
The restaurants are detestable, the American restaurant being
the amusing feature, where may be found more or less diabolical beverages that one drinks through a straw: mint julep or
"raise the dead." All of these drinks are disguised gin. I am
tired out with British hospitality and dinners which give the
idea of all being prepared by the same inexpert cook. You
cannot imagine how I long for a plate of soup from my own
pot-ant-feu.
I do not know which of two recent important events has
produced the greatest effect, - one, the defeat of the two
Derby favorites by an unknown horse; the other, the defeat
of the Tories in the House of Commons. The number of
mournful faces in London was really ludicrous.  A young




104         LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
married lady at the races fainted on learning that Marquis was
beaten a head's length by a rustic without pedigree.  Mr.
Disraeli puts a better face on the matter and shows himself at
every ball.
PARIS, 7uly, I862. - Madame de Montijo arrived last week,
so changed that it is distressing to see her. Nothing consoles
her for the death of her daughter, and I find her less resigned
even than on the day of her death.  I dined last week at
Saint-Cloud with a small circle quite agreeably, and where the
feeling struck me as being less papistic than is generally supposed. I was permitted to scandalize matters without being
called to order. The little Prince is charming. He has grown
two inches and is the prettiest child I have seen.
BAGNKRES-DE-BIGORRE, The Upber Pyrenees, I862. - I have
arrived here with M. Panizzi after a little tour beneath a
terrible sun, and find weather worthy of London: fogs and
an imperceptible rain that penetrates to one's bones. The
physician of this watering-place is an old comrade of mine
who has auscultated me and punched my chest and back, discovering two mortal ailments of which he undertakes to cure
me, provided that I drink daily two glasses from the hot mineral
spring, which is not ill-tasting; and that I bathe in a warm spring
that is very agreeable to the skin. Already I am better. There
are not many persons here, the English and the grapes having
failed this season. In point of beauty we have Mademoiselle
A. D, who formerly captivated Prince —. I have only
seen her back, and she wears the vastest crinoline to be found
in all the country. Balls are given twice a week, which I shall
not attend, and amateur concerts, which I shall religiously
avoid. Yesterday I was compelled to undergo a musical mass,
to which I was conducted by gensdarmes; but the soiree given
by the Sub-Prefect I declined, not to accumulate too many
catastrophes in a single day. I should like to show you the
incomparable verdure of this region, to talk with you beneath
the shade of the great beech-trees, and make you drink the




AMIERICANS AT BIARRITZ.               105
bright water for which crystal would be no fitting comparison.
The petty quarrels and occupations of which you complain
are lamentably incidental to a provincial place, and one can only
deplore the fate of persons condemned to live there. Nevertheless it is certain that in the course of a few months one
sinks to the level of the natives, and becomes interested in
provincial inanities. The confession is sad, but human intelligence accepts the aliment offered and with satisfaction.
Last week I made a mountain excursion to see a farm belonging to M. Fould. It is on the shore of a small lake, facing
one of the finest panoramas imaginable, surrounded by great
trees, a rare thing in France; and one breakfasts there most
capitally. He has many magnificent horses and oxen, the
whole managed with English order.
Have you read " Les Mise'rables," and heard what is said of
it? This is another of the subjects in respect to which I find
the human species below that of the gorilla. The world becomes more stupid every day.
BIARRITZ, Villa Euge'zie, September, 1862.- Dear friend,
I am here on the sea-shore, breathing more easily than for a
long time. The waters of Bagneres made me ill, a proof, it
was said, of their beneficial action; but on leaving them I began to revive, and now the sea-air and perhaps also the superb
cuisine have perfected my cure. There are but few guests at
the Villa, and only amiable persons whom I have long known.
There is no crowd in the town, not many French, the Spaniards
and Americans predominating. At the Thursday receptions
at the Villa the Northern and Southern Americans have to be
placed on different sides of the salonz, lest they should eat
each other.
On these occasions there is full dress, but usually there is
not the least toilette; the ladies dine in high dresses, and we
of the ugly sex in morning coats. There is not a chateau in
France or England where one is so free and without etiquette,
nor where the chatelaine is so good and so gracious to her
guests. We take beautiful walks in the valleys skirting the




106         LETTERS TO AN INC0GNITA.
Pyrdndes, returning with prodigious appetites.  The lady
bathers are, as usual, very odd in the matter of costume.
There is a Madame., the color of a turnip, who arrays
herself in blue and powders her hair, - the powder, however,
is said to be ashes, with which she sprinkles her head because
of her country's misfortunes.
Have you seen Victor Hugo's speech at a dinner of Belgian
booksellers and other swindlers at Brussels? What a pity
that this good fellow, who has such fine imagery at his command, should not possess an iota of common sense, nor the
discretion to refrain from uttering platitudes unworthy of so
clever a man! I find more poetry in his comparison of the
tunnel and railway than I have met with in any book these five
years. But they are, after all, merely metaphors, containing
nothing of depth, solidity, or judgment. He is a man who intoxicates himself with his own words and does not take the
trouble to think. The twentieth volume by Thiers pleases
me, as it does you. I have read it a second time with renewed
pleasure, and shall do so again. It was immensely difficult, in
my opinion, to extract anything from the confused rubbish of
the St. Helena conversations as reported by Las Cases, and
Thiers has come out of it wonderfully well. I am also pleased
with his comparison of Napoleon with other great men,
although he is somewhat severe upon Alexander and Casar;
nevertheless, there is much truth in what he says as to the
absence of virtue on the part of Caesar. It attracts great
interest here, and I fear that there is not overmuch love for
the hero; for instance, they will not concede the anecdote of
Nicomedes, nor you either, I fancy. Adieu   keep well, and
do not sacrifice yourself too much for others; they will come
to accept it as a habit, and what is now a pleasure to you, will
perhaps some day become an irksome duty.
PARIS, October, I862. - I returned from Biarritz with my
Sovereigns. We were all quite doleful, having been poisoned,
as I believe, by verdigris. The cooks swear that they scoured
their saucepans, but I do not credit their oaths. The fact is,




MOTLEY'S "NETHYERLANDS."               107
fourteen persons at the Villa were seized with vomiting and
cramps, and having formerly been poisoned with verdigris, I.
know the symptoms and hold to my opinion. What with the
poisoning and the political stir, I have led an agitated life. I
have been divided between the desire that M. Fould should
remain in the Ministry, in the interest of our master, and the
wish that he should resign for the sake of his own dignity
and personal advantage. It has ended by concessions which
have benefited no one, while, in my opinion, they have lowered the dr-azamtis piersonce. The joke of the matter is that
Persigny, whom the non-papist Ministers cannot endure, has
become their standard-bearer, and that he shall continue in
office they have made the condition on which they retain their
portfolios. So, Thouvenel, an intelligent, very good fellow,
has been dismissed, while Persigny, who is crazy and understands nothing of business, remains. Here we are then, in
the clutches of the clergy, and you know where they lead their
friends.
I am now reading a book that may entertain you: the history of the " Revolt of the Netherlands," by Motley. There
are not less than five thick volumes; but although not over
and above well written, it is smooth in style and interesting.
He yields too much to anti-Catholic and anti-Monarchical
prejudice, but he has made immense researches, and though
an American, is a man of talent.
I am suffering with my lungs. You will learn some day
that I have ceased to breathe for want of this organ, which
should induce you to be very amiable to me before this misfortune shall occur.
CANNES, 7anuary, I863. - I have received the last novel
by M. Gustave Flaubert, the author of " Madame Bovary,"
which I believe you have read, though you will not confess it.
The new romance is " Salammbo," a crazy production; but
the writer has talent which he fritters away under the pretext of realism. One obtains an amusing idea of the author,
and a still more ludicrous one of his admirers, the bourgeois,




Io8         LE TTERS TO AN INCOGNl7'A.
who discuss such things with decent people. I recommend
you to read a romance by M. de Tourguenieff, the proofs of
which I am expecting for the " Revue des Deux Mondes,"
and which I have read in Russian. It is called " Les Peres et
les Enfants." It offers a contrast between the passing and
coming generation. The hero, the representative of the new
generation, is a socialist, materialist, and realist, nevertheless
a sensible and interesting man. This novel has produced a
great sensation in Russia, and a great outcry against the writer,
who is accused of immorality and impiety. When a work
excites such public exasperation, it is, in my opinion, a signal
proof of success.
Before leaving Paris I consulted an eminent physician,
wishing to ascertain how long a time would be allowed to
prepare for my funeral ceremonies. I was satisfied with the
consultation, first, because the ceremony would not take place
so soon as apprehended; secondly, because he explained
clearly and anatomically the seat of my malady —not the
heart, but the lungs. True, I can never be cured, but there
are alleviations for my suffering. I have been in bed a week
from an attack of spasms and suffocation, having contracted a
painful lumbago, the effect of this fine climate, where, so long
as the sun remains above the horizon one may fancy it to be
summer; but as soon as it disappears we have a quarter of
an hour of damp cold that penetrates to one's very marrow.
It appears that they are becoming more and more religious
in Paris. I receive sermons from people from whom I should
have expected something quite different. I am told that M.
de Persigny has shown himself ultra papist on the Senate's
committee of address. I do not believe that there was ever
a period when the world was more senseless (bhte) than now.
Last as long as it may, the end is ominous.
PARIS, Ajpri/, I863. - Of all the Italian cities, Florence
appears to me to have best preserved her characteristics of
the Middle Ages. As to Rome let me give you two bits of
advice: first, never to be a moment in the air at night-fall,




WHAT TO SEE IN ROME.                 Jo9
for fear of the Roman fever; but a quarter of an hour before
the Angelus go to St. Peter's and wait until the strange, damp
precipitate in the air shall pass by. There is nothing finer for
meditation than this great church at that hour, the indistinctness of its vast proportions makes it truly sublime. Think of
me when there. My second recommendation is to employ a
rainy day in seeing the Catacombs. When there, turn into
one of the narrow corridors debouching from the subterranean
streets, extinguish your taper and remain alone for a few
moments. You will tell me your sensations. I should have
great pleasure in the experience with you, but perhaps our
sensations would not be the same. I never succeeded in
Rome in carrying out my programme of sight-seeing, for at
each street corner one is drawn off by something unforeseen,
and the great charm is to yield to impulse. As regards objects
of art, study the frescoes, and the views as to nature and art
combined. At the Capitol make them show you the wolf of
the Republic, which bears trace of the thunderbolt that struck
it in the time of Cicero. It is not a thing of yesterday. Try to
understand that you cannot see the hundredth part of all that is
interesting, and do not regret it; there will remain one great,
harmonious memory worth more than a crowd of souvenirs in
detail. Do not forget to see Pompey's statue, at the foot of
which Caesar was assassinated. Rome is pervaded with a
gentle, agreeable melancholy which one recalls with pleasure;
for a vivid comparison with which it would be well to pass a
week at Naples. Of all transitions it is the most abrupt and
amusing; it is comedy succeeding tragedy; and sends one to
bed the mind filled with ludicrous images.
I do not know whether the cuisine has.made any progress
in the States of the Holy Father, but in my time it was the
"abomination of desolation," while in Naples it was possible
to subsist.
Society here is astir with the actual or reputed eccentricities of Madame de. Certain it is that she is crazy
enough to be placed under restraint. She beats her servants,
cuffs, boxes the ears, and makes love to her favorites in the




I          LO ETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
same breath. She carries her Anglo-mania so far as to drink
brandy and water, that is to say, much of the former with little
of the latter. The other evening she presented one of her
friends to M. Troplong, saying: "Monsieur le President, 1
bring you my darling."  To which M. Troplong politely replies, that he is happy to make the acquaintance of M. Darling. If all that is told me of the manners of the liounes be
true, it is to be feared that the end of the world is near. I
dare not tell you all that takes place in Paris among the young
representatives of the generation that is to bury us.
CHATEAU DE FONTAINEBLEAU, z7uly, I863. —No one has
time here for anything, and the days pass one knows not how.
The chief occupation is eating, drinking, sleeping: I succeed
in the first two, in the last very badly, after passing several
hours in knee-breeches, in rowing on the lake and getting a
frightful cough. There are many well assorted guests here,
fewer officials than usual, which does not, however, detract
from the prevailing entente cordiale. Sometimes we walk in
the woods, after having picnicked on the grass like tradesmen
from the Rue St. Denis.
Two days ago some very large chests arrived from his
Majesty Tu-Duc, Emperor of Cochin China. They were
opened in one of the court-yards. Within the large cases
were smaller ones painted in red and gold, containing two very
yellow elephant's teeth, two rhinoceros' horns, and a package of mouldy cinnamon, the whole exhaling inconceivable
odors. There was also a large quantity of narrowx gauze-like
stuffs, of every ugly color, more or less soiled, and all musty.
Medals, that were among the expected gifts, were absent, and
probably remained in Cochin China; from which it appears that
the great Tu-Duc is a swindler. Yesterday we attended the
manceuvres of two regiments of cavalry, and were all cooked
by the heat; all the ladies had a sun-stroke. To-day we are
to have a Spanish dinner in the Forest, and I am intrusted
with the gaspacho, that is to say, imposing raw onions on the
ladies, who would swoon at the mere mention of the vegeta



PAL AER.S TONA - R USSELL.            I I I
ble. I have forbidden that they be warned, and after they
have eaten it, I shall make my confession to them in the style
of Atreus.
LONDON, August, I863. — I expected to find London empty,
and in fact such was my first impression; but at the end of
two days I discovered the great ant-hill to be still swarming,
and, alas! that they dined quite as often and as interminably
as last year. Is not the slowness of the dinners inhuman in
this country! It really deprives me of appetite. We are
never less than two hours and a half at table, and if the half
hour during which the men leave the women to speak ill of
them be added, it is always eleven o'clock when we return to
the drawing-room. This would be but a demi-evil could one
eat all the time; but, with the exception of the roast mutton,
I find nothing to my taste.
The great men seem to me to have grown somewhat old
since my last visit. Lord Palmerston has given up his false
teeth, which changes him very much; but has preserved his
whiskers, and has the air of a gay gorilla. Lord Russell looks
less good-humored. The great beauties of the season have
left town, but they are not very enthusiastically lauded. The
toilettes, as usual, struck me as very inferior and crumpled;
but nothing can resist this climate, of which my throat is also
a proof. I am hoarse as a wolf, and suffer from suffocation.
On my return to Paris, Panizzi will join me, and we are to be
carried off to Biarritz by my gracious Sovereign Lady, who
will lodge us for some time on the sea-shore.
Have you read Renan's " Life of Jesus? " It is the stroke
of an axe to the edifice of Catholicism. The Bishop of Tulle
has issued an order that all the nuns of his diocese shall
recite Aves in M. Renan's honor, or rather to hinder the devil
from flying off with everybody because of this same Renan's
book. The author is so frightened at his own audacity in
denying the Divinity, that he loses himself in hymns of admiration and adoration, to the disparagement of the philosophical intelligence by which alone the doctrine is to be judged.
8




! 2        LE TTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
CHATEAU DE COMPIEGNE, Novetmber, I863.- Since my
arrival here I have led the perturbed life of a manager, having been author. actor, and director. We have played with
success a rather immoral piece, of which I will tell you the
story on my return. We have had very fine fireworks, though a
woman who examined the fusees too closely was killed outright.
You do not tell me what has become of the charming child in
whom you are interested. Train her, I beg of you, so that
she be not a fool like the majority of women of the present
day. If those in the Provinces are worse than in Paris, I do
not know in what desert we shall seek refuge. We have here
a fine slip of a girl, five feet four inches tall, with the pretty
ways of a grisette, and a mixture of ease and honest timidity
sometimes very amusing. Some fear was entertained lest the
second part of a charade should not correspond with the
beginning — (a beginning of which I was the author): " It
will go off very well," said she: "We shall show our legs in
the ballet, and that will make up for all." - N. B. Her legs
are like flageolets and her feet are far from aristocratic.
CANNES, yanuary, I864. - I am charmed that Aristophanes
is so fortunate as to please you. Tlere are doubtless many
things that shock your prudery, but which will interest you now
that you have learned from Cicero something of ancient morals. You ask if the Athenian ladies attended the theatre.
Learned men are divided in opinion on this point. It is
probable that tolerance and intolerance prevailed at different
periods in the same country, but it is certain that women never
appeared on the stage, their rdles being enacted by men, which
was the more easy from the custom of wearing masks during
the performance. In Algeria you would have found, doubtless, women at the play. In the East, they have not now, and
never had in ancient times, the prudery that prevails with
women at the present day. An extraordinary point about
kristophanes is the unrestrained way in which he speaks of
the gods, even on the occasion of their festival, for it was at
the Dionysia that "The Frogs " was represented, in which




ABOUT. - TAINE.                  I 13
Bacchus plays so singular a part. The same thing took place
in the first ages of Christianity. Comedies were played in
church. There was the mass " des sots," and the mass " de
l'Ane," the text of which still remains in a very curious manuscript. Apart from the nonsense that Aristophanes threw
into his comedies as a seasoning of coarse salt, there are choruses of the finest poetry. My venerated master, M. Boissonade, was of opinion that no Greek had surpassed them. I
recommend you to read "The Clouds," the masterpiece of
Aristophanes. There is in it a dialogue between the Just and
the Unjust, of the most elevated style. I think there is truth
in his reproaches against Socrates; even after listening to him
in Plato, one is tempted to forgive the hemlock. A man is a
pest who, like Socrates, proves every one to be only a fool.
PARIS, Apiril, I864. - I rarely go into society, but I wished
to pay my respects to my masters, whom I found in excellent
health; which gave me also an opportunity of seeing the new
fashions, which I admire but indifferently. It is a sign of old
age. I cannot become accustomed to the mode of dressing the
hair. Not a woman adopts the style suited to her own face;
but all model themselves after the barber's blocks. One of
my friends presented me to his wife, a young and pretty person, who was whitened, daubed with rouge, and her eyelashes
painted. I was horrified.
Have you read About's book, " Le Progres?"  I do not
know if it is successful, but it is very witty.  Perhaps the
clericals have had the good sense to withhold the excommunication that never fails to insure wide circulation to a work. It
was their fulmination that secured Renan great pecuniary
profit; his idyl having brought him one hundred and seven
thousand francs. I keep subject to your order Taine's three
thick volumes on the history of English Literature. The style
is of a somewhat studied elegance, but very pleasant reading.
LONDON, British Museum, -7uy, 1864. - From eight o'clock
in the evening until midnight my life is passed at dinner




114         LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
parties, and the morning in looking at books and statues: or
I work at my great article on the son of Peter the Great,
which I am strongly inclined to entitle, "' The Danger of being
a Fool; "for the moral drawn from the work is that intellect
is a necessity. You may find here and there something to
interest you; notably, how Peter the Great- a detestable
man and surrounded by detestable canaille — was deceived
by his wife. I have carefully, and with some difficulty, translated his wife's love letters to her lover, who was impaled for
his pains. These letters are really better than could be expected from the age and the country in which they were
written; but love works wonders. The misfortune is that she
knows nothing of orthography, thereby rendering her meaning
somewhat obscure to a grammarian like myself.
Nothing is talked of here but the marriage of Lady Florence Paget, the beauty of London, the last two seasons. It
would be impossible to find a prettier face on a more delicate
figure, too slight and small for my special taste. She was
noted for her flirtations. Mr. Ellice's nephew, Mr. Chaplin, of
whom you have often heard me speak, a tall young fellow of
twenty-five, and with twenty-five thousand pounds per annum,
fell in love with her. She trifled with him a long time, finally
became engaged to him, and, it is said, accepted from him
jewels and six thousand pounds with which to pay her mantuamaker's bills. The wedding day was arranged, and last Friday
they went together to the park and the opera. On Saturday
morning she left home alone, and proceeding to St. George's
Church was married to Lord Hastings, a young man of her
own age, very ugly, and possessed of a slight fault - a passion
for cards and wine. After the ceremony they started for the
country, and at the first station she wrote to her father, the
Marquis of Anglesey: " Dear Papa -As I knew you would
Lever consent to my marriage with Lord Hastings, I was wedded to him to-day. I remain yours, etc." She also wrote to
Mr. Chaplin: " Dear Harry - When you receive this I shall
be the wife of Lord Hastings. Forget yours, very truly, Flor.
ence." Poor Mr. Chaplin, who is six feet high and has yellow
hair, is in despair.




THE POPE'S ENCYCLICAL.               I I
MADRID, October, I864. - It is terribly cold and damp, and
every one is ill, the bad weather having come upon us with excessive violence, according to the custom of this country,
where gentle transitions, of whatsoever nature, are unknown.
Imagine the misery of people who live on an elevated plateau
exposed to every wind of heaven, their only stove being a
brasero, a very primitive contrivance, giving one the choice of
being frozen or asphyxiated. Civilization has made great progress here, but without a corresponding improvement. The
women have adopted your absurd hats and wear them in the
most uncouth fashion. The bulls are worthless, and.the men
who kill them are stupid and cowardly.
CANNES, y7anzary, I865. - What do you think of the Pope's
encyclical? I delight in reading the letters from the Bishops.
There is a Bishop here, a man of wit and good sense, who
veils his face.  There are few attorneys more subtle than
these gentlemen; but the most ingenious is M. D, who
makes the Pope say precisely the contrary of his encyclical
and he may possibly be excommunicated at Rome. It is vexatious to serve in an army the General of which exposes one
to defeat. Do they hope at Rome that the Marches, the
Legations and the County of Avignon will be restored to them
by a miracle? The misfortune is, that the world is so stupid
that to escape the Jesuits it may be necessary to throw ourselves into the arms of mere blusterers.
The number of English here becomes more alarming every
day. A hotel as large as that of the Louvre has been built on
the sea-shore, which is always filled with these Islanders. One
can no longer walk without meeting young Misses in Garibaldi caracos and hats with impossible feathers, making a pretense of sketching. There are croquet and archery parties of
a hundred and twenty persons. I regret the good old times
when one never met a soul.
Do you know that I received compliments from every quarter
on my appointment as successor to M. Mocquard?  I believed
nothing of it, but by dint of seeing my name in the news



116        LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
papers of various countries I began to be uneasy. With my
disposition you may believe how well the position and I should
agree!
Imagine my reading Lamartine's " Entretiens," in which I
fell on a life of Aristotle, wherein he states that the retreat of
the ten thousand took place after the death of Alexander.
Would it not really be better worth while to sell steel pens at
the gate of the Tuileries than to utter such enormities?
CANNES, April,  865.. —Your friend Paradol is Academician
through;he will of the burgraves, who for this purpose obliged
the poor Duc de Broglie to return to Paris in spite of his gout
and eighty years. It will be a curious sitting. Ampere once
wrote a very bad history of Casar, and you may imagine all
the allusions that M. Paradol will take occasion to make to
this work, now forgotten by every one save the burgraves.
Jules Janin remains outside of the door, as also my friend
Autran from Marseilles, who, assuming the clerical, was abandoned by his religious friends.
You have heard, perhaps, that Mr. William Brougham,
brother of Lord Brougham, and his successor in the peerage,
has been caught in the fact in a very ugly matter of cheating.
It causes great scandal here among the English colony. Old
Lord Brougham puts a good face on it, and is, of course, a
perfect stranger to all such villainy.
To teach myself patience, and to woo sleep, I am reading a
book by Mr. Charles Lambert, who demolishes holy King
David and the Bible.  I find it very ingenious and rather
amusing. Serious and pedantic books at which ten years ago
no one would have drearfed of glancing, have now, thanks to
the clergy, become popular and widely read. Renan has gone'.o Palestine to make new studies of landscape; Peyrat and
this Charles Lambert are writing books still more serious and
learned which sell like bread, my bookseller tells me.
LONDON, British zMuseum, August, 1865. - I have been here
about six weeks, catching a few days of " the season," and




GLADSTONE.                     117
have undergone some terrible dinners and two or three of the
last routs.  Lord Palmerston strikes me as having grown
singularly old, notwithstanding the success of his elections,
and it seems to me more than doubtful if he be equal to the
approaching campaign.  His retirement will insure a fine
crisis. I have just passed three days with his probable successor, Mr. Gladstone, who did not amuse, but interested me,
for I still find great pleasure in observing varieties of human
nature, and here they are so different from our own as to excite an inexplicable wonder that within ten hours' distance
bipeds without feathers should so little resemble those of Paris.
In some respects Mr. Gladstone appears to me a man of
genius, in others a child. There is in him something of the
child, the statesman, and the fou. Five or six deans were at
his house, and every morning the guests regaled themselves
with a little prayer in common. I did not attend that of Sunday which must be something very curious. What surpassed
everything was a sort of half-cooked roll that is taken hot
from the oven for breakfast, the digestion of which gives one
infinite trouble the rest of the day. In addition to this we
had hard civrn, that is to say Welsh ale, which is very celebrated. You doubtless know that only red hair is worn.
Nothing could be easier iii this country, and I am quite sure
it is not dyed. Not a single ho'rse is to be seen in Rotten
Row; but I rather like a great city in this state of semi-death.
I profit by it to see the lions. Yesterday I passed an hour at
the Crystal Palace watching a chimpanzee nearly as large as a
child ten years old, and whom it so strongly resembled in its
actions as to humiliate me by the incontestable relationship.
I begin to tire of London, and thought for a moment of going
to Scotland, but I should have fallen among sportsmen, a race
I abhor.
PARIS, Sepfiember, I865. - I passed through Boulogne, which
has improved both as to houses and inhabitants. I saw many
fishwomen prettily dressed; but what Englishwomen, and
what pork pie hats! These ladies should be warned that




I 18        LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
when lining the quay they make a great exhibition of their
garters to steamer passengers coming in when the tide is low.
I am not dissatisfied with my article on "The History of
Julius Caesar." As the task was imposed on me, submission
was unavoidable. You know how very highly I think both of
the author and his book, and you also appreciate the difficulties
besetting the critic who would deprecate the imputation of
sycophancy and yet say nothing unbecoming, I have extricated myself pretty well, I hope. My text is, that the Republic had served its purpose, and that the Roman people were
going headlong to the deuce when Caesar stepped forth to save
them. The thesis is true and easy to maintain, and I have
merely written variations on that air.
I went yesterday to see Princess Murat, who has nearly
recovered from her terrible accident, which she describes very
graphically. She saw her coachman, a Swiss colonel, thrown
high into the air, and four hours afterwards she found herself
in bed, with her head the size of a pumpkin. During this
interval she walked and talked, but she retains not the slightest remembrance of what passed from the moment of her
fall. I hope, and it is probable, that in the moments preceding
death there is also a loss of consciousness. I found Madame
de Montijo recovering from the effect of her two operations.
She extols highly her oculist Liebreich, who appears to be
a great man.
PARIS, October, I865.- Their Majesties have brought me
back in a good state of preservation from Biarritz, where I
passed my time as delightfully as possible. We had a visit
from the King and Queen of Portugal. He is a timid German
student; the Queen is charming, resembling the Princess
Clotilde, but en beau,; an improved edition. Her complexion
is of that pure red and white, rare even in England; true, her
hair is red, but of the very deep shade, now the fashion, and
she is very affable and engaging in manner. They had with
them a certain number of male and female caricatures, who
were apparently collected for the occasion from some rococo




KING AND QUEEN OF PORTUGAL.              II9
shop. My good friend the Portuguese Minister led the Queen
aside and made some complimentary remarks about me, which
Her Majesty immediately repeated to me with much grace.
The Emperor presented me to the King, who shook hands and
looked at me with two great, round, astonished eyes that nearly
made me fail in proper salutation to His Majesty. Another
personage, M. de Bismarck, pleased me much more. He is a
tall German, very polite and far from naif  He is apparently
utterly destitute of soul (genziitht), but all mind. He made a
conquest of me. He brought with him a wife with the largest
feet beyond the Rhine, and a daughter who walks in her
mother's footsteps.
The Legitimists are in a nice state of uncertainty since the
death of General Lamoriciere; and to-day I met an Orleanist
of the old school who was equally disconsolate. How little it
requires to be a great man now!
You cannot imagine the gossip caused by Princess Anna's
marriage, nor the anger and comic rage of the Faubourg
Saint-Germain. There was not a family having an unmarried daughter, who did not cherish designs against the Duke
de Mouchy. The great question now agitating them is: "If
they make visits shall we send them our cards? " On the
other hand there is now in Paris a young lady with several
millions in her pocket, and some fifty more in expectancy.
She is a very pretty and rather mysterious person, the adopted
daughter of M. Heine, who died this year, and her origin is
an enigma; but on the strength of her millions the finest
names of France, Germany, and Italy are ready for every
absurdity. These adopted children are favorites of the goddess Fortune. The Greeks call them " children of the soul "
- is it not pretty? Have you read Victor Hugo's " Chansons
des rues et des bois?"  Can you tell me if you perceive a
difference between his former verses and those of to-day?
Has he suddenly become insane (fou), or has he always been
so? I incline to the latter view. We have only one man of
genius remaining: M. Ponson du Terrail. Have you read his
feuilletons?  No one else writes of crime and assassination




120        LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA
with such skill as he exhibits. I quite revel in it. \Vere you
here I should try to shake your orthodoxy in making you read
a rather curious book on Moses, David, and St. Paul; not idyls
after Renan, but dissertations somewhat too much interlarded
with Greek, and even Hebrew. It is well worth reading, however, though the story of the Yankee, who, wishing to make a
novel, makes a religion, and a flourishing religion, is only a
stale invention.
CANNES, yanuary, I866. - How does it happen that with
your taste for travelling, and having, moreover, the care of
souls, you do not pass your winters at Pisa, or some other
place where the great arbiter of human health is visible, Monsigneur the Sun? I am confident that but for him I should long
since have been several feet under ground. All of my contemporaries are hastening to precede me. The past year has
been severe upon a little circle of comrades who for several
years have dined together once a month, and of which I am
the sole survivor. This is the grave reproach that I address
to the Great Mechanician - why do not men fall together, like
the leaves of a season? Your Father Hyacinthe would not
fail to utter some nonsense in reply: " 0 man, what are ten
years, a century! " etc. What is eternity to me? The few
days comprised in my span of life are of more importance to
me. Why are they made so bitter?
You tell me nothing of Ponsard's piece, " Le Lion Amoureux."  He has preserved the tradition of Corneille's verse
rather emphatic, but grand, sonorous, and chaste. I imagine
that people of society admire it as they admire M. Babinet's
science, or the sermons of Abbe Lacordaire, the moment they
were persuaded that it was genteel.
SAINT-CLOUD, Aug-ust, I866. —The Emperor has quite
recovered from his illness, and has resumed his usual mode
of life. It appears to me that everything tends to peace. It
is.very evident that M. de Bismarck is a great man, and so well
prepared that it would be unwise to provoke his hostility




A'ING OF THE SYkMUGGLERS.             I2I
We shall have to swallow a few mortifications perhaps, and
we shall continue to digest them until we are provided with
needle-guns. It remains to be seen what the German parliament will do, and whether their advantages may not be lost by
a few stupidities.
You asked me whence I derived my knowledge of the gypsy
dialect: from M. Borrow, whose book is one of the most
curious that I ever read. What he relates of the gypsies is
perfectly true, and his personal observations agree perfectly
with my own, except on one point. In his character of clergyman he was naturally deceived in matters respecting which
I, as a Frenchman and laic, have a clearer insight from personal experience. It is exceedingly singular, however, that
this man, gifted in languages to the extent of speaking the Cali
dialect, should possess so little grammatical perspicacity as
not to see at a glance that many words unknown in Spanish
have remained in this dialect. He asserts that only the roots
of Sanskrit words have been preserved.
BIARRITZ, Sefpember, I866. - Four days of the week we
have rain, the remainder being suffocatingly warm, accompanied by a horrible sirocco; but the sea is much finer here
than at Boulogne, and figs and ortolans aid us in sustaining
the burden of life. The other day we made a charming mountain excursion to see two famous grottoes on the Spanish border, in one of which we found twenty contrabandists, who
sang Basque choruses, accompanied by a little sharp flageolet that has a very wild and agreeable effect. The music is
full of character, but sad, like all music of mountaineers.
As to the words, I only understood " Viva Empferalrifa." Our
guide was a singular man, who had made a large fortune by
smuggling. He is the king of these mountains; every one
obeys his orders. While we followed the open paths with
difficulty, it was fine to see him galloping among the rocks,
clearing all obstacles, calling to his men in French, Spanish,
and Basque; never making a false step. The Empress commissioned him to watch over the Prince Imperial, whom, on




122         LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
his pony, he led through almost impassable roads, having as
much care of him as of a bale of contraband merchandise.
We stopped an hour at his house at San, where we were received by his daughters, who are well educated, well dressed
and not at all provincial, differing only from Parisians in the
pronunciation of r, which with the Basques is always r-r-r-h.
PARIS, I866. - While at Biarritz a discussion arose one day
as to the perplexing situations in which one might be placed,
as for example, Rodrigo between his papa and Chimene, or
Mademoiselle Camille between her brother and her Curatius.
The same night, having taken some over strong tea, I wrote
fifteen pages, depicting a situation of this kind. The story is
perfectly moral au fond, but there are details of which Monseigneur Dupanloup might disapprove. It is not, I think, the
worst thing I ever wrote, although written very hastily. I
read it to the lady of the house (the Empress). There was
then at Biarritz the Grand Duchess Marie, daughter of Nicholas, to whom I had been presented some years previously.
Shortly after the reading I was visited by a policeman, announcing himself sent by the Grand Duchess. "What is
your pleasure?"  "I come on the part of her Imperial Highness to beg you to wait on her this evening with your romance."  " What romance?"  "That which you read the
other day to Her Majesty." I replied that I was Her Majesty's jester, and that I could not work elsewhere without her
leave; and straightway I hurried to tell the Empress what
had passed. I expected that it would at least result in a war
with Russia, and was not a little mortified at being not only
authorized, but entreated to go in the evening to the Grand
Duchess, to whom the policeman had been assigned as a
factotum. Nevertheless, to console myself I wrote a letter to
the Grand Duchess in rather strong terms, and announced my
visit to her. On the way with the letter to her hotel, I met in
a little side-street a woman, who, the wind being high, was in
danger of being blown into the sea, her petticoats having
been caught up by the wind, and who, blind and giddy with




7APANESE A T THIE EXPOSITIOXN.            123
the noise of the crinoline, and the dread of the possible consequences, was quite overwhelmed with embarrassment. I ran
to her assistance, had tnuch difficulty in aiding her effectually,
and then only did I recognize the Grand Duchess. The gust
of wind spared her some little epigrams. Besides, she showed
herself a very good Princess to me, and gave me excellent tea
and cigarettes.; for, like almost all the Russian ladies, she
smokes. Her son, the Duke of Leuchtenberg, is a very fine
fellow, with a good air, is amiable, reads Schopenhauer, holds
to the positive philosophy, is a little of a Republican and
Socialist, and a nihilist into the bargain, like Tourguenieff's
Bazarof; for princes in the present age do not think that the
Republic progresses with sufficient rapidity.
7ztul, I867. - I have not been dazzled by the Exposition.
I saw some fine Chinese objects too dear for my purse. Some
Russian carpets, already sold. You appear enchanted with
the bazaar, and if you will some morning be my guide there,
your enthusiasm may awaken mine. The Japanese pleased
me very much. Their skin, the color of cafY-au-lait, is of an
agreeable tint; but as well as I could judge from the folds of
their robes, their limbs are as small as the slats of chairs,
which is a pity. As I noted the crowd of loungers surrounding them, I could but think that Europeans would have less
self-possession in presence of a Japanese public. Imagine
yourself, you, being exhibited at Yeddo, and a grocer saying:
" I should like to know if the hump this lady wears beneath
her dress is really a part of herself! " Come soon and give
me your opinion about the Sultan and the Princes who had the
privilege of looking at you for three hours. Would it not have
been better to bring me the bouquet yourself? You pained
me by sending it.
I fear that this shooting of Maximilian will ruin our affairs,
which were proceeding satisfactorily. It is a sad pity.
The Pacha of Egypt has made two visits to Mademoiselle
—, which I dare not relate to you, although they were very
curious. He has been reconciled to his cousin Mustapha, but




124         LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
they have not yet been induced to take coffee together, each
one being persuaded, in view of the progress in chemistry,
that it would be dangerous.
Something beautiful was lately brought to me; a shield with
fleur-de-lis, setting a miniature portrait of Marie Antoinette,
probably made at Vienna before her marriage, and given to the
Princess de Lamballe. The back had contained hair, now lost.
After some resistance I allowed myself to be conquered, and
purchasing it sent it at once to Her Majesty who is making a
collection of everything that ever belonged to Marie Antoinette.  It will certainly be one of the prettiest souvenirs, is
undoubtedly authentic, and was long worn by Madame de
Lamballe. For myself I have a horror of these sad antiquities,
but one cannot dispute tastes.
PARIS, October, I867. -You   speak, dear friend, of a vegetable life, which in truth one would prefer to lead in this age;
but the world moves, and human vegetables are as unfortunate
as those who live at the foot of Etna; from time to time a
stream of fire descends on them, and nearly always they are
enshrouded by sulphurous vapor. Is it not deplorable that
Pius IX. and Garibaldi, two fanatics, should throw everything
into disorder through their obstinacy? One thing that demonstrates the morals of the present day, is, that the persons
who blame the sending of our troops to Rome, say, when reminded of the treaty of September: " What matters a treaty?
M. de Bismarck does not adhere to them! " I am inclined to
steal their watch and tell them that precedents for stealing
watches may be found. The most distressing point in all this is,
that we have renewed our pledge, for how long a time I do not
know, to protect the Pope, who does not feel the slightest grattude. All that is said for and against the temporal power is;o silly, so absurd, that I blush for my century. Another subject that makes me furious is the project for the reorganiza-;ion of the army. All the well-born young men are dying with'right at the notion of fighting for their country at any given
noment, and say that this vulgar method must be left to the




GARIBALDI.    - BISMIARCCK. - 7VIERS.      12;
Prussians. Imagine for a moment what will remain to the
French nation should she lose her military courage!
I am still suffering, breathing with difficulty, and on the eve
of breathing no longer. M. Fould's sudden death has grieved
me very much; it was the serenest that could be wished;
but why so quick? He wrote eighteen letters the morning of
his death, and had previously seemed perfectly well. He had
apparently not moved in bed, and no contraction of his features
was observable. It is just such a death as was that of Mr.
Ellice, and is what the English call " visitation of God."
CANNES, December, I867. - I am uncertain how long I may
be able to remain here; it depends on the Pope, Garibaldi,
and M. de Bismarck; I, like the rest of the world, being
somewhat in the hands of these gentlemen. I am really
alarmed by the political situation, and in the general tone of
the press and public speakers find a reminder of I848strange and angry agitation without apparent cause.  The
nerves of all are on the stretch. M. Thiers, after passing his
entire life in political conflict, is seized with nervous trembling
because a Marseilles lawyer utters platitudes that only deserve
to be smiled at. Most vexatious of all is this M. Rouher, who
wishes to out-Herod Herod, and uses expressions the reverse
of politic, from which every Minister should abstain.
I know of nothing more shameful than Garibaldi's conduct;
if ever a man was under obligation to kill himself, assuredly
it was he. To go off to Caprera after causing the death of
some hundreds of simpletons, appears to me the height of
disgrace for the revolutionists and the English noblemen who
thought this animal something other than a dancing jack. It
is annoying, also, that the Pope is thoroughly convinced that
he owes nothing to us, and that it is Heaven that has done all
for love of his beaux yeux.
What shall I say to you of the policy of M. Ollivier and
tu/ti quanti?  In vain do they turn elegant phrases and affirm
that they are thoroughly satisfied; they seem to me merely
second-rate actors, who play the first rSles in a manner that




126        LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
can deceive nobody. We are daily becoming smaller. The
only truly great man is M. de Bismarck.
4 5firoPos; might it be true that he spent the secret-service
money? I consider the purchase of the journals very probable; but as M. de Bismarck will not send his receipts to M.
de Kerveguen, I suppose that these gentlemen will come off
with honor.
CANNES, February, I868. — I am sometimes the greater
part of the day unable to breathe; not a sharp pain but a teasing discomfort that acts on the nerves. I am more and more
melancholy, and yield to gloomy forebodings. I do not succeed in accustoming myself to suffer, and am irritated by it,
which only adds to the evil. I am reading an over-long and
badly written book, the author of which, however, appears to be
honest, and relates what ht has seen and heard: it is Dixon's
"' New America." His reflections must be passed by, for he is
somewhat silly. He saw the Mormons, and what is even more
curious, the republic of Mount Lebanon; that and Fenianism
give an idea of America which Talleyrand's mot defines precisely.
I am delighted that my article on Pouchkine should not have
wearied you. I have not the works with me, and the verses
quoted are those that I learned by heart during the time of
my great Russian enthusiasm. There are many Russians here,
and I commissioned a friend to procure me the volume of
Pouchkine's detached poems if it could be found in the Muscovite colony here. He made inquiry of a very pretty woman,
who, in place of the verses, sent me a huge bit of fish from the
Volga, and two birds from the same region, all cooked within
a few metres of the North pole. They were pretty good. The
fish must be a fine fellow of some five or'six feet, to judge
from my specimen slice. This lady, Madame Voronine, has
a charming head, her husband the unmistakable look of a Calmack.  The lady at first refused him her hand.  He put a
pistol to his head, missed fire, and for his pains she married
him. As for the Englishmen and Englishwomen, never has




DUPANLO UP. - SAINTE-BEUVE.              127
there been so great a number with impossible hair and toilettes, red stockings, parasols, and paletots lined with grebe
skin.  Among other extraordinary Englishmen there is the
Duke of Buccleugh, who has a horn in the middle of his
forehead, and his son inherits the peculiarity. It projects
from the skull, and will end I fear in playing them an ill turn.
The discussion on the press disgusts me. Every one lies
too much, and not an idea is suggested that has not already
been twenty times expressed in better terms. It strikes me
that the level of intelligence is greatly lowered, as well as that
of honesty. It is all very sad. I saw yesterday a friend just
returned from Montana, who tells me that the Garibaldians
were well whipped, and that they were a singular mixture of
vile rabble and the flower of aristocracy.
MONTPELLIER, April, I868. - Dear friend, I suffered so intensely before coming here as to lose all courage; it was impossible to think, still more so to write. Chance brought to
my knowledge a physician of this place who treats asthma by
a new method, and since my trial of it during the last five days,
my condition seems to be ameliorated, and the physician gives
me hope. Every morning I am placed in a great iron cylinder
that resembles, I confess, one of the monuments erected by
M. de Rambuteau. There is an arm-chair within, and glazed
apertures give sufficient light by which to read.  The door
is closed, the air of the cylinder is compressed by means of
a steam-engine, producing the sensation of needles penetrating the ear, to which one becomes accustomed after a few
seconds, and what is of more importance, one begins to breathe
with wonderful ease. At the end-of half an hour I fell asleep.
The physician, who has nothing of the charlatan about him,
thinks my case by no means desperate.
Have you read Abbe Dupanloup's letter? The soul of
Torquemada has entered his body, and he will burn us all if
we do not take care. I fear that the Senate will do, and say
everything calculated to make itself ridiculous and odious.
You would not believe what terror these old generals, who
9




128         LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
have already passed through so many perilous adventures,
now have of the devil. I do not know whether Sainte-Beuve
is in a condition to speak, as the journals state; I doubt it,
and moreover am by no means certain if he would deal with
the question in the best way; I mean to ward off this bombshell. His duty is to speak his mind boldly, regardless of
consequences, as hie did on the subject of Renan's book. All
this irritates and torments me.
CHATEAU  DE FONTAINEBLEAU, Auzgzst, I868. —I have
been here a fortnight finding idleness to be a good thing for
body and soul. The trees and sky are a perpetual delight.
There are not more than thirty persons at the chateau, the
only ones not in waiting, besides myself, being some amiable
cousins of the Empress; gentlemen and ladies whom  I
knew at Madrid. I have made a copy of a portrait of Diana
of Poitiers after Primatice; she is represented as Diana with
her quiver, and she undoubtedly sat for the picture. as from
the head to the feet it is evidently a likeness. Moreover, if I
may dare to say it, the examination of the legs proves that she
gartered below the knee according to the fashion of the time,
which is now abandoned, as I hear. I will show it to you,
as it is a portrait of historical importance.
I dined yesterday with Sainte-Beuve who interested me
exceedingly. Although he still suffers he has charming wit,
andis assuredly one of the most agreeable talkers whom I
have ever conversed with. He is greatly alarmed by the progress of the clericals, and takes the matter to heart. I believe that the danger does not lie on that side.
So poor Rossini is dead. His friends say that he continued
to work, although not wishingto publish the result of his labor; but that appears to me highly improbable; for the immense value that he placed on money would have induced him
to publish. He was one of the most siirituel men I have ever
known, and nothing more marvelous has been heard than the
so1ng of Figaro, from the " Barber of Seville," as sung by himself. No actor was comparable to him. The past year has




HUGH- MILLA R. - PHILIP I.             129
been fatal to great men. Lamartine and Berryer are said to
be dangerously ill.
CANNES, February, I869. - I am sad and suffering, not the
least amendment! On the contrary the doctors have not even
succeeded in alleviating the painful spasms that seize me from
time to time. We have a magnificent sea and sky, and these
influences that formerly restored me to health no longer avail.
What must be done? I only know that my desire for the end
is unceasing.
I have been reading with much interest " The Memoirs of
a Scotch Peasant," who by dint of intelligence and labor became a man of letters, a professor of geology and a person
of celebrity. Unfortunately he cut his throat a short time ago,
overwork having, without doubt, entirely worn out his brain.
His name is Hugh Miller. It seeims to me that everything is
going to ruin. There is no longer a Spain, soon there will be
no Holy See. The loss will be more or less great according
to men's ideas.
PARIS, 7une, I869. - The disturbances that are of nightly
occurrence on the Boulevards, and which recall the fine days of
I848, contribute not a little to sadden me, and I exclaim with
Hamlet: " Man delights me not, nor woman either." What
most afflicts me in these disheartening affairs is the profound
stupidity. This nation, who believes and styles itself the most
spjirituel on earth, testifies its desire to enjoy Republican.government by demolishing the booths where poor people sell
newspapers. It cries " Vive la Lanterne / " and it breaks street
lamps. It makes one hide one's face. The danger is th~at
there is a sort of emulation for stupidity as for everything
else, and between the Chambers and the Government, God
only knows what may be done!
I pass my time in deciphering letters of the Duke d'Albe
and Philip II., given to me by the Empress. They both wrote
like cats. I begin to read Philip quite fluently, but his general
still perplexes me. I Jlave just read one from him addressed




130         LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
to his august master, written a few days after the death of
Count Egmont, in which he is moved to pity by the fate of the
Countess, who has not a morsel of bread after having had a
dowry of ten thousand florins. Philip says the simplest things
in an involved, long-drawn style; it is very difficult to guess
his meaning, and it seems to be his constant aim to confuse
his reader and force him to take the initiative. They were
certainly the most odious couple of men who ever existed, and
unfortunately neither was hung, which is not to the praise of
Providence. I have also received a very curious book from
England, in which it is claimed that Jeanne la Folle was not
crazy, but a heretic, for which reason mamma, papa, her husband and son came to a clever agreement to keep her in prison,
with, from time to time, a little torture.
PARIS, 7une, I869. - I am reading Renan's " Saint Paul"
with difficulty. Decidedly, he has a monomania for landscape;
and instead of keeping to his text he describes the woods and
fields. Were I an Abbe I should amuse myself by writing a
review of it. Have you read the harangue of our Holy Father
the Pope? I am quite sure that we are about to have in words
and deeds enormities for which there will not be enough roasted
apples.  Alas! things may end in still harder projectiles.
What a misfortune that the modern mind should be so vapid!
Do you believe that it was ever before so much so? Doubtless there have been ages when people were more ignorant,
more barbarous, more absurd; but there were here and. there
some great geniuses as a compensation; whilst now, it seems
to me, there is a universal depreciation of intellect.
Some one has sent me Baudelaire's works, which have infuriated me. Baudelaire was insane! He died in the hospital
after writing verses that gained him Victor Hugo's esteem,
and which had no other merit than that of being prejudicial to
morals. Now he is regarded as an unappreciated man of genius!
PARIS, Aug'ist, I869. - I passed a month at Saint-Cloud in
tolerable health, the open air renewing my strength, but on my




QUEEN ISABELLA. - M. THIERS.              131
return was seized with distressing oppression, when my physician from Cannes arrived with a newly discovered remedy of
his own that relieved me; this was eucalyptus pills, the eucalyptus being an Australian tree naturalized at Cannes.
At Saint-Cloud, by command of the Empress, I read " The
Bear," now called " Lokis," meaning bear in jIoude, before a
very select audlience, including several young ladies, who appeared to see no harm in it; this has encouraged me to make
a present of it to the " Review," since it causes no scandal.
Tell me exactly what you think on the subject, holding the
balance even as to the pour et contre. The progress in hypocrisy during this age must be taken into consideration. What
will your friends say?
A few days ago I dined with the innocent Isabella, and
found her superior to my anticipations. Her husband, who is
very small, is a polished gentleman, and paid me many wellturned compliments. The Prince of the Asturias is a very
nice lad, with an air of intelligence. He resembles -, and
the infantas of the time of Velasquez.
The Emperor's illness is not serious, but it may be prolonged and there may even be a relapse.
I design writing a life of Cervantes to serve as preface to a
new translation of " Don Quixotte." Is it long since you have
read it, and does it still amuse you? I find it entertaining, for
which I can give no valid reason; on the contrary, I could
offer many that would prove the book to be bad; nevertheless,
it is excellent.
CANNES, November, 1869. - I breakfasted yesterday at Nice
with M. Thiers, who is much changed physically since the
death of Madame Dosne, but not at all so morally, it seemed to
me. His mother-in-law was the soul of his house; she drew
people to his salon, and understood how to make it attractive
to politicians and others. In short, she was queen of a court
composed of very heterogeneous elements, which she had the
art of turning to the profit of M. Thiers. Now, solitude has
begun for him; his wife will interest herself about nothing. In




132         LF.LTTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
politics I found M. Thiers still more changed; he has regained
his senses in perceiving how extreme the folly with which the
country is possessed, and is ready to combat it again as in
1849. I fear that he deludes himself somewhat as to his strength.
It is much easier to burst the bags of AEolus than to mend
and make them  air-tight.  It seems probable that we are
coming to a fight; the chassepot is omnipotent and can give
the populace a historic lesson, as General Changarnier said;
but will it be used to good purpose? Personal government
has become impossible, and parliamentary government without good faith, without honesty, and without men of sagacity,
seems to me no less impossible. In short, the future, and I
might say the present, looks very dark to me.
CANNES, 7anuary, I870. - To-day I am suffering less, and
avail myself of the respite to write to you. I am much discouraged; I have tried every remedy, but the suffering still
returns with such intensity as almost to banish sleep. I not
only do not eat but have a horror of all nutriment. I can
hardly read, and often cannot discern what is before my eyes.
Such, dear friend, is my situation. I am certain that it is a
slow and very painful death that is approaching. I must make
up my mind to it.
Politics, which I no longer understand, offer no agreeable
distraction. It appears to me that we are striding towards a
worse revolution than the one that we passed through so gayly
twenty years ago. I should be glad were the performance a
little delayed, that I might not be a spectator.
So you have had a disturbance as stupid as its instigator
(Victor Noir). We offer but a sad spectacle in our abuse of
liberty and parliamentary government. It is impossible not
to be struck with the truly laughable audacity with which, in
the Chamber, the most monstrous spfroiositi which no one
would venture to enunciate in a drawing-room are presented
and supported. This representative regime is hardly an amusing
comedy; every one in it lies shamelessly, and yet allows himself to be caught by tho most plausible speaker. There are




THE GERMAN WAR.                    133
even people who believe Cremieux to be eloquent, and Rochefort a great citizen. People were stupid in I848, but they are
infinitely more so now.
CANNES, Mafy, I870.- My health is irretrievably destroyed.
I cannot yet accustom myself to this life of suffering and
privation; but whether resigned or not I am a doomed man.
Wishing to make an experiment and ascertain if I could bear
the journey to Paris, I lately went to Nice to pay some visits.
I thought for a moment that I should commit the indiscretion
of dying at the house of some one with whom I was not sufficiently intimate to take that liberty. I envy some of my
friends who have contrived to leave this world suddenly, without suffering and without the tedious warnings that reach me
daily. The political commotion of which you speak has also
invaded this petty corner of the world. I have seen here very
clearly how stupid and ignorant the men are.  I am convinced
that very few of the electors have understood what they were
doing. The Reds, who here are in the majority, have persuaded the imbeciles, still more numerous, that there was a
project to impose a new tax. The result is good. (The vote
for the plebiscite.) " It is well cut, the question now is to sew
it up," as Catherine de Medicis said to Henri III. Unfortunately, I know few persons in this country who are skillful
with the needle. What think you of my friend M. Thiers,
who, after the history of the banquets of I848, begins anew
the same tactics? It is said that magpies are never caught
twice in succession by the same trap; but men, and clever
men, are much more easy to ensnare.
PARIS, 7uly, I870. - One must be in vigorous health and
possess nerves of exceptional strength not to be affected by
the events now crowding about us. There is no need to explain to you all that I feel on this subject. I am of those who
believe that this thing could not be avoided (the war with
Prussia). The explosion might have been retarded, but to exorcise the animus of it was impossible.  Here, the war is




I34         LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA.
more popular than it has ever been, even among the bourgeois.
They brawl loudly,'t is true, a bad thing; but they enlist and
give money, which is the one essential. The military are full
of confidence; but when we remember that the whole future
is at the mercy of a bullet or a ball, it is difficult to share their
trust.
PARIS, August, 1870. - It would not be well for you to come
to Paris just now. I fear that in a short time only sad scenes
would greet you. Only men given up to dejection, and drunkards shouting the Marseillaise are seen. Great disorder everywhere. The army deserves all praise, but it appears that we
have no generals.  All may yet be retrieved, but for this a
miracle must supervene. I am not more ill, only overwhelmed
by the situation. I write from the Senate, where we do little
save exchange hopes and fears.
PARIS, August, I870. - Affairs seem to assume a somewhat
brighter aspect these few days past, yet I see everything en
noir.  The military are sanguine.  The soldiers and the
Gardes Mobiles fight bravely, and it appears that Marshal
Bazaine's army has accomplished prodigies although always
opposed one to three. Now, to-morrow, to-day perhaps, we
may expect another great battle. The late actions have been
appalling. The Prussians make war by massing men (coufps
d'honmmes), and until now this method has been a success; but
it seems that the carnage around Metz was such as to give
them food for thought. It is said that the young ladies of
Berlin have lost all their waltzers. If we could reconduct
them to the frontier, or bury them here, which would be
better, even then we should not be at the end of our calamities. This horrible butchery, it is useless to dissemble, is only
the prologue to a tragedy of which only the devil knows the
ddnou2ement. A nation is not shaken as ours has been with
impunity. A revolution must follow, whether we are victorious
or defeated. All the blood that has flowed or that shall flow,
will inure to the profit of the Republic - that is to say, to
organized disorder.




A LAST FARE WELL.                   13 5
Adieu, dear friend. Remain at P, where you are safe.
We are still quiet here; we await the Prussians with much cool
ness, but the devil will not be the loser. Once more - Adieu.
CANNES, Setpember 23, I870.1 -Dear friend, I am very ill,
so ill that writing is a difficult matter. There is a slight improvement. I will write to you soon, I hope, more in detail.
Send to my house at Paris for the " Letters of Madame de
Sevigne " and "' Shakespeare."  I ought to have sent them  to
you before my departure. Adieu. ye vous embrasse.
1 The last letter - written two hours before his death.








TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF MY L IFE.
BY
ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE.
TRANSLATED BY LADY HERBERT.








TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF MY LIFE
BOOK I.
I.
S to the interest which these memoirs will have in a
literary or political sense, I do not exaggerate it one
way or the other; but the following are the reasons
which make me think I shall at least be forgiven for
their publication.
I was born in the very midst of the French Revolution - a
time of passion, folly, and fury of parties on all sides. My
first recollections are of a father in prison  of a mother a
captive on parole in her own house, under a revolutionary
guard; of the songs of the "Marseillaise " and the " Ca ira,"
sung in the streets, and echoing, as it were, the anguish in the
bosom of the families around us; of the dull thuds which
followed the stroke of the guillotine in our public squares; of
the march of half-scared troops all day long on the highway.
I used to sing myself the songs I heard others sing   poor,
little, unintelligent echo that I was of a world into which I
had just entered amidst smiles and tears! My poor mother
used to look at me sadly enough. One day a change came:
the soldiers overpowered the demagogues; the guillotine was
swept away, and my own family could breathe freely again.
We went to seek a humble shelter among our faithful peasants
in the country. Little by little we obtained the kind of secu



140          MIEAMOIRS OF LA.IMARTINE.
rity granted to proscribed persons. Year after year my sisters
came to brighten the home, which our devoted servants always maintained on the most comfortable footing; and here I
grew and throve in the midst of our people.
My mother taught me the existence of that mysterious and
Divine Being who is Justice, Power, and what we call Providence. This was to me a great joy: my little mind had been
always working; now I had found a key to the problem of
life — the only real and true foundation — in a word, I believed, and prayed. My heart opened to these pious influences; the spirit of a man began to develop itself in me; in a
word, the child was being matured. Then came my school
and college life, when rude hands fashioned me, in sad contrast to the gentle, loving training of my home. I passed
through this ordeal, and came out of it transformed but not
improved. I was an excitable lad, like a will-o'-the-wisp, with
no very fixed ideas, and willing enough to float down the
flowery stream of life. The Revolution broke out again, and
I looked upon it as solving for me the mystery of the future.
I went into the army: I loved the Bourbons, and thought I
would die to serve them. But when peace came I was soon
sick of a military life. Napoleon returned, and there was an
end of my dreams of glory. I accompanied the Bourbon
princes to the frontiers of France, but I did not go beyond -
I felt that I belonged to my country above all else. Then
came the bloody field of Waterloo: the 2oth of March was
avenged, and the Bourbons were reinstated. I again took my
place in their guard, both from a feeling of honor and of
fidelity. But I did not remain there long: I could not stand
a life of inactivity and of discipline without glory; so I again
became a vagabond and a wanderer on the face of the earth.
Travelling not only dispels our ennui, but interests and fills the
heart. I led a life of pleasure and of love for several years;
then followed sadness, dissatisfaction, and remorse. I resolved at last to do something, and went into diplomacy, for
which I felt I was well qualified. Not long after I married a
good and accomplished woman, who brought me back to all




A REVIEW.                     I41
virtuous and domestic habits, and I became once more satisfied, calm, and happy.
The Revolution of I830, which drove the elder branch of
the Bourbons into exile: induced me to share their fate, in
spite of the wishes of the Orleans princes, whom I was very
willing to respect, but whom I could not serve. I started for
the East, and for two years diverted my mind by travelling
in Turkey, the Archipelago, the Holy Land, Syria, and the
Lebanon. I came home. My reputation had grown during
my absence. I found myself elected a member of the Senate.
I resolved to abstain from party votes or passions, and to
devote myself entirely to the good of my country; thus giving
up any chance of promotion or public employment, but preserving my own principles and self-respect. I conquered at
last a certain position for myself, but with difficulty. Certain
literary successes at this time added slightly to my reputation.
After ten years, party strife and passions got the upper hand.
The very men who had brought about the Revolution of I830,
and the Government of the Orleanists, turned against their
own work. I opposed them vigorously; but I refused everything save the pleasure of defeating and overthrowing them.
I could not bear that my indignation should be attributed to
any other feeling than one of right. I repudiated all idea of
intrigues and revolutionary banquets. I struggled at one and
the same time against the coalition and the royalists of I830.
I had the happiness of being understood by the country and
the King, who sent for me and begged me to take office. I
refused, though with respectful firmness. I chose to have no
roSe but that of a volunteer: all for my country, nothing for
myself. The crisis became imminent: there were risings in
various places; the Ministers lost their heads; the coalition
disbanded itself; the King lost his presence of mind; the
people were in a ferment. At last the Revolution, with which
I had nothing on earth to-do, was declared. I was only mixed
up in it during the last few hours, after the flight of the King.
I appeared like Fate, to repress, and, if possible, keep it within
bounds. It has been said and written that such and such a




142          MEMOIRS OF LAMAR TINE.
faction or secret society brought it about. This is not true.
I can appeal to the ocular testimony of thousands —not in
defence of myself, but to bear witness to the fact that, finding
the Revolution inevitable, it was I who organized it; and unless we had been content with utter anarchy, what else was
there to be done? I asked it of the whole of France. It was
a bold step; but it was a necessary one. The alternative was
only a continued and aggravated anarchy. Felix culpa! The
Republic once proclaimed, I found the means of moderating
its action. France behaved admirably. For four months we
governed in the midst of the storm, without what one may call
a government at all. Afterwards everything was changed. I
refused what was offered to me, and returned into obscurity.
I had not the vanity to pretend to that to which neither my
birth nor my talents entitled me. I bore without complaint
fifteen years of unjust reproaches and of continued misfortunes, under which I am now sinking. I worked on courageously, however: I am working still. These events may interest my readers - I write them in good faith. May God be
my helper!
II.
I was born at Macon, a pretty little town of Lower Burgundy, in 1790. My grandfather was a man of high rank. He
was a fine-looking old man, but one who cared for nothing but
the pleasures of society. He had served for a long time in
the cavalry during his youth - without, however, rising above
the rank of captain - which was the custom among the gentry
of the provinces in those days. He was very rich. His principal estates were in Burgundy, and in the neighborhood of
Mafcon; but he had also property at Peronne, Champagne,
Monceau, Milly, and Ursy, near Dijon.. In Franche-Comte,
which was the home of his wife, he had also a beautiful estate,
near St. Claude; the Forest of Fresnoy, of which the wood
would now be worth many millions, but of which I witnessed
the sale as a boy for about 6o,ooo francs to an old farmer, out
of sheer disgust at having a few leagues to go for its superintendence; also a property at Villars, which he gave to one of




GRANDPA ARENTS.                  143
my aunts; that of Amorandes, with the ruins of a fine old
castle; that of Poligny; and last, not least, the valuable manufactories of Morez, which had been begun and worked by himself. He rarely went to visit his outlying properties.  His
usual home was the Chateau of Monceau, near Maicon, of the
origin of which I know nothing, but which I have a good deal
enlarged, and which is still in my possession. Monceau was
then a fine country-house on the road to Cluny, with imposing
looking gardens, terraces, and lawns on the one side, and on
the other a quantity of outbuildings and vineyards, with the
houses of the vinedressers and laborers, which gave it the
stamp of opulence and plenty. In the midst of all my debts
and difficulties, I jealously guard this last remains of the fortune of my ancestors, so that I may at least die where my
fathers have died. In my grandfather's time there were at
Monceau large vineyards, fine houses, extensive silkworm
plantations, a pretty theatre, plenty of visitors, and stables
full of horses for the owner and his visitors.  It was his
favorite summer residence. The views on all sides are magnificent. After passing through a long avenue, bordered with
rich vineyards, the eye follows the road, which opens into a
beautiful and fertile valley, the blue smoke from the shepherds'
houses rising here and there among the trees, and adding to
the beauty of the view.
After being set at liberty, my grandfather never went back
to Monceau.  Age and heavy cares induced him to remain
with his wife and children in his town-house at Macon: everything around him had become sad. In the evening some old
friends or relations, and one or two proscribed priests, would
steal through the badly-lighted corridors, and take their places
almost silently at the whist table; for the Revolution had not
interrupted the nightly rubber. But they played secretly; and
when the game was over, they lighted their little paper lanterns
and disappeared through the narrow streets of the old town
to their poor lodgings, and went to bed noiselessly, for fear
of awakening the suspicions of jealous or ill-disposed neighbors: it was still the reign of terror.
To




144          MEMAOIRS O' LA4A.4RTIE.
The family party in the Hotel Lamartine at this time consisted of my grandfather and grandmother, who had borne
him six children; the eldest son, a man of great merit and
ability, and of studious habits, who had shared his father's
imprisonment, although holding himself advanced liberal
opinions. But it was a wise, just, and moderate liberality,
the natural result of his distinguished education. My grandfather could not endure the new law which had just then come
into force, whereby this, his favorite and eldest son would
share equally with his other children, instead of inheriting
the whole of his property, as in former times. My grandmother, who had been born at Besangon, could not either accustom herself to the idea that he would only have his share,
and that the others would "rob " him, as she called it, of that
which was his right by birth, thanks to some unheard-of
change in the civil code. The second son, the disciple and
friend of M. de la Fayette, who had procured him a canonry,
with the reversion to a bishopric, had not yet returned from
the pontoons of Rochefort, although his release was momentarily expected. The third was my father, the Chevalier de
Larnartine, who likewise had only just escaped from prison,
and who had been married for two or three years. My grandfather had given him a nice little detached house for his wife
and children, which communicated with the family mansion
by a long covered passage. Three daughters, all nuns or
chanoiznesses- Mlle. de Lamartine, Mlle. de Villars, and Mlle.
de Monceau - turned out of their convents by the Revolution,
and obliged to seek a shelter in the home of their childhood,
took care of their parents, with a timid and obedient tenderness which was touching to watch. At the top of the house,
looking on the garden, was another apartment, occupied by a
dear old aunt, the only sister of my grandfathler, who was
called Mlle. de Luzy. She had been for thirty years Superior
of the Ursulines at Macon. Driven out of her convent, like
all the rest, she had been received with open arms by my
grandfather, and lived very happily in her retreat, in spite of
her age and infirmities, and was carefully tended by one of




DEATHI OF HIS GRAANDPAREA: TSX.           145
her nuns, a sister named Nanette. My nurse used to carry
me to her room regularly every day. Even to this hour I have
an indelible recollection of these two women, who held a large
place in my heart. Goodness is always fascinating to a child:
holy faces, whether of children or of old people, have the
same charm.  It is the beauty and purity of childhood in
both cases. Dear aunt Luzy! dear sister Nanette! before I
knew what it was to feel, I loved you!
III.
I lived for several months in this way. Then came a day
when I was startled by seeing my aunts in tears, and I was
told to be very quiet, for my grandmother, who was upwards
of eighty, had just died. My grandfather, who was also ill,
had me brought and placed upon his bed to give me his last
blessing. He had composed some pretty verses on my birth;
I found them not long ago, in my mother's writing-table. He
was very fond of me and so he kissed me tenderly, and gave
me some bonbons. Little as I guessed it, this was our last
parting: he died two or three days after. I see him still: he
was a magnificent old man, with his high forehead, and soft,
long, white hair. He had been one of the handsomest men
of his time, when he was in the army, and when in garrison at
Lille, under Louis XV., he had been a great favorite with
Mlle. Clairon, who had just made her debut, and was greatly
struck by him. I have often seen the remains of his magnificent camp equipage, with its beautiful silver plate and silver
warming-pan, and all the luxury of the young noblemen of his
day.  It was the bivouac of this reign; yet it did not diminish
the valor of our troops at Fontenoy. Two of my uncles
were killed by the English battery, and the third was knighted
and received the Cross of St. Louis.
Iv.
My grandfather being dead, the division of his property followed. It was a long and thorny task. The new law, abolishing primogeniture had scarcely been called into existence




146          MEMOIRS OF LAMIARTINE.
The peasants, those sons of the soil, did not understand it;
they felt it was contrary to their conscience, and so carried it
out as inefficiently as possible. No lawyer could make the
father of a family understand that he had not a right to deal
as he pleased with his own property; and that by giving his
eldest son the largest portion he thereby robbed the younger
ones. An abstraction of right, or equality, has little chance
of prevailing against nature.
My father was summoned to receive his share, but he never
would consent to it. The habit of respecting the wishes and
intentions of his father was to him a higher law than any written code. To profit by the new act would have seemed to him
a positive sacrilege. He had received as a clot on his marriage
a little property called Milly, worth about 250o. a year, and that
sufficed for his humble wants. He declared that he was satisfied with this poor portion of my grandfather's magnificent
inheritance, and renounced all further share. So he remained
a poor man; but he won the love and admiration of the whole
family. The rest of the property was divided by lot, which
gave rise to long and painful discussions; but at last all was
amicably settled. My eldest uncle and aunt, who were both
unmarried, had the estate of Monceau and the vineyards in
Champagne. My uncle, the Abbe Lamartine, had the Chafteau
of Ursy, in the midst of the forest of Burgundy, near Dijon.
The house and gardens were magnificent, and the solitude
complete. This suited my good old uncle, who would not, to
please the Revolution, give up his priestly functions; but abjuring all society for the sake of peace, was content to live as
a hermit according to his own convictions. I have always
loved and venerated this uncle, who was a real St. Evremond
in our family. When I grew older I was frequently his guest,
and always happier with him than with any one else. Madame
de Villars, the chalzoinesse, who had made a vow of poverty,
obtained a dispensation from the Pope, on the condition of
being simply a distributor of her income, and became the proprietress of the rich property of Pe'ronne, where she always
lived in summer. She kept her promises to the Church with




REMOVAL TO MILL Y.                  147
scrupulous fidelity, and became the generous benefactress of
the whole neighborhood. She was handsome and clever, thoroughly versed in habits of business, and was of great use
to my father on several occasions. Mlle. de Monceau, who
had all her life been rather childish, lived with my father and
mother. She was always treated as one of the children of
the family, and by her large income added to the comfort and
happiness of our home. The shares having been thus adjusted, every one went to take possession of his property.
The H6tel de Macon alone was kept as a common home for
us all to pass the winter together.
V.
I was just beginning to see and understand something of
outside things when my father and mother carried us off - a
whole tribe of children, in a long file of bullock wagons - to
establish us and all our worldly goods at Milly. Our dear
mother was in the first carriage with two of my sisters on her
knees, and another at her breast; a quantity of loose packages filled up the lumbering vehicle. My father went on foot
as a sportsman, carrying his gun, cheering my mother, and
helping the carriage when it got into any bad ruts. Two dogs
in a leash followed him, and then two more wagons full of
maids and nurses and household goods of every description,
going at a foot's pace. Then came a carriage containing
Mile. de Monceau and her maid. All this formed a regular
procession of old-fashioned equipages rolling and tumbling
about in the mud, for the public roads in those days were execrable. The cries of the drivers, the lowing of the bullocks,
the clamor and fright of the women servants, and the hearty
laughter of the children at each fresh misfortune, made up a
picturesque scene, which was partly amusing and partly touching. We did not arrive at Milly for five or six hours, although
it was hardly more than twelve miles.
Milly was then a poor little village built on the ridge of a
hill planted with vines, at some distance fromy St. Sorlin, which
was the rural capital of the country.




148          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
VI.
Ever since the spring, my father had come to Milly from
time to time to prepare the house for his family. The revolutionists had, to a certain degree, spared the old place, and
contented themselves with turning the drawing-room into a
dancing saloon on Sundays for the benefit of the neighboring
peasantry. The sabots of the dancers had broken the old
encaustic tiles into a thousand bits; not from pure mischief,
but simply from a sort of pleasure at profaning a nobleman's
house. We stumbled among the broken fragments of pavement until a workman had clumsily repaired it with large
square common bricks. There was not much more damage
done. The vines continued to bear and the fruit trees to
blossom, so that the traces of the Revolution in Milly might
be said to be restricted to the ball-room. Every one - father,
mother, aunt, children, and servants - had soon found his or
her place in the house. Our only furniture were a few beds,
tables, and chairs. The kitchen, soon filled by the peasant
women, once more sent up the cheerful smoke from its wide,
ingle-nooked chimney. The nurse and children walked and
played in the corridor. My father spent his days in hunting
or shooting on the mountains. My mother was occupied in
writing, in the care and superintendence of the house, or in
visiting the sick and suffering, with whom she at once made
friends, and was beloved as readily as she herself loved all
around her.
VII.
Do you wish for a description of these my first happy days
at Milly? The account of one day will serve for all the rest.
No sooner had the first rays of the sun lit up my mother's
room, than my father, who was a very early riser, went out
walking. A maid used to fetch me and put me into my father's
place, by the side of my darling, gentle mother, who used to
kiss and pet me, and then teach me to lisp my little prayers. I
did not know very well the meaning of the words, or understand what that Invisible and Omnipotent Power was, called




EVER Y-DAY LIFE AT MIL Y.               149
God; but I knew I was doing like mamma, and that was more
than enough for me. Most good things are done from imitation. To try and be like what one loves, that is the first instinct of man. At any rate, it was mine. Reasoning one may
dispute, but not that which has become a habit. My father was
not a very religious, but he was an honest and an honorable
man. The love and respect of his wife, whom he adored,
made him pious almost in spite of himself.
After prayers we went to breakfast, I on my nurse's knee,
off the vinedresser's soup, which I used to think the best in
the world. Then I trotted off into the vineyards to play with
my companions (the children of our peasants), or else, like
them, to keep the goats and sheep in the mountain forests.
We used to return when the bell of the old steeple rung the
midday Angelu/s. Then a fuming hot soup with bacon and
vegetables awaited us round the homely wooden table; a
repast which I infinitely preferred to the pure white tablecloth and more delicate dishes served to my parents. I remember even now with appetite the little two-pronged, twopenny forks which doubled into our pocket clasped-knives, and
with which we used to pick out and eat the bouilli of our soup,
in little bright red or green varnished earthenware bowls!
Soup has ever since appeared a luxury to me. A cabbage or
celery leaf, with a radish, just stirred in what is called "teakettle broth," with a bit of black bread, this is the true food of
the country peasant. My simple life made me relish the homely
fare of the cottager as much as a child who had known nothing else. When I grew older, and was no longer allowed to
run wild, and the age of lessons and school came, I was
obliged to give up this simple food of goat's cheese, cabbage,
onions, and the like, and made to eat meat, which disagreed
with me so much that I had a regular illness in consequence;
and, ever since, I have never lost the early tastes contracted
at that time. Even when we dined up-stairs, my mother never
could persuade us to eat anything but vegetables.
After dinner, my father used to go back to his shooting on
the mountains, sometimes alone, at other times in compazny




1 50         MEMOIRS OF LAAAA'TINE.
with one of his head vinedressers, of whom he had made both
a guide and friend. This man, who was in every way superior
to his class, was called Claude Chanut, and became quite a
favorite with us all.
VIII.
Sometimes it happened that we passed the whole winter at
Milly, as in a kind of domestic convent, completely snowed
up, but visited from time to time by certain old friends of my
father's, who were living in hiding, as it were, in the neighboring villages. First, there was the doctor of the canton, who
lived with his wife at St. Sorlin, with a son, who became my
great friend, and a daughter, whom I should have fallen in
love with, if I had been of the right age. Then there was
the Chevalier de La Cense, a retired officer in the Guards,
living with his sister, Mademoiselle de Moleron, in the same
village, a cheery, jovial, good-natured man, whose arrival
brightened the whole house. Then there was M. de Vaudran, of the Bruys family (one of twenty children, all distinguished in their different careers), living at Bussieres, in the
parish of Milly. M. de Vaudran, who was an old friend of
my father's, had been secretary to M. de Villedeuil before the
Revolution, and initiated into all the political secrets of the
highest society in Paris. He was a Royalist of the good old
school - moderate, impartial, and just towards every one, even
towards the men who had mingled in the Revolution, without
having imbrued their hands in crime and blood. He took pity
on my somewhat neglected education, and gave me my first
writing-lessons on a little table in the dining-room, for which
I have remained eternally grateful to him. His three sisters
simple, gentle, loving, agreeable women, and great friends of
my mother's — often accompanied him to Milly. Although
obliged, from political circumstances, to live continually in the
country, and only associate with people of a humbler class,
the natural distinction of their manners, and the companionship of their brother, who always spent part of the year with
them, gave them a high-bred tone which could not be mistaken; and their entire absence of affectation made their re



77iE CHATEAU AND ITS SUR'ROUNDINGS.  151
ception of friends in their own home most pleasant; while
their natural grace and dignity gave a special charm to their
conversation.
The Curd de Bussires, their near neighbor, young, handsome, mundane, amiable, and of elegant and refined habits,
was full of respect and deference for these ladies, and he was
also a favorite shooting companion of my father's.
IX.
At a quarter of a league from our house, buried in the
wooded gorges of the mountains of St. Point, was a site which
has enshrined itself in my memory and imagination forever.
I mean the village and chafteau of Pierreclos - the habitation
of the old Count de Pierreclos, whom I have before mentioned.
Walter Scott has nothing more romantic or original in his
descriptions of the nature, habits, and dwelling-places of the
Scotch lairds. Now for a description of the chateau itself,
its inmates, and the life they led there.
We used to go and dine there every Sunday after high
mass; that is, at a quarter before twelve. After having clambered on foot to the summit of the Csaz mountain, which
threw a long gray shadow over the Milly valley behind my
father's garden, a steep and rapid descent to the right brought
us into the Pierreclos valley. A rough path, full of rolling
stones, but shaded by old walnut-trees, led us by several barren hamlets to the head of the valley. There the aspect of
the scenery changes; the hills, covered with vineyards, slope
down towards the rich meadows, irrigated by bright and rushing streams, and shaded by poplars cutting the sky-line, like
the cypresses of the South. Very soon the valley widens, and
the eye is lost in a distant vapory forest of pines and beech.
The background is formed of dark mountains, covered here
and there with snow, which lies in deep patches in the hollows. After having walked on a little way on the high-road,
we used to perceive a mass of smoke and vapor coming out
of the mouths of the village furnaces, which blackened even
the walls of the old steeple of Pierreclos. But it was church



1t 52         MEAlOIR'S OF LAMARTINE.
time, and we hurried into the chapel, where the priest was
saying mass. The old lord and his family occupied a bench
to the right of the altar. The family consisted of the master
of the chateau, a gouty old man, but with a proud and determined countenance, who looked down with a sort of insolence
on his old vassals; his brother, M. de Berze, who bore the
name of the old Gothic chateau of which we spoke just now,
between Milly and Cluny; his five daughters, all very pleasing-looking, both in face and figure; and a young son, of
about the same age as myself, with whom hereafter I was to
be bound in the ties of a warm friendship. As soon as we
appeared they made room for us in the church, and we were
soon kneeling in our proper seats. The mass being over, the
peasants separated. The old lord mounted his horse (with
the help of his servants), and rode up to the castle by a steep
paved road. We followed on foot with the rest of the family,
and winding through the vineyards, soon arrived at the iron
gates of the chateau. Nothing could be more imposing than
its appearance as you entered. A vast courtyard, which led
you through a high subterranean passage, or covered way, to
the keep, from which you suddenly emerged into an open
sunny space brilliant with flowers, growing up to the very foot
of the steeple of the old chapel, which was built on a high
terrace to the extreme left of the castle. Then the ground
suddenly fell, like a drop-scene in the opera, and revealed to
vou a mass of towers and pinnacles and quaint Gothic windows
and ornaments, the whole lit up and illuminated, as it were,
by the setting sun.
x.
On first entering the large courtyard, I was struck at the
sight of a new building not yet finished, on the windows of
which the workmen, in fact, were still at work. It was evidently intended to replace the old Gothic castle, which, being
mainly composed of keeps and square towers, circular staircases, irregular turrets, and pointed roofs, was more picturesque than comfortable, and rather gave one the idea of an
aerial village. This old fortress, in reality, had been built on




DU BRIGA4I~DAGE.                  153
the edge of a promontory, and followed the sinuosities of the
rock both above and below, from the summit to the valley.
The upper part formed an oval terrace, upon which all the
doors opened, whether of the kitchens or drawing-rooms.
XI.
The apartments with the exception of a great stove in an
angle of the dining-room, and a magnificent fire-place of black
marble in the drawing-room, large enough to burn whole trees
at a time, had the appearance of rooms recently restored after
a fire of the day before. The mortar scarcely filled up the
spaces between the stones; and the walls, guiltless of whitewash, seemed never to have been smoothed by the mason's
trowel. The flames had licked the paint off the ceilings,
which bore the traces of an incendiary fire, seemingly scarcely
put out.
"Look! " exclaimed the old Count, showing me the marks of
the above-mentioned destruction; "look at the traces of the
passage of those brigands! Here was the torch of one, there
the hatchet of another, a pickaxe was the tool of the third.
Ah! the rascals! I know them well; and never in my lifetime will I suffer the remembrance of these horrors to be
effaced."
In truth in I790, in the famous and inexplicable day called
du Brzigandage, this grand old castle had been completely ravaged, and nearly burnt to the ground, by the peasants from the
mountains, who had determined to avenge the supposed
wrongs of the villagers, and took advantage of the unpopularity of the owner, who was hated by the people, to carry out
their nefarious designs.  The pillage and devastation were
indeed complete.
His wife and daughters were saved by the fidelity of two or
three of their tenant farmers, and concealed in the neighboring forest. The Count and his son escaped by a miracle, and
swore to be avenged. His eldest son emigrated the next day.
As to the old Count himself, he returned after a time to his
ruined home, and went on living there till the day when they




154         IMEMOIRS OF LAMAA'TINE.
came to carry off the cannons of his terrace to Macon, at the
same time that his whole family were thrown into prison by
the agents of the Revolutionary government. My father, who
in I790 was on leave at Monceau, armed and mounted the
young men of Macon, and pursued the incendiaries to the
Chateau of Cormatin, killing several in an engagement in the
neighborhood of Cluny, and hanging others on the trees by
the roadside, - a service never forgotten in the grateful memory of the old Count. The insurrection was at an end, and
order was everywhere restored, until the day when the Government, in its turn, had given the signal for persecution, and
imprisoned, as we have said, the whole family as Royalists.
XII.
The head of the family had been formerly captain of cavalry
during the Seven Years' War. He had been taken prisoner
by the Prussians, and used to tell us how the Queen of Prussia, delighted with his good looks and cleverness, used to
knock every morning at his door in the corridor, calling out,
" Count Pierreclos! get up, and follow the King's hunting
party! Your horses are waiting." " At these words," he added,
"I gladly rose, and started for Sans Souci, where we used to
eat delicious sour-krout." The Queen of Prussia was always
brought into the conversation.
On returning from Potsdam, he sent in his resignation, and
married a young girl of good family from the neighborhood of
Lyons. She bore him five or six children, and they lived constantly in the ChAteau of Pierreclos, the old Count being the
object of the timid fear of the peasantry, and the ridicule of
the middle classes. He was not a bad man at all, but absurdly
vain and boastful, with a good heart at bottom, though often
violent and rough in his manners. His wife had died during
their imprisonment. The eldest of his sons had emigrated;
the youngest who was called the Chevalier de Pierreclos, was
a boy of my own age, brave, clever, and intelligent, left to nature and with scarcely any education; but giving promise of
what he afterwards became - a brilliant adventurer, like tha




THE CHEIVALIER DE BERZ~9.              155
Chevalier de Grammont, a hero of the civil wars, of romantic
love affairs, of duels, horses, and all that is comprehended in
the old term of a " free lance." We were intimate from children, and shared in all boyish sports.
His sisters, older than himself, were handsome, piiquante,
and original. As they had no mother, they had consequently
little or no education, properly so called; they, in fact, brought
up one another. There was certainly in the chateau an old
aunt, the only sister of the Count, a clever woman, and as
strange as himself; but who could only have taught cards to
her pretty nieces, that being the one occupation of Madame
de Moirode from morning till night. She used to come into
the drawing-room at eight o'clock in the morning, and sit on a
curtained seat, like Madame du Deffant! Then lowering the
curtains round her on three sides, to keep out the draught,
she would offer cards to all comers: brothers, sisters, nephewvs, nieces, friends - no matter who! playing without a moment's intermission from one meal to another; resting for a
few minutes, perhaps, in the middle of the day, and beginning
again with any new-comers till supper-time.
The Chevalier de Berze, an old cavalry officer like his
brother, the Count de Pierreclos, ran through his whole fortune
very early in life, and now had accepted the posts of agent
and gardener to the family. In the drawing-room his only
functions seemed to be to provide fresh cards, and to bring in
fresh logs for the fire. He was a thoroughly good-natured,
" serviceable " fellow, ready to do a kind turn to everybody, and
universally beloved. I saw him live, grow old, and die, like
a living piece of furniture, having no idea in life but that of
saying " Yes " to everything proposed by his brother; of bringing the finest melons from the garden to the dining-room, the
most beautiful flowers to his nieces, and fresh faggots for the
inexhaustible fire-places in both apartments.
XIII.
But when the time of the vintage drew near, everything
assumed an aspect of work and life and gayety, which metamor



I56           MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINZE
phosed the whole country. The peasants loaded their carts
with water thoroughly to cleanse the deep wine-presses which
were to hold the grapes. The bullocks, coupled together and
harnessed at dawn, lifted their intelligent heads and velvety
eyes under the heavy yoke; or else ruminated, by the side of
the pole, the armfuls of hay which the children gave them.
The women, lifting us up in their arms, would help us to
scramble up by the axle of the wheels into the vat. This
was a large, oval kind of bath, in which the vine-dresser goes
to the vineyard, and which he there fills with great bunches
of cut grapes to bring them back to the wine-press. Then we
were lifted out by the workmen, and our places filled by the
contents of their baskets.  A quantity of sticky flies and
wasps, drunk with the juice of the grape which had already
begun to ferment, fell with the fruit into the vat, but either
instinct or satiety prevented their stinging us.
Thus we went joyfully from one vine to the other, helping
to cut the rich bunches and fill the baskets or bins of one set
of reapers after the other. The cleverest and handiest girls
from the neighboring villages formed themselves into bands,
slept in the barn at Milly, and were hired as cutters by the
owners of the vineyards. They used to walk singing, their
pails on their heads, or their baskets on their arms, behind
the one who served as guide in the narrow paths between the
vines; and then placing themselves by twenties or thirties,
each at the foot of a vine stock, would quickly clear the whole
stem with careful, skillful hands, of its rich white or blue burden, squash them in their fingers, and throw them into the
bins, which the boys would then carry off to the carts. The
very vineyards seemed to sing as their rich produce fell under
the scissors; the earth, as it were, rejoiced at her spoil. We,
children, used to follow the carts dripping with their juicy
burden; our little pinafores all stained with the blood of the
grape, and meeting with joyous cries each fresh band of
workers. The joy ran like the wine from hill to hill. Then
we helped to empty the grapes from the vat to the wine-press;
or gathered bunches of fresh grapes to refresh the tired bul.




THIE NUT HARVEST                   157
locks, whose carts creaked under their heavy load. Then we
would count the number of bins, and run to tell our father,
who would calculate the numbers of tuns of wine which
would be the final result, and which, in reality, formed our
whole income for the year. A few days after, the same work
was begun again, until the leaves of the vine, all yellow and
seared, had no more fruit to conceal; until, in fact, the vintage
being over and the barrels filled to the brim with wine, the
vines were left desolate, the goats picked off the few remain
ing leaves, and the once busy paths were still as death.
XIV.
Then began the spinning of the flax and hemp in the even.
ings at home; or else the cracking of the walnuts, which was
the last gay work of the season for the villagers. The mistress
of the house, by the light of a rustic lamp called a creuse-yeux,
gathered round the large kitchen table, children, servants,
visitors, and neighbors.  The men went to the cellar and
brought out huge sacks of nuts, of which the husk, already
half rotten, was easily detached from the shell, and threw
them on the floor. Every one, armed with a hammer, set to
work on a heap of this rich fruit before him, to crack the nuts
carefully, and take out the kernel (if possible entire) and put
them in little heaps, either for sale or for the oil mill. Gay
laughter and innocent conversation echoed from one end of
the room to the other, and made the work seem like play.
When all was done, dancing began, and generally continued
till midnight.
It was the same with the weaving of the hemp and flax,
which used to occupy the winter evenings in the great barn
until the tow merchant came round and bargained for the long
hanks of yarn and vegetable silk, the produce of which was
the gain of the wives and daughters and women-servants of
the house, and often served to keep them in clothes altogether.
We used to take our share in all these works with our servants
and peasants, as was the custom in those primitive days. The
presence of our gentle mother was a check on any light or im



158           MIEMOIRS OF LAMfARTINAE.
proper word or action; for she had won the respect and love
of the whole neighborhood.
xv.
Our conversation at these gatherings was generally on the
subject of the good or bad crops; the price of wine or wheat;
the marriage of this or that village lad or girl; the wages of
the women-servants, which generally consisted of ten crowns
(thirty francs) a year, six yards of unbleached linen for shifts,
two pairs of sabots, a few yards of stuff for petticoats, and
five francs as a present on New Year's Day. These were the
current wages of servants in those days. They are now at
least ten times as much; but I doubt if the people themselves
are one whit richer or happier.  Money only represents, under
one denomination or other, a certain amount of wants. All
is equal, except in the mind of man.
Very often, on coming out of some sanguinary revolutionary
crisis, very terrible at the time, perhaps, but quickly forgotten,
the talk among the elder men became political - that is to say,
military. Itinerant hawkers used to come round to our doors,
crying out, " Great battle between the French, under command
of General Bonaparte, in Italy, and the English or Germans"
(or else it was " Moreau on the Rhine," or "Massena in Switzerland," or "' Macdonald in Suabia." or " Hoche in the Palatinate," or " Marceau in Germany "). Then the peasant would
rush out of his cabin, while the hawker unrolled to his admiring eyes highly-colored pqrtraits of heroes, and he listened
with all his ears to the startling tale of battles won, and
heroic escapes, or glorious death-scenes; and bought for a
penny the true (?) history of all these feats of arms.  He
would then nail them up on his wall, or get his wife to sew
them on the serge curtains of his bed, where they remained
for himself and his family as a true history of France and of
her doughty deeds to all time.
The first political enthusiasm with which I was myself fired
was in the village square adjoining our own courtyard. There
was a young man named Janin, a little better educated than




POLITICAL ENTHUSIASM.                 I59
his neighbors, who taught the village children the elements
of reading and writing. One day he stepped out of the cabin
which served as a school, and sounding a drum and a clarionet
of which he had somehow become possessed, he quickly attracted all the boys and girls in Milly; to whom he commenced showing off a quantity of pictures of military heroes,
which he had obtained from one of these hawkers, who was
standing by his side. " Look," he exclaimed, "at this picture
of the battle of the Pyramids, gained by General Bonaparte!
He is this little dark, thin man, whom you see here mounted
on a horse as yellow as gold, which is rearing and plunging,
with his long sabre in his hand, before that mass of cut stone
which is called the Pyramids, and who is saying to his soldiers,'From up there, forty centuries look down upon you.'"
But his eloquence was rather lost on his audience, who did
not understand a word of it, and preferred Augereau galloping
on a white charger and crossing the Rhine with one bound, as
if he had been carried on the wings of Victory herself; or
Berthier, tearing a swan's quill from his floating plume to write
the staff orders with a pensive countenance. But Kleber, with
his drum-major's figure and size, carried the day, and excited
the enthusiasm and plaudits of the whole hamlet.
The hawker passed the morning selling these pictures of
national glory from house to house, with Janin to explain the
subjects of each. His enthusiasm spread the excitement over
the whole country, and no one shared in it more vividly than
myself. It was thus that I first began to understand what was
meant by military glory. A horse, a plume, a sabre were henceforth to me symbolical of great things. The people were fired
with a military ardor, which lasted a long time. All through
the winter evenings nothing was talked of but the hawker,
and Janin was continually summoned to explain again the text
of these wonderful, and of course truthful pictures.
XVI.
Time went on, and I was eleven years old. My father began to talk seriously of sending me to school; but it was diffiT1




i60           MEMOIRS OF LAMAR TIAE.
cult to decide, because, since the Revolution, no public school
existed, if we except certain private houses, more or less famous at Paris or at Lyons, and a College of Jesuits (who were
then called Fathers of the Faith), whom the uncle of Bonaparte, Cardinal Fesch, protected on the frontiers of Italy, in
the little town of Belley, in Bugey. My mother very much
wished that my father would decide on sending me to this college, which had a very high reputation for piety and learning.
The greater portion of the noble families of Piemont, Lombardy, Turin, Alessandria, and Milan, sent their children there.
But my mother was opposed by all the rest of the family, who
wished me to go to a private house in Lyons, called the house
of La Caille, at la Croix Rousse, and which also was well
spoken of. My uncle, M. de Lamartine, did not much like the
Jesuits; my father was indifferent, but above all wished to
please his brothers and sisters, on whom my future fortune
depended. So that he ended by saying " Yes," and my mother
rather sorrowfully took me to Lyons.
XVII.
How sad was my departure from Milly! It was the first
deep wound my heart had received, and I felt it bitterly. How
broken-hearted I was at saying good-by to the old servants,
who all loved me, and I them, and especially Janette, a charming and beautiful girl from the mountains, whom I cried terribly at parting with, and whom I left equally bathed in tears!
Janette came to kiss me in my little bed, and I started for
Lyons as if it were (as in reality it was to me) for the other
world. From that hour Milly, its rocks and vineyards, its
peasants and servants, and all belonging to it, seemed to be
gt aven in my memory as a warm and living thing which formed
part of my very self.  Alas! I have had to part with it all
since, down to the very stones. And when I pass by the road,
I turn away my head, that I may not see it, and do not look
round till the ruined steeple and vine-covered hills have alto —
gether disappeared from my sight.




A DIVIN~E OR FA UL TLESS BEANG.           161
BOOK II.
THIE family coach brought my mother and myself the next
day to Lyons.- We stopped at Madame de Roquemont's, a
good and tender-hearted woman, and a cousin of my mother's,
who loved her like a sister.
She lived in the Rue St. Dc..o;nique, near the Place de
Bellecour, which had been ruined at that time by the pickaxes
of the Revolutionists.  Opposite Madame de Roquemont's
house was a wholesale bookseller's, named Leroy. He had a
large family of children, one more beautiful than the other,
who spent most of their time on the balcony opposite my room.
Amidst these living flowers there was one, a girl of twelve or
fourteen, whose like I have never seen before or since. She
had the most delicate features, blue eyes, skin as white as the
finest Chinese paper, and an expression of such deep thought
and feeling, that it remained indelibly impressed on my dreams.
Her long fair hair fell in heavy curls on her neck and shoulders; while her beautifully slight and graceful figure, her
dreamy, earnest face, and her white forehead, leaning on the
edge of the balcony, made such an impression upon me, that
although I was then only eleven years old, I have never forgotten it all my life. I used to spend hours watching her be
hind the glass panes of my little window, and every turn in
her face seemed to me more lovely than before. Perfect
beauty defies oblivion. Whenever I have wanted to paint a
faultless or divine being, superior to every one else on earth,
I have always had her in my mind. Man, after all, rarely invents anything - he remembers.
This incomparable child married, a few years after, a M.




162          MEMOIRS OF LAJ1IARTINE.
Pelaprat, a financier of Lyons, who was doubtless won by her
tharms and exceeding beauty. She had several children, all
worthy of their mother, and, among the rest, the Princesse de
Chimay, whose enchanting face had the same type. Twenty
years ago a singular thing happened to me with regard to this
lady, and which, until now, I have never mentioned to a soul.
One day I was waiting in an anteroom at Paris, where one
often met persons whom etiquette prevented one's speaking to
without an introduction, and there came in a very pretty person from eighteen to twenty years of age, who sat down at the
farther end of the room. At first I did not dare speak; but
as our time of waiting seemed to be indefinitely prolonged,
and we were tete-a-tele, I ventured at last to say some insignificant words. Our conversation became more easy as we
went on, and at last I ventured to ask her her name. " I am
the Princesse de Chimay," she replied. " I thought so!" I
answered joyfully. "How so?" she asked with surprise.
" Because I knew your mother thirty years ago."
In truth, certain charms are hereditary, and can never be
mistaken.
Madame Pelaprat, who established herself later in Paris,
was an object of respectful admiration to Napoleon himself.
When he returned from the Isle of Elba to Lyons he asked
to see her, and she came to the archbishop's palace where he
lodged. I suppose he thought her beautiful eyes would bring
him luck! They say he received her as if she had been a
goddess; but he had himself lost his "prestige," and the
great man had dwindled into an unprincipled usurper.
II.
During my stay at Lyons, I witnessed a strange act of
humility in Madame de Roquemont -a humility which at that
time I did not understand, but of which later I saw all the
beauty and greatness.
M. de Roquemont, a Norman gentleman of high birth, had
taken refuge in Lyons during the Revolution, and determining
not to be dependent on others, had embarked in the agency




MADAME DE ROQUEMONT.                   I63
of an Italian commercial house. His wife, who was related
to a noble Italian family, named Dareste, encouraged him in
this undertaking without any false shame; not in the interests
of their children, for they had but one little girl, but to be
able to live comfortablythemselves, and, above all, to help the
number of elzzg-rds, who, like themselves, had lost their all in
the Revolution. During this time, a member of the Dareste
family, a clever, calculating man, bethought himself of proposing a tax upon tobacco, and communicated his ideas to
the Government. This tax, which was eventually to bring in
so many millions, at first only produced a few centimes. The
collection of this duty was vulgar and humiliating, from the
contact it entailed with the consumer. Madame de Roquemont, through her relationship to the inventor, had obtained
permission to collect this popular tax in her shop. Sitting
behind the counter, I saw to my amazement this noble lady,
with her distinguished air and manners, open her door to the
poorest and lowest workmen of the town, called canuts; ask
them, with the greatest civility, what quantity or quality of
tobacco they required; open the different canisters, and
weigh out each little parcel or pinch herself; receive the
farthing or half-penny in payment, and seat herself again
with as much dignity as if she were selling pearls or rich
jewels in an Oriental bazaar. It struck me the more as, until
then, I had always looked upon such employments as servile
and unfit for persons of gentle birth. But when I found out
(as I did later) that Madame de Roquemont employed all the
profits of this business in bringing up a number of little
orphans, whom I saw daily well clothed and fed at her table,
I understood the whole beauty of her self-sacrifice, and felt
that I had before me the example of a woman as saintly as
she was nobly born, and that what all the world despised was
in reality what did her the most honor. Her charity had
overcome all feelings of human respect, and she went on with
her business till her death. Even now her name is never
mentioned in Lyons without tenderness and respect.




I64          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
III.
She herself took my mother and me to the Croix Rousse.
It was a terrible moment for me, and still more for my poor
mother. The great house (which hag been an old convent)
where we stopped, was called the Pension "Pupier."  One
heard a sort of buzz of voices even before entering the door.
This door had a grating in the middle, through which one
looked into the courtyard. Dante's Gate of Hell would not
have appeared to me more terrible. I felt the words which I
did not then know: Lasciate ogzi sfieranza vol che entrate 
All my courage forsook me. The walls seemed to me those
of a prison  the faces those of jailers. I saw about two
hundred boys in the playground which we crossed while following the porter to the reception-room; and they looked at
me with a wicked or mocking expression of face, as much as
to say, "So much the better; here comes a new victim, who
will be as miserable as ourselves." The grand air of Madame
de Roquemont and the graceful beauty of my mother, however,
rather imposed upon five or six of the elder ones, who took
off their caps, and respectfully ranged themselves on one side
of the wall to let us pass, looking at me in the meanwhile
with a sort of kind compassion. At last we arrived at the
parlor of the establishment, as it was called. It was a very
large, barely-furnished room, where the Misses Pupier received visitors, or the parents of the pupils. There were four
people in this room to whom the establishment belonged since
the death of M. Pupier the founder. These four associates
were Miss Pupier the eldest, a bony woman of thirty or forty,
who was the housekeeper: she was neither pretty nor ugly,
and looked neither good nor bad. One saw at a glance that
the soup was her business, and economy her darling virtue.
The next was a tall, ill-made woman, on the eve of her confinement, married to a M. Philippe, who was also one of the
firm. The said M. Philippe, who was, virtually, the principal
professor or head master of the school, was a clever, welleducated man, but violent in the extreme, and one who in



Lf. PUPIER'S SCHOOL.               i65
spired nothing but fear and repugnance in the minds of his
pupils, in spite of a soft outside manner which deceived no
one. The fourth was a priest, named M. Croizier, a good and
gentle old man, caring little for the interests of the house, but
holding a class in which he was universally beloved. The
establishment did not in any way give one the idea of a college, but simply of a house of business. Nor did anything
remind one of the "family" tone so much vaunted in the
prospectus, unless it were the baby which Madame Philippe
was on the point of bringing forth to the world! After having
talked for some time with these four important personages,
when my mother had insisted greatly on indulgence and
gentleness toward me on the part of my new masters, the
moment of parting came. My mother burst into tears, and I
did the same; till Madame de Roquemont gently drew her
away; the heavy iron outside door was shut, and I was
launched into the playground, very much as a condemned
criminal is launched into eternity. I could not say a word,
but sat on the base of one of the columns of the cloister
which surrounded the court, and I continued gazing through
my tears at the hill of St. Foy on the other bank of the Saone.
Some of the students who were from Macon, and among the
rest MM. de Veydel, the sons of a lawyer there, who had
arrived a few days before, came up to try and comfort me. I
clung to them in my sorrow - an unfortunate thing for them,
as you will see.
IV.
I was placed in the lowest class of the school, but I did not
stay there long, and very soon had distanced all my companions. The healthy country life I had led had strengthened
my mind as much as my body. I was old for my age. I rose
rapidly from class to class, and soon became one of the head
boys. After some months of captivity, the longing to leave
my prison made me push forward more and more in my studies. But I was always equally miserable; Milly, my mother,
my father, my sisters, my dear nursery maid Janette, my friend




166          MEMOIRS OF LAMAR'TINE.
Claude Chanut, my dogs whom I loved nearly as much as the
people —all seemed to have an equal share in my longing
dreams. All my hopes were in the future; the present was
hateful to me. The violence of M. Philippe, who was continually punishing and beating pupils whom he chose to call refractory, filled me with disgust and hatred of the man. What
a difference between him and the tender reproaches of my
father, or the tears of my mother, if we had committed any
boyish fault! I recollect I used to pass whole hours, during
the playtime, looking sadly and wishfully at the beautiful hills
of Beaujolais, and fancying what every one was doing at home
at such and such an hour. All my dreams were of Milly.
But one day brought my disgust at the whole thing to a climax. A young man of Macon, named Eugene Siraudin, three
or four years older than I, proud, brave, strong, looking every
one straight in the face and fearing no one, had committed
some slight infraction of rule in the German class, and had
refused to kneel and beg pardon publicly of the professor.
M. Philippe was summoned, and we were called in to be spec-'
tators of the punishment about to be inflicted. M. Philippe
going up to him ordered him to kneel and make his excuses to
the good old German master, whom we all liked, though he
had been the involuntary cause of this scene. Siraudin, rising
from his bench, said he was innocent of the fault laid to his
charge, and positively refused. M. Philippe insisted, and
threatened to force him to obey. The poor German, in despair, threw himself between them, declaring he was satisfied
that it was a mistake. We all joined in the protest; but M.
Philippe, roughly pushing aside the professor and unintentionally throwing him down on the slippery floor of the schoolroom, seized Siraudin by the hair and flung him under the table at his feet. Siraudin was sixteen, and a capital wrestler.
Furious at this unmerited act of violence, he rose instantly,
red with passion, and flying at the throat of M. Philippe,
threw him in his turn under the table, and seizing the great
mass of fair hair which adorned the professor's head (for they
wore wigs and pig-tails in those days), held him by main force




A CONTEST WITH M. PHILIPPE.              167
down to the floor. M. Philippe, in struggling to free his head,
left his wig in the hands of his adversary and a great white
place in his bald head was exposed to the eyes of the whole
school. Siraudin triumphantly holding up the wig, shook it
in our faces with a fierce and ironical laugh. All the students
who hated M. Dhilippe, rejoiced at his defeat, although none
dared move or share in the struggle. The two enemies exhausted with passion again held one another in a ferocious
embrace, each trying to knock the head of the other against
the flag-stones of the hall, when the poor old German professor, fearing the death of one or the other, threw himself with
all the weight of his enormous body on the interlaced arms of
both, and so contrived to separate them. No sooner had he
regained his breath, than a terrible cry from M. Philippe summoned all the servants from the kitchen to the assistance of
their master. Three or four cooks, armed, like the executioners of former days, with spits and frying-pans and other cooking utensils, rushed to the rescue and endeavored to secure
our companion who fought like a lion. At last they overpowered him, and, at the voice of M. Philippe, threw him out into
the street to the mercyof the elements. The house reechoed
with the cries of the women, who, of course, took the part of
the brutal pedagogue against the courageous martyr, as we
considered our friend; and the rest of the day was spent in
looking after his wounds. As for myself, the impression left
on my mind by this barbarous scene (the blows, the cries, the
struggles, the hair which flew about the room, amidst torn
books and broken benches and tables) was such, that a horrible shudder came over me which changed my sadness into
hatred, and I vowed that I would no longer remain in the
house. However, in order to insure the success of my plan,
I felt that I must hide my rage for the moment in my heart,
and try and obtain some accomplices. From this moment I
began to plot my escape. I said to myself: " I will no longer
stay in this shambles, which is more like a slaughter-house
than a school. I will go back to my mother and to Milly. I
would rather be the companion of " Turc " in his kennel (that




i68          MEMOIRS OF LAMIARTINE.
was the watch-dog in the courtyard at home) than the favorite
of this brute of a master." Resolutions of this sort, once
firmly taken, are catching. My indignation was soon shared
by the Veydels, whom I have before mentioned as being natives of Macon, and sons of an old friend of my mother. I
often walked with them, and we concocted together the best
means of carrying out our plan of escape.
One day, soon after the struggle in which poor Siraudin had
been well-nigh murdered by the head-master, they took us to
a wood called La Caille to celebrate some feast or other.
This wood was the great place of meeting for the silk-workers
of both sexes in the neighborhood of Lyons. Our boyish
eyes were witnesses of plenty of scandals there; it was not,
in fact, at all a fit place for any young persons to go to. In
the midst of the wood was a long avenue, which was the scene
of our games. What those games were, and how little humanity or delicacy was shown in their selection, may be judged of
by the following description. We had been told this day that
a new sport was prepared for us which would exercise our
bodies and (of course) improve our hearts. A long string was
stretched from tree to tree across the avenue. To this string
a goose was fastened by the feet, its long neck and head
hanging down, and its great wings palpitating with fright.
We were each blindfolded and given a naked sword, and the
one who succeeded in cutting off the unhappy bird's head was
to have the prize. He who only mutilated its wings, or legs,
or neck, was to be content with a green crown. We were ordered to applaud this barbarous sport; but my disgust kept
me silent. Brought up to love animals, and to think it a sin
to give wanton pain to any living thing, I could find no words
to express my loathing at this horrible amusement. One of
the Veydels was chosen, armed with the sword, and had his
eyes bandaged. I drew close to him and whispered in his
ear, that he had only to strike hard in the direction of my
voice, which would be close to M. Philippe, and that then
probably he would receive the cut intended for the poor bird.
It happened as I had expected. M. Philippe received a




AN ESCAPE PLANNED.                   I 69
slashing blow; but, unfortunately, only his hat suffered, and
a great cry arose from the students at the pretended awkwardness of Veydel. He was led back to the path and his eyes
unbandaged, when he appeared very penitent for the mischance. But the horrible games continued until the poor
goose was nothing but a bloody trunk still quivering on the
cord.
I went up to the Veydels, and gave vent to my fury. " How
frightful an education this monster is giving us! " I exclaimed.
"What would our parents think of. such lessons and such
examples? To torture a wretched bird in this way for no
earthly reason but cruelty, and give it no chance of escape -
can we doubt that if our families knew of it they would instantly remove us from such hideous influences?" I saw
that my words had had their effect. "Well," I continued,
"don't let us hesitate any longer. It is of no use to write,
for our letters are always read before they are sent. But let
us go ourselves, and report to our parents the real state of
things. If they blame us, we have the massacre of our friend
Siraudin, thrown more dead than alive into the street, to plead
as our justification."  "That is quite true," they replied.
" Now let us separate," I continued, "'lest we should be observed. Let me choose the day and the hour. Get together
whatever money you may have, and carry it always about with
you in your pockets. Then watch me, and be ready at a
moment's notice to follow me."
We went back to the college with this understanding, and
no one had overheard our conversation.
V.
Two days after, the opportunity presented itself. I was
ready, so were the Veydels; and I had only to give the signal.
It was playtime, and after breakfast. The boys were scattered in the rooms, in the corridors, and in the courtyard.
Some were playing at ball, others at racket. The Veydels, at
my signal, followed me into the hall, of which the iron-grated
door opened into the street. " Let us pretend to be playing at




I70          MEMOIRS OF LAINARITINE.
tennis," I whispered to them, "and when the ball shall have
passed the door, which I will leave open as if by accident,
rush out as if to rescue it; I will run after you as hard as I
can toward the wood. If they see us, they will fancy that I
am running to help you to catch the ball. Then we will go
slower, and take the road which leads to Fontaine. There we
will stop for dinner, and a little carriage will take us in two
days to Macon."
I opened the door accordingly, and the game began. There
were only one or two fellows in the corridor who were watching us play. I threw the ball into the street, the Veydels
rushed after it as if to catch it; I followed; and then we all
three took to our heels and ran as hard as we could in the
direction of the wood, only looking round from time to time
to see if we were followed. Our ruise had been successful;
no one had thought of us at all, or, if they did, it was to imagine the ball had spun farther than we expected, and that we
should return with it immediately.
VI.
At the bottom of the hill, we stopped to take breath and
hold a council of war. " So far so well," I exclaimed to my
companions. " Now let us change our course, and endeavor
effectually to cheat our pursuers." We had one sure and
faithful guide, which was the Saone, gliding like a bright blue
ribbon between the two shores. We left the wood, therefore,
and followed a path which led us up higher and higher on the
left bank of the river, from whence we could see everything
without being seen. We walked quickly but in silence. After
having marched for two hours, we found ourselves at the village of Fontaine, which supplies Lyons with flour. We began
to feel very hungry, and so resolved to enter the little town;
but fearing discovery if we stopped at an inn on the Lyons'
side, we walked up the High Street till we found ourselves in
a little clean cafe at the other end, where we ordered dinner
and a carriage to take us on to Villefranche. A nice looking
servant girl showed us into a tidy little dining-room; and the




THE ESCAPE FUSTA'A TED.                7 I
smell from the kitchen, where a fine Bresse capon was roasting on the spit, warned us that we must either break the law
of the Church or of nature, for it was a Friday. After a moment's hesitation nature gained the day, and we agreed to eat
the chicken. We had heard our mothers, who were very
pious, say that when travelling one might eat meat without
scruple, provided one did not do it from contempt for the laws
of the Church; so our consciences were at ease. Hardly
had we sat down to eat, however, than we heard a great noise
at the front door of the inn. The door opened, and M. Philippe himself entered, wiping the perspiration off his forehead. Turning to the mistress of the house he merely said,
"That's right, put another cover here, and I will dine with
these gentlemen." Whilst speaking he threw a wicked and
satisfied look at us, which you may imagine pretty well spoiled
our appetites. However, our pride made us resolve not to
appear ashamed or troubled. We pretended to laugh at our
little adventure, and to eat our uncanonical dinner with apparent gayety. Some bad jokes were made by M. Philippe himself on the capon, but we felt that the worst was to come.
The dinner being over, M. Philippe summoned a policeman,
and made us march before him through the wood back to the
college. We looked down certainly, but we maintained a calm
and quiet countenance for fear of being taken for prisoners.
In an hour or two we arrived at the door of L'Enfance. M.
Philippe went in first, leaving us in the charge of the policeman, hoping to prepare a public humiliation for us. Accordingly we found all the students ranged in a double file to receive
us, and M. Philippe gave the signal for hissing. But no one
responded. Not a sound was heard from any of the boys -
only a suppressed look of pleasure and excitement; so that
our entry had more the. character of a triumph than anything
else. MPhilippe, more furious than ever, placed us in separate prisons. My two companions were put in a low dark
room on the ground floor, where they only remained two days,
having consented to ask pardon publicly, and so were forgiven.
But as for me, who was looked upon justly as the most guilty.




172          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
they knew they need not expect so prompt a repentance; so I
was shut up in a little room under the leads, where I had, cet -
tainly, plenty of time to reflect on my fault. But though I
was only twelve, the feelings of honor I had inherited from
my father made the very idea of denying the facts utterly
out of the question; and in reality I considered my punishment rather a glory than the reverse. I threw myself on the
bed, for I was very tired; but I did not shed a tear. I thought
to myself, " I shall have plenty of time, at any rate, to plan a
better way of escape." Unfortunately, for the moment, all
means of doing so had been taken away from me. My door
was fastened outside with a padlock. My food was brought
to me daily, but with precaution. They had taken away my
coats, so that it was utterly impossible for me to escape without detection. Every day the more good-natured among the
professors and the best disposed among the students, were
sent to talk to me and try to make me repent. I was glad to
see them, and was touched by their kindness; but they gained
nothing. I was firmly resolved not to yield, or remain in that
house. A whole month passed in this way. I studied, read,
wrote, and dreamed; but my resolution was unalterable, and
no power on earth could have moved me.
VII.
The vacation time approached. My family, who had been
informed by M. Philippe of my transgression and its punishment, were in despair at my obstinacy. At last my mother
arrived herself, and to her I told all. She took me away with
her instantly to Milly, when I became the gentle, loving child
I had been before. It was then determined to find another
school for me. To send me to the Jesuits' College at Belley
had always been my mother's wish; she ended by gaining
over my uncles and aunts to her views. My father yielded,
and my mother took me toward the end of October to this,
the place of her predilection. I was as happy and bright as
if she were taking me to a fete. My deliverance had been
accomplished.




ARRIVAL AT THE FAUBOURG DE BELLEY. I73
Our road wound up a steep hill to the chateau of M. d'Angeville, an old officer in the Spanish service.  He was the
father of M. d'Angeville, a distinguished member of parliament since I830, and of Mlle. d'Angeville, who first among
women accomplished the ascent of Mont Blanc. From hence
the view is magnificent. The town of Belley, with its imposing spires and steeples, lies at your feet. A little farther on,
the strong castle of Pierre-Chatel stands out bleak and gray
against the sky; while the blue Rhone winds through the
distant plain, and foams on the strand of Dauphiny.
We met M. d'Angeville (the father) coming out of his castle
on horseback and cantering toward the town. He stopped
and bowed, seeing by my boyish face and the expression of
my dear mother's, that she was evidently taking her son to
the college at Belley, which had already acquired a great reputation among all pious parents. Having ascertained his
name, my mother at once handed to him a letter of introduction which she had from M. de Cordon. He read it, and his
face, which had been kind before, became radiant. " The
Hotel Chevalier is the best in the town," he exclaimed. " I
will go on and get everything ready for you;" and so saying
he touched his beautiful Andalusian pony with his whip, and
galloped off to announce our arrival.
We went slowly down the steep hill and entered the Faubourg de Belley. The first great building on the right was the
Jesuit college, called that of the Peres de la Foi. A large
courtyard, from whence issued a confused sound of merry
voices, divided it from the high-road. " There are your future
companions," said my mother. " To-morrow I shall introduce you to them." At the angle of the college was the
church, with a fine architectural facade. The door was open
toward the street. The church was divided in two by a kind of
raised platform, the upper part being for the scholars and professors, the lower for the townspeople. My mother stopped
the carriage and told me to come in with her for a few
moments. I knelt by her side while she prayed with her
whole heart. I saw the tears coming into her beautiful eyes




174         IMEMOIRS OF LAAIAR TINE.
as she prayed, and although her lips gave no sound I knew
she was praying for me, and thanking God who had enabled
her to bring me to such a safe home. She made me repeat a
few little prayers too, though I was too confused to take in
the sense of what I said. Then we got into the carriage
again and soon arrived at the hotel which M. d'Angeville had
told us of, and where he himself was at the door to receive
us, and to show us into a very pretty and comfortable apartment. Madame de Chandor, his cousin, came directly after
dinner to invite us to dine with them the next day; so that
we already felt we had found friends. In the evening the
Pare Genisseau, who had been informed of our arrival, came
to call upon my mother. He was very kind and very merry.
His business was to manage all the temporalities of the college, see the parents of the students, and in fact attend to
all the external work. H: was also steward of the house.
He bought the bread, wine, meat, milk, and vegetables, and
had the power of selecting and dismissing the servants and
workmen. As there were upwards of four hundred persons
in the establishment the labor was immense. He was always
on horseback, dressed half as a religious and half as a secular,
with a black great coat, high boots, a riding whip, and a round
hat. His character and face corresponded with his functions.
Always civil, good-natured, gay, prepossessing, and cheery,
he was a first-rate intermediary between the world and the
convent. He understood and loved children, for whom he
had always a kind word and a merry laugh. My mother was
touched by his manner. It was agreed that I should enter
the college the next day, and be presented to the superior,
the Pere Debrosse.
Viii.
The following morning accordingly I was duly installed.
The Pere Debrosse was a fine looking man, and what is called
" very good company."  He was not clever, but governed the
house by his sound common sense. He was a perfect model
of virtue, piety, and modesty. He received my mother with




ENCOURAGING PROSPECTS:                I75
marked respect and attention, but asked very few questions
about me. It struck me that my antecedents were of little
interest to him, and that he trusted to the good set among
whom I should be placed, to the rule and to the excellence of
the professors, to bring me back into the right way even if I
had strayed from it. The conversation was long but not at
all severe. He then made us over to the Pere Genisseau that
we might see the house and garden in all their details. Everything was in perfect order. In the school-rooms we heard the
murmur of voices repeating the lessons in class, the calm
voice of the professor predominating from time to time. The
dormitories were large and airy; the refectory beautifully
clean and nice, without being luxurious; the courts were
finely sanded; the gardens shady and well kept. A menage,
a salle d'armzes. and a tennis-court, were included among the
means of exercise and amusement for the students. Nothing
seemed to be too dear to answer this purpose. Evidently
profit was the last thing thought of in this establishment -
only the moral and physical welfare of the boy.
I went back with my mother to the Hotel Chevalier, and we
went to dine with M. d'Angeville and Madame de Chandor.
I do not know how it happened, but a chance word, which I
heard pronounced by the ladies, and of which I did not even
know the sense, made me feel that my reputation (such as it
was) had preceded me. " Oh! " exclaimed Madame de Chandor to my mother during dinner, " the good fathers are enchanted at the gift you have bestowed upon them in the person
of your son, for they say he is a true matador." This Spanish word, which signifies the feller of the monster in the bullfight, made me lift my head a little higher. " They already
look upon me as somebody," I said to myself, when the word
had been duly explained to me after dinner.
My mother stayed some days at the hotel to accustom me to
our approaching separation, and to recommend me to the kindness of the best persons in the town. I went with her to see
the Chateau de Pierre-ChAtel, which was then a state prison,
and which made a very painful impression upon me. We also
12




176           MIEMOIRS OF LAMAR lINE.
made several expeditions to some of the most beautiful sights
in the neighborhood, and were more and more struck with the
wild beauty of the country.
When my mother at last was obliged to go home, I was
already accustomed to my new position. It was a sad moment; but I was not now, as at Lyons, without hope. I seem
even at this moment, to see her carriage toiling up the steep
hill on the road which led back to Macon, by the gorges of
St. Rambert, as I watched her white handkerchief, which
she was waving from the window to wish me a last good-by.
All that day I was sad; but my companions did not laugh at
me, or intrude on my sorrow.
Ix.
The next day I had already found friends. I chose them
by their faces, an instinct which has rarely deceived me. The
first were Italians from Turin, Alessandria, and Asti - Sambuy, Alfieri, Ghilini. They were all three of noble family in
their own country. The neighborhood of Piedmont, the political sympathies of their parents, and the wealth of their
families, had made them choose this Jesuit college in preference to any other. All the religious traditions of their nation
flourished here. Alfieri, a tall and handsome youth, like his
uncle the poet, was son of the marquis of that name, who was
attached to the royal household of Savoy, and afterwards became ambassador (after the Restoration) to the Bourbons. He
transmitted to the good Peres de la Foi the necessary sums
for their luxurious establishment in France. Alfieri, with
whom I have always maintained the same intimate relations,
became president of the Piedmontese Senate during the late
revolution. He owed his influence no less to his ability than
to his high character. Sambuy, springing from a military
race, followed the same career under Bonaparte, and greatly
distinguished himself. As for Ghilini, his destiny was written
on his face, which was the sweetest and most pleasing one
possible. It was impossible not to fall in love with him at first
sight. His mother and sisters could not have had bluer eyes,




FIRST FRIENDSHIP'S.                177
Dr a whiter and more transparent skin than his, or a more
modest and grave expression of countenance. He was chosen
as page to the Neapolitan Cleopatra -the beautiful Princess
Borghese, at Turin. I do not know when he was called home
by the Great Reaper; but he was the choicest flower ever
culled on the slopes of the French Alps. A good many young
men of Brescia, Bergamo, Bologna, Florence, and even
Rome, joined theirset. The college, in fact, was cosmopolitan.
x.
At the end of a few days my choice was made, and my first
friendships became irrevocable. Boys choose, as I have said
before, by instinct, which is as rapid as the eye or the ear.
The Fathers tried me in one class after the other, to ascertain
my mental capacity. One day I was higher, and one lower, in
my work. It was difficult to know how to place me. In some
things I was far above my age; in others a very child, and my
inattention often discouraged my masters. At last I was put
In the third or middle class, a sort of half-way position, in
which one could be a child in the study of language and a man
of taste in poetry and rhetoric.
One of the Fathers soon attracted me to himself. He was
a man of good family, who was a priest in dress and in piety,
but in other ways a man of the world; his name was the Pere
B6quet. I have never known his origin; but his high birth
revealed itself in his delicate features, beautiful hands, aristocratic manners, keen and yet gentle look, and sweet voice, which
made him loved and preferred to all the rest. He was not a
bit of a pedant. His tone in class for young and old was that
of a father of a family teaching his own children. He would
joke even when pointing out a fault, and none of us ever saw
him out of temper. His corrections, when necessary, were
those of a mother. If they had cost us humiliation or tears,
I believe he would have blushed and cried himself. The hour
elf his class was a real delight to us all. We did our work,
but he always contrived to make it interesting, and often
amusing. He often made us laugh, but we did so quietly, not




178          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
to wound his high-bred sensitiveness and good taste by our
roughness or rudeness. Every one in the class of the Pere
Bequet seemed insensibly to take their tone from him. His
piety was attractive even to the most careless of us. When
it was his turn to say mass, he said it with a tender recollection and devotion which was more edifying to us than half a
dozen sermons. We seemed to feel as he felt, and his face
was our best lesson. When the religious office was over, he
resumed his bright playful manner with us directly the solemn
shadow of God had left his face, and he was only all the more
ready to enter into our feelings and amusements; so that it
was impossible to associate anything gloomy with his religion.
He loved God with all his heart, but as a tender Father and
Brother and Spouse, and he made us do the same. In playtime, or in the garden, or in our walks, he would pick out the
best of his pupils, and talk to them familiarly and intimately
on all sorts of subjects; so that he became our great friend
as well as our master, and one to whom we were not afraid to
open our whole hearts. He thus formed and moulded us to
his will, and communicated to his class a delicacy of feeling,
a sense of honor, and a refinement of taste, which made us
feel like a kind of confraternity. I need not say that I at
once attached myself to this man with all the enthusiasm of
my nature.  In the Pere Bequet was centred, in fact, the
whole teaching of the college. As he became the vice-principal, and thus followed us in our studies up to the higher
classes of rhetoric and philosophy, we had no other master
for three years; and the fruits of his teaching were shown in
what I might call the graces showered on this portion of our
lives. He would have been a perfect Fenelon for the educacation of a prince; he remained by chance, or rather, as we
felt, by the providence of God, a Fenelon to a mountain college.  When the order was suppressed in France, Fouch6
fancying that the Jesuits were dangerous to the empire, his
superiors recalled him to Belgium.  No minister was ever
more mistaken. So far from inspiring us with a spirit of hostility or opposition to the government, or with a taste for re



THE PROFESSORS.                  179
publicanism, their lessons and example tended only to give
us a stronger love for monarchy, religion, and the empire.
Bonaparte was deceived by his police minister. His uncle,
Cardinal Fesch, was preparing for him good and loyal subjects - Fouche', soldiers, and SaYds.  Fouch6, unhappily
gained the day!
XI.
The professor of physics and mathematics was a man who
had joined the society from piety, and in gentleness and goodness resembled our dear Pere Bequet. His name was Dumouchel.  He had enough intelligence to see one thing
through nature and science — and that was God.  But he
saw Him without a shadow of superstition, as the cause is
judged by the effect. Mathematics were his forte; he never
dispated - he proved all that he asserted.  He was not a
priest.
There was another professor, whom I have not yet described,
but a man of a totally different stamp. He was called the Pere
Varlet, and was of the stuff of which the old monks were
made. He was very well informed and clever, but austere
and silent - his life was one long meditation. He had been
appointed not only to the chair of rhetoric, for which he was
quite unfit, but to be the habitual confessor of the studentsan unfortunate selection. He acquitted himself scrupulously
and severely of this duty; but his conscience was as fearful
as our own.  He was certainly a good man, but too silent and
reserved to win our confidence. I recollect one spring when
I had been ill, the doctors ordered me to take long walks in
the neighboring woods. Father Varlet was one day told to
take me with him on an expedition he was to make, for some
reason or other, in the mountains. As he walked along, he
said his office or prepared the lessons for his class, but
never spoke a word. It was in the month of May; the country
was exquisite with the breath of flowers which scented the
whole air; the ground seemed a perfect mossaic of color. I
loitered behind the Father, gathering these floral treasures till




I8o          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
my hands could hold no more, and came back loaded to the
college. The rushing mountain streams had sprinkled them
with water, which looked like dew, and I was in the seventh
heaven of delight! The Father did not deign even to look
at them. To one of his ascetic temperament, my enjoyment
of these minute beauties of Creation was almost a crime. Not
one word of admiration could I extort from him on the subject
of my floral treasures — unless they had been consecrated
on the altar at Mass or at Benediction, they were to him but
worthless weeds. We used to return very late to the college,
after three or four hours of solitary walking, during which
time we had not exchanged a single word.
This went on for two months. At the end of that time I
was cured, but very much bored. The spring-time of this
holy man had no flowers but in his psalms.
XII.
Although our superiors endeavored as far as they could
without injuring private friendships, to avoid dangerous intimacies and secret conversations, although they preferred in
our walks and games the number three to the number twobecause three is always innocent and two is sometimes suspicious - we soon began to single out one or two amongst our
companions and form little groups of intimate friends out of
this great and mixed society. My first acquaintances were
chosen from their age or place in the class next to me, but
very soon I selected two with whom my sympathies and tastes
were most in unison. The first of these was Aymon de Virieu.
He was the son of the Marquis de Virieu,. a member of the
constituent assembly; inclined to be a revolutionist in I789,
but a counter-revolutionist in I790. Then, in I792, he commanded the Royalist cavalry at the siege of Lyons, and disappeared in the retreat without anybody being able to discover
his body. He was evidently a warm-hearted, brave man, full
of talent and courage, but of an excitable temperament, which,
in the state of parties in France at that timie, led him one day
into one extreme, and one day into another. He was at one




A YMNON DE  VIRIEU                 I8I
time closely connected with Mirabeau, then with the Court,
but especially with Mounier and Lally-Tollendal, who sent
in their resignation after the 6th October, and who contented
themselves with writing against the Revolution without fighting against it. The Marquis de Virieu at first took refuge in
one of his estates in Dauphiny, but when the Royalist troops
besieged Lyons he could not resist joining them, and was
killed in the struggle. It is difficult to do him full justice, his
antecedents being ultra revolutionary, while his later life was
just the reverse. But he was always a deeply religious man,
and had a strong feeling for the maintenance of the aristocracy. His dream of reform was, in fact, confined to the nobility,
and he had not calculated on its ultimate consequences. His
opinions may be judged of by those of his son.
Virieu had two sisters, one married to M. de Quinsonnas, a
most amiable person and the mother of several children, who
are now rich and well-known in Paris. The other was Mlle.
Setphanie de Virieu, a charmingly pretty, clever girl, who
never would marry that she might not leave her mother. She
had a wonderful talent for painting, and her pictures seemed
to grow under her hand as rapidly and eloquently as her
speech.  Her sketches were admirable and life-like; once
taken by her you became immortal. Her talents were only
equaled by her goodness. She lives now alone and solitary,
in a chateau of her mother's in Gascony.
As to Virieu himself, the idol of his mother and sisters, he
then lived in the province of Dauphiny on a property called
Grand-Lemps, which had been the favorite residence of his
father. He was about fifteen when I first knew him, and consequently a year or two older than I was. His features were
not beautiful but very remarkable. His forehead had those
bumps which phrenologists look upon as indicating certain
great qualities. His fair hair, which curled over his forehead,
gave him the look of an old Roman bust. But the wonderful
part of his face were his eyes, which no one could look at
without being startled. It seemed as if wit and genius poured
out of them as from an inexhaustible source. His nose did not




182          MEAMOIRS OF LAMARTIIVE.
correspond with the rest of his face  the nostrils were too
open, and gave him an ironical expression. But his fine and
delicate mouth, with its short and arched upper lip, redeemed
what was wanting elsewhere, and gave, like the eyes, a character of wonderful distinction to his whole countenance. His
character was as varied as his features. He was an enigma to
most people, but that made him all the more interesting. He
was a mixture of Rabelais and Socrates. What was on the
side of Rabelais as a child, amused and yet made one anxious
for him. What was on the side of Socrates attracted one
irresistibly. He always appeared to me in this light, and if I
was repelled in one way I adored him in the other. For the
same reason people said of him "that he had sugar and salt
on his lips," but nevertheless I failed in separating myself
from him, and we became fast friends.
As for me, it was evident that I made a different impression
upon him, and that I helped to modify his nature in the right
direction, and to bring him back to the religious teaching of
his youth, more, perhaps, than approved itself to his reason.
But he died thus, and I thanked God for it  His strong
sense of right had sufficed to bring him back to his childhood's
God. But at the time of which I am now speaking, he was
still halting between two opinions, and that annoyed me. All
arguments with him ended in a joke, whereas I could never
bear to laugh on serious subjects. My mother had taught me
not even to laugh at myself, but to realize that I was the work
of God's hands, and, therefore, responsible to Him in all things.
My face became grave and displeased when Virieu adopted a
mocking, doubting tone in speaking of religion. This annoyance on my part, which I took no pains to conceal, influenced
him, though insensibly. He was at first puzzled, not seeing
how he had saddened one whom he heartily loved. Afterwards
he understood me, and corrected himself as much as his nature
would allow.
XIII.
The other friend I chose was a young man of Chambery,
Louis de Vignet, a nephew of the Comte de Maistre. I did




LOUIS DE VIGNE T.                  83
not then even know the name of a family with whom I have
since been so closely connected. Louis was my first acquaintance amongst them, and he also was older than myself. We
were not the least alike in character, but our minds had a great
deal in common. It was in this way that we came to synlpathize so much with one another. He was inclined to be sad
and reserved. I was bright open and communicative. Although he was not yet arrived at the age when the passions
devolop themselves, he had the silence and expression of a
man already overwhelmed with suffering of this kind. His
face was like that of Werther; his pale high forehead, and the
black clustering hair which shaded it, gave him the look of an
Italian; his eyebrows were strongly marked, and added to the
depth and sadness of his eyes. His closed lips seemed to
be afraid of compromising him by any light or careless speech.
His figure was tall and slight. He was thoughtful and grave,
and his head, which he naturally held down, showed the working of a mind far in advance of his age. No one could see
him without remembering him. He made at once on me the
same strong impression which he did on every one else. At
first, I looked upon him with the respect of an inferior to one
infinitely above me in everything. I tried to understand him,
but I did not dare speak to him. He, on the contrary, sought
me; and his conversation interested me the very first day more
than that of any one I had ever heard. His mind, in fact, had
a power and an originality which far surpassed his masters.
He seemed sometimes to despise them. But when in composition, or in an examination, he was anxious to justify our high
opinion of him, he used to come out like thunder from a cloud
and surpassed every one. It was, in fact, almost impossible
to come up to him. I was, in one sense, his rival; but I was
ashamed of being compared with him. His superiority seemed
to me to be so incontestable, he was so richly gifted in all
ways, that I accepted my inferiority without envy and without
pain. He was already great in everything, whereas I was only
growing.
In the first school in which he had begun his studies, he




I 4          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTIANE.
had acquired certain advanced ideas and thoughts which were
very unlike thos2 of a boy. In religion especially, he was a
free thinker. At a time when we, children, had hardly begun
to think at all, he considered himself an Atheist, though he
did not dare to own it. I found that on this account his influence was dreaded and himself suspected by the masters. It
is curious that my first ideas of incredulity should have come,
as a boy, from one of this very family of Le Maistre, from
whom afterwards were to emanate my strongest religious
impressions. This proves how the thoughts of one single
family, multiplied by five or six clever men, become a power
in the world. Louis de Vignet was often out of humor-this
sometimes affected our intimacy - yet I never was myself out
of temper at that time. When he came out of what we used
to call his "black fits," he found me just as he had left me.
But take him all in all, he was certainly the greatest man I
ever came across during my college life. He changed afterwards, and in some ways for the better, and died Ambassador
at Naples.
XIV.
I have now described the two natures to whom chance or
instinct had linked me at a period when intimacies often
decide one's future character: Virieu, the type of the aristocracy, and Vignet, of genius. But there was one more who
has recently died, Guichard de Bienassis, who was a complete
contrast to the other two.
He was the only son of a good and amiable widow called
Madame de Montlevon. M. de Montlevon was a man of a
certain age, who had married, late in life, a woman of inferior
rank. She had borne him this one son, and he had left her
all his fortune, which consisted of a little chateau called Bienassis, situated in Dauphiny, at about half a league from the
town of Cre'mieu. This house, which later became our headquarters, was built on a solitary hill, flanked by two towers
and backed by a beautiful wood. A pretty stream shaded by
weeping willows ran through the garden. By and by I shall
describe its inmates.




GUICHARD DE RIEXASSIS.                I85
Bienassis, who bore the name of his castle, was then half
noble by his father, and half of the middle class through his
mother, but he decidedly preferred the latter. He was a
thorough child of Nature. He had found a little room in the
castle which his father had converted into a library. This room
was kept locked by Madame de Montlevon, but the key was
hung in her bedroom. A young girl of fifteen, who was halfmaid, half-companion, to Madame de Montlevon, was very
fond of Bienassis, and at his request used to bring him very
often this fatal key. He used to go by stealth into the library
and carry off a provision of books, which he hid under his
mattress. It need not be added that he chose those which
were the most attractive, and yet the most dangerous at his
age. The " Confessions " of J. J. Rousseau, so enticing at
fourteen; Helvetius, so tiresome but so calculated to destroy
all faith in a child's mind; Raynal, that bloated philosopher,
who mistook declamation for elegance and affectation for
feeling; Faublas's " Liaisons dangereuses," and other novels
of the same kind, where vice parodied virtue, and riotous liberty, love. These, and works like these, had done their best
to deprave this good and simple nature. He had become
thoroughly imbued with these false sentiments and this mock
wisdom. But when the true chord had been struck by J. J.
Rousseau, his enthusiasm reached its height, and his admiration became a worship. The different passages which he
knew by heart, and which he repeated to us with delight,
used to enchant us. \te would have given all we possessed for
the key of the little sanctuary into which he had dived to such
good purpose. Thus our group was composed of Virieu, the
skeptic; Vignet, the incredulous; I, pious by instinct, but
ignorant; and Bienassis, whose susceptibilities had been excited by these readings to an alarming extent. It was evident
that some strong element was needed to direct four minds in
such a state of doubt and ferment. This element was found,
and I will tell you how.




i86          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
XV.
One lovely spring day when all the country was radiant with
flowers and sweet smells, and when the windows of our classroom, opening on the garden, let in great puffs of soft air,
redolent of honeysuckle, and roses, and pinks, and verbena,
our professor suddenly stopped in his thorny translation of
Ovid, shut up his Latin dictionary, and taking up a book in a
stitched cover which lay on the table beside him, he said softly
to us -
" Now, young gentlemen, I give you a holiday, and entire
liberty to all of you who wish to enjoy this beautiful day. For
you who are older, and who perha;ps find greater pleasure in
books than in games, I am going to ask your permission to
read to you some pages of a new book, which I have just
received from Paris. The author's name is M. de Chateaubriand. He is just come, not from a polytechnic, or normal
or military school, but from the virgin forests of America.
He had been sent there as one of a regiment of Vendeans, a
battalion of emigrants, in fact, of the army of the Great
Conde'. Listen, or not, as you please. The waters and the
woods will be silent, and the celestial spirits will give ear, for
it is their Creator who speaks. Try only to understand the
nobility of his language." This preamble struck us all immensely. We listened with all our ears. The good Father
struck his hand on his book, and began.with these words —
" There is one God. The fool alone hath said in his heart'There is no God.'" The simple grandeur of the ideas and
the simplicity of the words laid hold of our imaginations, the
solemn voice of the Father, the tears which seemed to be
swelling up in his throat and trembling in his tone, the novelty
of the style and the holiness of the author's dreams, completely captivated our imaginations. We heard for the first
time what we had never realized before, the beauty of truth,
the sentiment of greatness, the workings of the heart in the
harmony of language - there was no need to tell us to keep
silence! The end of the class coming only too soon, we




CHA TEAUBRIAND'S WOREKS.             187
rushed upon the professor imploring him to read just a few
more pages; but he was inexorable, and we had to go out
with all the unsatisfied longing which that wonderful volume
had awakened in us. We talked of nothing else, and the
promise to read us some more if we were diligent was the
most infallible encouragement to work which our professors
could have suggested. I was certainly the most touched,
because the three notes of my existence, religion, melancholy,
and family love, were likewise the key to Chbateaubriand's
divine genius. The next day, having accompanied my companions to the park of a beautiful country-house where we
often went, belonging to a Colonel Maupetit, and the conversation having fallen on the "Genie du Christianisme," they
asked me, " Well; what do you think of it? " " I," I replied,
"I am enchanted, but not convinced."  "And why not? "
retorted a young man from Grenoble, who was afterwards
drowned when bathing in the Isere. "' Because it lacks, according to me, the principal element of perfect beauty, which
is nature; it is beautiful, but it is too beautiful!"
These words pleased my audience, who thought them just;
and in fact, I could not find any better explanation of my
feelings about this book even now.
I passed a first-rate examination and obtained a quantity of
prizes towards the end of the year. Vignet shared them with
me. My mother had come to assist in the distribution, and
be present at the solemnity. We acted a little play. Vignet
and I had the first parts, and were loudly cheered. I returned
home in triumph. The carriage could not hold all my(already
faded) wreaths and my prize books, which, fortunately, were
more lasting treasures. Milly soon made me forget all these
follies. I found there Charles Chanut, my old friend, and
Janette, my faithful love, and the simple tastes of my childhood resumed their full sway.
Bienassis made his mother write to mine for leave to come
and spend a few days with him at his chafteau in the neighborhood of Cremieu. Virieu was to join us from his home at
Grand-Lemps. I obtained the desired permission and started




i88          MEIMO IRS OF LAMAR TINE.
joyfully. I never shall forget the day that I arrived at Bienassis, where my two friends had preceded me. No sooner did
they see me from the tower of the castle, than they fired a
feu de joie and waved flags and handkerchiefs from every
window. I hurried my driver, and was soon in the arms of
my friends. Madame de Montlevon received me like a
mother. One saw that her boy was her idol, and certainly
he was master of the house. We were very soon initiated
into all the corners of the house, the orchard, the gardens, the
fountains, and even the forest. We came back to dine at the
castle, where every delicacy of the season awaited us. After
dinner we went up-stairs and Bienassis brought us the fatal
key, which a too good-natured person had lent him; we followed him in silence to the library, and there found ourselves
in what appeared to us a paradise of thought. Each one chose
the book most suited to his taste; I pounced upon the " Confessions of J. J. Rousseau," so full of beauty and of villainy.
We plunged in silence into that sea of troubled waters, not
knowing whether to be most shocked or astonished at what
the head had dared to conceive, and what the pen had had the
equal courage to record. We each of us carried off our favorite volume in our pockets to read at our leisure in our own
rooms, or in the shade of the woods. We had gone into
this fatal room innocent as children; we came out of it with
the guilt of men. A turn of a key had given up to us the tree
of the knowledge of good and evil. The two fruits were in
our hands, it was for us to choose. We still had a sense of
right; but we needed an experienced eye to make a selection
for us out of such dangerous materials, in which curiosity and
pleasure were our only guides. We had, it is true, a feeling of
remorse at eating this forbidden fruit, but this remorse vanished in presence of the new passion which this kind of miscellaneous reading had developed in us. We were like
bathers, who, at the first plunge into the sea, feel a kind of
shiver at the waves, and then realize only the voluptuous freedom of the element. With these feelings we left the hidden
library of Bienassis, where every species of corruption had
bleen thus unconsciously revealed to us.




RELIGIOUS IMPRESSIONS.               I89. XVI.
After passing some days at Grenoble, whither we went from
Voreppe and Voiron, we returned to Bienassis by the Lyons
road. We were welcomed back as if we had been the sons
of the house. The fatal key of the library was again lent by
our accomplice. We found it simpler to leave the door open
and hang the key as usual in Madame de Montlevon's bedroom. Her age and infirmities prevented her going up-stairs,
so that we thus escaped her maternal vigilance. We read
everything that we ought not to have read. Our life was perfectly delicious, and we prolonged our stay till nearly the end
of the holidays. On our way back we stopped a day or two
at Grand-Lemps, the austere house of Madame de Virieu and
her daughter. It was a convent in a house of exiles. We respected its silence and shared in its prayers. It was like a
home of the early Christians.  Mademoiselle Stephanie de
Virieu, by her grace and beauty, no less than by her great
talents, reminded one of those holy Virgins who sanctified the
homes of the first martyrs in the time of the Roman persecutions. She was like a flower on a tomb, whose sweetness embalmed the air around her, and softened the sad recollections
of her pious mother. This ascetic life made us ashamed of
the bad books we had been devouring at Bienassis. Thus
the world appeared to us under two contrary aspects. On the
one hand, the giddiness of passion and skepticism in Madame
de Montlevon's library; on the other, sorrow, piety, and mourning in the drawing-room of Grand-Lemps. These were the
two distinct impressions which remained on my mind after my
return home.
XVII.
I returned troubled but not altogether perverted to Milly.
The genial piety of my family did not fail to bring me to repentance. The Peres de la Foi made me forget the library in
Dauphiny. The first days of November I found myself again
at Belley. This was a- year of good and holy impressions.
My imagination, touched by the example of my mother, and




90          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
by the holy lives of the Fathers around me, took a complete
turn. I realized, for the first time, the delights of religion,
and might easily have been led on to positive fanaticism. If
I were to live a thousand years I should never forget those
days of conscientious study, those hours of fervent prayer,
and those nights spent very often altogether in meditation;
or the delight which I felt in the consciousness that I was
accomplishing all my duties as in the sight and in the very
presence of God. Yet I lost nothing of my usual gayety. On
the contrary, no one can tell with what delight, that winter, I
skated over the marshy flooded meadows, in the midst of ice
and snow, flying rather than skating, through the clear frosty
air; or how in the spring, seated in the shade of our favorite
avenue, I breathed the soft sweet air and lifted up my heart
to God in pious ejaculations, thanking Him for the peace of
mind and conscience He had given me; while no sound disturbed the stillness around me, save the music of the scythe
through the long thick grass, and the monotonous creaking
of the wheels which bore home its fragrant load of hay down
the hill-side. No, nothing will ever come up to these delights.
The angels alone can have similar joys and similar feelings.
I dreamt but of heaven and of God. I was good, and therefore intensely happy, except for an occasional longing for
my home and family.  I can imagine nothing more perfect.
This state of mind lasted for three years, with no other
interruption than a course of study which had become play
to me; excursions at the end of each scholastic year, which
were always triumphs; and holidays at Milly, Bienassis, or
Grand-Lemps, which were unmixed felicity although only, as
it were, an essay of life. But in spite of my enjoyment, the
love of liberty would sometimes overpower all other feelings.
I could not help dreaming now and then of a life of entire
independence.  The Government of Napoleon strengthened
these ideas; for every day there were rumors in the college
that the Fathers were to be expelled, and that a quarrel had
broken out on their account between the Emperor and Cardi



COLLEGE AT BELLE Y CLOSED.             19I
nal Fesch, the result of which would be that they would have
to give up their admirable college, and send us all home.
XVIII.
What had been rumored came to pass. I then saw how
governments are often deceived by their ministers.  Bonaparte expelled the Fathers as enemies, and yet they were his
best friends.
I left the college, as usual, loaded with academic honors,
with a mixture of regret and yet joy in my heart, and I composed some verses of " Adieu" on my departure which are
published in my works.
I3




192          MEMOIRS OF LAMAR71NE.
BOOK III.
1.
HARDLY had I returned to Milly than I felt what a difficulty
a young man of my age and class must be to my father and
mother. What was to be done with a youth too old to remain
idle, too distinguished in his studies not to be ambitious, and
too aristocratic to serve the new Government? The embarras
was great, and helped to strengthen my besetting sins of indolence and indecision. I should not have minded going into
the law courts, where many of my companions were learning
to become future counselors or judges; but the pride of my
family revolted against the law as a profession. To join the
army, which I should have preferred, would have involved me
in the service of the present dynasty, which my parents might
recognize, but whom they would not allow me to serve. To
be auditor of the Council of State (which was offered to me)
would result in my being forced to be a flatterer and a tool of
the Imperial rgime. Not one of these positions was possible
to one of my birth, society, or antecedents; so that there was
no alternative but to wait.
II.
Things remained in this state of indecision during the autumn and winter which followed my leaving college.
But, at the end of the following year, my father and mother
took us to pass the winter at Macon, in a large house which
they had just bought, and in which we installed ourselves.
There I first learnt to understand what was meant by a serious
passion. It was my first real love. Now, it appears to me to
have been only the shadow of it; but the impression it left




lN LO VE  WITH MLLE. P.               I93
on my mind was deep and lasting. The lady who awoke this
feeling in my heart died not long ago; therefore I can speak
of her without fear; and, indeed, there was nothing in the
smallest degree to throw a shade on her memory in the reciprocal affection of two children, for such we both were.
III.
There was, then, at that time in Macon, a young girl of fifteen or sixteen, of whom all the town spoke in raptures, not
only on account of her great beauty, but of her singular talents and modest grace. Her name was Mlle. P. On her
mother's side she was noble: on her father's of the middle
class; so that both held her in equal honor, and she was received with the most flattering distinction in both sets of society. She had one brother, a vulgar, commonplace man,
who seemed to have united in his own person all the defects
of the father; whilst his sister had reproduced all the beauty
and refinement of the mother, who, in fact, only cared for her.
The father never appeared in the drawing-room; he lived alone
in his own apartments. The son mixed with the lowest set
in the town. Everything was as aristocratic about the wife
as it was plebian about the husband. There were, in fact, two
houses under the same roof; and, in visiting the mother, you
were not cense' to know the father, although he was a man of
the strictest probity and honor. These contradictions rarely
occur but in small country towns.
IV.
Mlle. P. wore on her face the signs of this strange destiny.
She had the most delicate and beautiful figure which any sculptor ever idealized in a sylph. She danced as the dragon-flies
skim over the water, her feet scarcely touching the ground.
At every ball at which she was present, when the orchestra
struck up a waltz, a circle was sure to be formed round her;
the women to envy, the men to rave about her; but she nevei
seemed to be conscious of it. This wonderful grace was part
of her very nature. Her little oval head resting on her small




194          MEMOIKRS OF LAMAR TINE.
white ntek was beautifully formed. Her eyebrows were finely
marked, and her long eyelashes shading her soft downcast
eyes, made her look like a statue of Purity. Her half-shut
eyes, her little half-open mouth, her delicate features, and her
clear and transparent complexion, gave her face an expression
which it was impossible to forget.
It was thus that this beauty suddenly appeared to me, and
love first said to my heart "Here I amn."  I felt a longing desire to go out of the ball-room and breathe the cold fresh air
on the borders of the Saone. I did so, and came back when
the orchestra struck up a second waltz — then went out -
then came back again, till my friends burst out laughing at
my proceedings, and called out to me, as I was disappearing
a third time, "Stop! Mlle. P. is going to dance." She heard
them, and cast a grateful glance at me in passing, as much
as to say, " I saw you, and I shall think of you even when
waltzing with another."  Every time she passed me, she gave
me the same kind, fixed look. That is how our acquaintance
began.
When the ball was over, I staggered out like a drunken man.
I followed a whole troop of young men who escorted her to
her door. I saw that, after having wished them good-by, she
still sought some one else. I did not dare advance, or go
back. I stopped still.  The door, which opened on some
turning steps, as is often the case in Mafcon, was suddenly
thrown open, and threw her back down the first step. Her
mother uttered a cry of fear. I rushed forward and caught
her, as she was falling, in my arms. Directly after I wanted
to retire, but her mother called me back.  "Ah, sir! " she
said, "you must give us leave to express our thanks; come
in; and as our introduction has been so obliging a one on
your part, I must insist on making your acquaintance, and my
child will promise you the first dance at the next ball." I followed her into the drawing-room where she gave us tea, and
I asked permission to come the following day and inquire
after the young lady. Her mother granted it with great kindness, her daughter thanked me with a look. I went out of




A CALL UPON THE FAMILY.                195
the house mad with joy. For a long time I watched, from
the angle of the quay, the lights from her window, which
gradually went out; and I felt that that beautiful pure child
was dreaming in her little bed. Did she think of me? I wondered. I came home very late and alone; but I could not
sleep; my heart was too overflowing with happiness.
v.
The next day, when the salon of Madame P. opened to
receive her friends, I was one of the first arrivals. I found
Mlle. P. alone. She was evidently as much afraid of missing
my visit as I was of not finding her. Thus our two hearts
understood each other without a word; the same electric
spark of sympathy ran through us both. The mother came
in soon after, and received me as if I had been an old friend
of the family. She did not visit my mother, for they were
not in the same set of society. She knew her, however, by
sight, and had that affectionate respect for her character
which every one felt in the country. But the pride of my
uncles and aunts would not have permitted the mixture of
the old nobility with the new regime, or allowed them to be
invited to our house. We only met, therefore, at the balls
of the Prefecture, or at the fstes occasionally given in the
Town Hall, when there was, of course, a mixture of classes.
VI.
Madame P. was proud of her daughter. She had given her
the education of an artist. She had learnt every possible accomplishment, especially dancing; that silent art which suited
the dangerous times in which we lived, when an imprudent or
incautious word might have had serious consequences. In
those days a good dancer was as much esteemed as a clever
orator or writer is now. Mlle. P. was really a modern Terpsichore. Her tall and elegant figure, the perfect suppleness
and grace of her movements, the beauty of her arms, the
delicacy of her feet, the soft languor of her expression, captivated every one even before she moved; but, when she began




[96          MEMOIRS OF I IMAARTIhVE.
to dance, her lightness was such that she seemed hardly to
touch the ground.
Her mother never took her eyes off her child. You saw
that she was wrapt up in her, and that she was in fact the
pride of her life. She had heard people speak of me as having had a brilliant career at college, of which not only my
family but all Macon was proud. She was consequently flattered that I should have become the admirer of her daughter.
She treated me as somebody and something above the rest;
and flattered my self-love almost to the extent of compromising her charming child. In the very first conversation we had
together she took care to make me understand that there were
but two beings among the young people of Macon whom she
considered worthy of attention - her daughter and myself: the
one for her beauty and talents; the other for my birth, and for
the superiority I had shown to all my academical rivals. She
thus, as it were, set us apart, in a little world, to ourselves - a
position which we were nothing loth to accept. At our very
first meeting our eyes had said the same thing to each other,
and we did not want even her mother's help to fall in love!
Henceforth there was a sweet mystery between us; that is,
we adored each other, and despised every one else.  Her
mother was a sort of accomplice, as she had been, from the
first, our confidante. I very soon became the friend of both,
and the itabitie/ of the house. All the town seemed to me to
favor my suit. Every one was full of the passionate affection
which had broken out between the queen of the balls, Mlle. P.,
and the young student from Milly, who had so distinguished
himself at college, and had fallen in love at first sight. Men
smiled and women sympathized in our wooing. My family
only either did not or would not see what was going on; and
I took care not to enlighten them.
There was a lady in Mfacon, Madame L., who was noted for
her beauty, but of a rather doubtful reputation, and who had
married, late in life, an old Knight of St. Louis, who was a
near relation of my father's. She kept open house, receiving
every evening a large and somewhat mixed society, among




THE SILENCE OF LOVE.                 197
whom Madame P. and her daughter were always found.
When eight o'clock struck, Madame L. used to retire to her
own apartments; but the party went on, and Madame P. and
her daughter and a good number of young people stayed chatting till midnight, or else got up some music, with that easy,
happy familiarity which is the result of intimate acquaintance
on all sides. One heard bright jokes and merry laughter all
round; but the happiest were those who, like me, leaning over
the piano, listened breathlessly to the touching voice which
spoke words understood only by ourselves. Such were our
happy evenings; and, when we parted, it was sadly, perhaps,
but full of hope for the morrow. We did not use to say much
to each other, but our silence was understood, and without
words we knew at what hour we should pass by a certain
street the next day, at what precise time we should meet in
the green paths of St. Clement, and exchange a look —without stopping to speak, or awakening the suspicion of indifferent
people; sure of one another, and reckoning on making up for
our silence by a long talk in the evening. Until then it was
joy enough to have seen each other, if but for a moment.
When a ball drew near, the consultation as to the dress to be
worn, and the color of the bouquets to be chosen, was quite
sufficient to satisfy us. Each understood the other, and our
hearts needed no further symptoms of a love which knew no
bounds. Her mother did not attempt to interfere with us. I
saw, on the contrary, that she enjoyed it. As to the father,
he never appeared, either in his own house, or in any other
society. He was constantly at magistrates' meetings, or in
his own quarters; and only saw his child's dress as she
crossed the road to go to the ball, of which she was the
chief ornament.
Vii.
Thus passed this happy and mysterious winter, which appeared to me to last but a day.
However, spring came, and the first green of the meadows
gave a tender shade to the willow leaves by the river side.
Walks outside the town, in which we always contrived to meet,




i98          MEMOIRS OF LAMAR TINE.
had replaced the musical soirees at Madame de L's. A young
lady of Macon generally accompanied Mlle. P., and by her
amiable conversation enabled me to have many a tgte-ta-tte
talk with her whom I loved. We profited by these moments,
which friendship had so good-naturedly contrived for us;
ind it was very rarely that we met any one, or were interrupted.'T owever, once or twice we met a man standing at the corner
i the hedge close to the charming village of St. Clement, and!-e always bowed and looked at us with a certain amount of
curiosity. This gentleman, whom I only knew by name, was,
however, well-known in the town. He was an old friend of
the family of P., and lived, since the Revolution, on a pretty
little property in the village of St. Clement, where he was
looked upon as a speculative philosopher, given chiefly to agriculture and contemplation. I appeared to be a special object of his attention, which rather annoyed me and made me
anxious. I fancied that the rumor of my attentions to the
young lady had reached him, and that he perhaps wished to
judge by my appearance, if I were a man calculated to make
her happy. I did not dare own my fears, however, to her who
was the cause of them. But, before long, I did not iail to be
enlightened on the subject.
Some days after, Madame P. told me that M. F. C. had the
custom of giving a little fete chamnpfiere every spring to her
daughter and herself in his orchard at St. Clement; that his
wife helped him to do the honors with her beautiful flowers,
and her fresh eggs and cream, which were noted all over the
country; that he had written to propose the following Sunday
in the afternoon for their visit; that, having seen us together
several times, he had ventured to ask me to join them, and
had begged her to be the bearer of the invitation. I was delighted to have my share in this little family gathering, and
concluded, in consequence, that I was not displeasing to their
old friend and counselor. I saw that Mlle. P. was equally
pleased, and prepared myself joyfully for the Sunday's fete.
Madame de L. and Madame de X. were also invited; but I
was the only man admitted, which filled me with hope.




AI WELCOME TO TIIE HERMITA GE.             199
At last the Sunday came, and Madame P., her daughter,
her two friends, and I started separately for St. Clement, not
to attract the attention of the Macon gossips. We met in
the steep and narrow path which led to M. F. C.'s villa, about
half a league from the town, and in a few minutes found ourselves at the door. Mons. and Madame F. C. were waiting
for us on the threshold, and received us as if we were the only
guests they expected in the course of the year. Their first
kind words were for me. " Young man," said the philosopher,
"you are welcome to my hermitage; and, as you are the friend
of these ladies, you must look upon us likewise as your friends,
for we have none dearer at Macon.' Then, taking the arm
of Mlle. P., whilst his wife took the other ladies into the
house, he led her and me all over the gardens, kiosks, and
orchards of his pretty home, and made us eat the strawberries
and cherries which grew in his beds in such wonderful profusion. " What a delicious place! " we exclaimed, "and how
one would like to live here forever!"  "Yes," replied the old
man, smiling; "but to be perfectly happy there must be two,
must there not, for nature only seems to grant happiness to
man on that condition? "  Mlle. P. blushed and looked at me
as she hung down her head. I colored too. But our host
did not seem to perceive it, and went on gathering some beautiful large gooseberries, and throwing them into her lap, while
our talk became more and more intimate, till at last on suddenly turning a corner, we found ourselves opposite a thatched
summer-house, where the luncheon was already prepared.
We went in with him, and exclaimed at the beauty of the fruit,
the richness and thickness of the cream, the great cheeses of
St. Clement, the delicate cakes, so exquisitely light and varied,
and all made by his wife; and at the good wines, both white
and red, which were the produce of his own vineyard. " Let
us sit down, dear children," said the old man, "whilst we are
waiting for those ladies; let us have a little comfortable chat.
Now tell me young man, what do you like best in my country




200          MEMIOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
retreat? " he added, with a kind smile. " I can feel nothing
but the happiness of being here, sir," I replied. Mlle. P.
looked at me again and colored. "But," he continued, one
sees the sun this year everywhere. So you do the running
waters, and the shady nut avenues, and the flowers and the
fruits. Can you not find all these equally at Macon?"  I
smiled, and replied, " Yes, certainly, one can find these things
elsewhere."  "Well, then, it is not this which makes you so
happy that you feel that you cannot be more so! What is it,
then? Now to enable you to find out, I am going to leave you
for a few moments, and go and seek those ladies. You shall
tell me when I come back. And he went out with an air of
secret satisfaction, and left us together.
IX.
As for me, I was certainly a thousand times happier than I
had ever been in my life, but also a thousand times more timid
and embarrassed. My looks, my sighs, and my attentions had
often told her the state of my feelings; but I had never ventured on any actual avowal of my passion till this old man, as
it were, forced it upon me. Covering my face with my hands,
I remained silent.
" Let me go!" exclaimed the poor child, her shaking voice
betraying her emotion; and she got up to escape. These
words broke the spell, which seemed to enchain my speech.
"Oh, no!" I at last cried, throwing myself at her feet.
"You shall not go till my heart has spoken. Do not look at
me; but let me only say that what makes me so intensely
happy here is neither the sun, nor the trees, nor the flowers,
nor the waters; but simply that I am here with you, and that
I can at last tell you how I love you." A soft sigh was my
answer. "Let us go," she repeated; "though I have said
nothing, you will understand me." We went out after this
double avowal, both of us scarlet with emotion, and soon met
the old man, talking in a low voice with Madame P., who was
leaning on his arm. We turned away, but he had seen our
troubled faces, and understood all.




EVER K THING UNDERSTOOD.              201
x.
When we returned to the house, we found the rest of the
company. Madame F. C. made us see the inside of her
house, the library, the drawing-room, the court-yard, the
pigeon and chicken-houses, until our emotion was a little
calmed, and then they came to announce that the luncheon
was waiting in the summer-house. A silent joy filled both
our hearts, which were overflowing with tenderness and trust.
At last we felt sure of our mutual love. The old man seemed
as happy as we were. He talked to us all the time about the
happiness of his country life, alone with the only human being
he cared for, and who was his wife. Mlle. P. looked at me
from time to time with a soft smile. I felt I had nothing more
to wish for here below. I came back in the evening, walking
before Madame P. and her friends, and telling her daughter
all the thoughts of my heart - thoughts which I did not know
I possessed till then, and which she alone could have inspired.
Everything now was understood and clear between us, and we
had only to wait till circumstances should enable us to consummate the happiness the first germs of which had been
revealed to us in the summer-house.
XI.
A few moments later our hopes were rudely dashed to the
ground. I had gone home with them, and we were sitting
side by side on a sofa, whilst her mother was dressing in an
adjoining room, of which the door opened into the drawingroom. We spoke low; for who likes such confidences to be
overheard, however innocent? The mother, who thought our
silefice strange, suddenly and softly opened her door, and
whilst I (who had my back turned to the door) was whispering
my fond hopes into the ear of her daughter, I felt a heavy
hand laid upon my head; whilst, with the other arm, she violently pushed her child away from me. " Is this the reticence
which you had promised me, and in which I was such a fool
as to confide? Leave my house this instant. sir; and you,




202          MEAO1IRS OF L A MAR TINE.
mademoiselle, take care never to appear without me in a room
where this young man is present. You are both unworthy of
my trust! " I sprung up, humbled and indignant, at this unexpected outburst. Taking my hat, I prepared to leave; but
protesting against this unfair imputation on the purity of her
child. The poor girl herself burst into tears, and indignantly
repelled her mother's unworthy suspicions. Madame P. saw
she had spoken precipitately, and coloring, made some excuse.
After a time we made it up. We promised to hold our
tongues, and be only to each other as a very dear brother
and sister. Our love remained the same as ever -the dream
of two young pure hearts, who had nothing to reproach themselves with but love.
XII.
It was, however, impossible to stop the gossip of the town,
and the affair soon came to the ears of my family. My
mother spoke to me about it. I answered by asserting that I
never could love a more accomplished or charming girl. She
was wise, and agreed with me as to the superiority of Mlle.
P.; but she represented to me, tenderly yet firmly, that we
were both too young to think of settling in life, and that we
must wait many years before it would be prudent to think of
marriage. This answer calmed and quieted us, without extinguishing our mutual passion. Not to argue or positively
refuse, but to counsel hope and patience, is the wisest remedy
for the insane desire of extreme youth. I felt that I must
have some change of scene and thought. My family were of
the same opinion, and arranged it as if by chance.
The daughter of Madame de Roquemont (that cousin of
my mother's of whom I have before spoken) had just married
at Lyons. The honeymoon was to be spent in Italy. Certain business reasons served as a pretext for the young
couple to visit Milan and Leghorn, where their parents had
correspondents in certain commercial houses. It was settled
that I was to accompany them. Three months before they
had come to Macon to see my mother, and now they returned
to arrange about the time of our departure.




THE yOURNEY TO ITALY.                203
XIII.
This journey to Italy was an immense joy to me. I left my
love, it was true, but only for a few months, with the certainty
that she would remain true to me, and with her equally firm
persuasion that I should return with a heart as devoted to her
as ever. The trial was short; the happiness certain. So I
gave my whole mind to learning Italian, and devoted myself
especially to Tasso, Ariosto, Alfieri, and others. Towards the
end of that spring we parted. I had a perfect thirst for travelling. It seemed to me like the passion of the Infinite,
which had no limits. Each new country appeared as a new
world added to creation. My delighted curiosity seemed to
grow at every turn of the wheel.
At last we got to Leghorn, on the borders of that exquisite
Mediterranean - a visible infinity to infinite thought!
My travelling companions having the intention of spending
some months here, took a house; while I went to a hotel in
the next street, from whence I came every day to dine with the
family. I passed several months in this way, hard at work all
day at the Lingua Toscana; and all the evenings at the theatre or the opera; but I found time to write to my mother,
and that with all the pride of my newly acquired knowledge.
I may say that this time was my honeymoon of thought: my
enthusiasm had found a new element on which to feed. I
wrote also occasionally to Mlle. P.; but, at the risk of shocking my readers, I must own that my passion for her had a
good deal cooled, and at last froze, like a globe which is removed from the sun. I had a pleasing remembrance of her,
but that was all; my new passion for travelling had extinguished my rural flame of St. Clement. The remarkable
faces of the Italian women had not perhaps more beauty than
Mlle. P., but of a far more sensational kind. And then they
were Tuscans, and their beautiful tongue seemed to me to.iave the accent of heaven itself.




204          MEMOIRS 0F LAMAR TINE.
XIV.
The month of October drew near when we were to start
for Rome and Naples. But letters from Lyons changed the
plans of my companions. It was decided that they should
return home at once, without proceeding any farther on that
delightful tour which we had planned together! The blow
was terrible; but I soon determined that their plans should
not affect mine. I wrote to my father begging his permission
to continue my journey, saying that I was only a few steps
from Rome, that dream of my youth, and very few more from
Naples, the centre of all human delights; that it would be
too cruel to dash the cup from my lips, which I had only just
begun to taste: that I had enough money to spend the winter
at Rome; that, in the spring, I should obtain from M. Dareste
de la Chavanne (a relation of my mother's living in Italy) the
sum necessary to go on to Naples; and that, therefore, I was
going to take his permission for granted and start for Rome
where his answer would find me. It was a bold step on my
part; but, after all, not an unreasonable one.
Having written, I waited a few days for a reply; determined,
however, that, should it be in the negative, it would arrive too
late; and then started joyfully back to Florence, to make the
necessary arrangements for my solitary journey to Rome.
xv.
There were only two regular ways of travelling at that time
in Italy - by post or vett2urino; but the former was beyond
my means, and the latter was too hopelessly slow. Sometimes one had to wait five or six days before the driver had
made up his party; and then, going on always with the same
horses, which had to stop and bait continually on the road, you
were an age reaching your destination.
From time to time, however, you could get a place in the
mail-cart; and that I determined to try for. A man named
Tagglio Vino offered me a place in one of these conveyances;
we were to sleep for two or three hours in an osteria in the




DAVIDE AND HIS "SON."                205
mountains; but to reach Rome in four or five days. I agreed
to be ready the following evening at night-fall in one of the
faubourgs of Florence; and accordingly, at the given hour,
Taglia Vino and his carriage made their appearance.
I found four persons already settled inside, but my curiosity
as to my fellow-travellers had to wait till daylight, for they all
went to sleep soon after we started.
The first was a young man towards whom every one showed
great respect. Taglia Vino knew him and called him " M. Le
Duc," and was constantly on the watch to do him some little
service. This care seemed to me to be needful; for though
the weather was excessively cold, and we had to cross the
snowy mountains of Camaldoli, he wore the thinnest possible
coat, with short breeches, silk stockings, and thin shoes, as if
he had just come out of a ball-room. The very sight of him
froze me; but he did not seem to feel it, and continued his
journey with great gayety and good humor. The second was
a young man with a charming countenance, who appeared to
be the son of the actor Davide, an old and well known singer,
who was very famous at that time in Italy. You will very soon
see why I said afptea7-ed to be the son. This young man had
the long hair of a woman hanging over his shoulders;' his
features were soft and delicate, but his black eyes brilliant and
bold. I could not help lowering mine when he looked at me.
The third traveller was Davide himself, a cheery, fat, jolly
old man, a good and rather comical talker, and reminding one
of Lablache. Everything he said began with a joke and ended
by a hearty laugh. No one could help liking him.
We were very soon all four fast friends. The pretended son
of Davide seemed to be particularly attracted by me. He always followed me when we got out of the carriage to walk up
the hills, and explained the country to me which he knew
thoroughly. At Terni he pointed out the remains of the magnificent Roman bridge the arches of which unite the hills of
Clitumna to the Roman Campagna. When we first caught
sight of the Eternal City on her Seven Hills, the Duke, Davide, and his companion urged me to go and lodge with them




206          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
in the Via Condotti, at the inn where they generally stayed,
and which was the rendezvous of the greater portion of the
French, German, and Swiss travellers. I accepted their proposal with joy; it made me feel at once at home, and as if my
companions and myself had become one family; Taglia Vino
even was less of a driver than a friend.
At last, towards evening, we perceived, above the fogs of
the Tiber, something immense, which seemed to float in the
heavens and which reflected the last rays of the setting sun.
It was the dome of St. Peter's. The night was closing in
when we reached the Piazza del Popolo. The Via Condotti
was to be our destination; they gave me a very pretty room,
and the Duke went to the opera to see his illustrious parents;
Davide and his son were lodged in an adjoining apartment.
I could not sleep for thinking of Rome: it was, however, very
sad and very desolate just then. There was neither Pope nor
Cardinals; Bonaparte had made a clean sweep of them all.
The Pope was at Savona.
XVI.
The next morning on going down to breakfast, I found the
good Davide and his companion, the latter transformed into a
beautiful woman. Her name was Camilla; she was a singer
in Davide's theatre, whom he took about with him from kindness, so that she might be under his care and protection.
"One's clothes do not change one's heart," said Camilla to
me, smiling at my astonishment. " Only you will no longer
sleep on my shoulder, and, instead of receiving flowers from
me, you must get me some."  Davide and his pupil spent several weeks at Rome. Camilla knew the town by heart, and
used to take me at the best hours for seeing this beautiful
city - the morning under the dome of the stone pines in the
Pincio; the evening under the shade of the grand colonnade
of St. Peter's; by moonlight in the solemn inclosure of the
Coliseum; and in the glorious autumn days to Albano, Frascati, or the Temple of the Sybil, echoing with the foaming
cascades of Tivoli. Camilla was bright and gay, like a figure




AN ITALIAN PAROI,'z'SSOR.            207
of eternal youth amidst these vestioes of bygone times; she
danced on the tomb of Cecilia Metella; and while I was sitting dreaming on a funeral mole, her beautiful but somewhat
theatrical voice echoed through the Palace of Diocletian.
In the evening we returnedI to the city, our carriage full of
flowers and fragments of nmarble, and rejoined her old companion Davide, whose affairs kept him  at Rome, and who
took us to finish our day in his opera box. The fair singer,
who was a good deal older than I was, had no other feeling
for me than a kind of brotherly liking. I was much too shy
to show any other; but, besides, I did not feel any more affection than herself in spite of her beauty and my youth. Her
man's dress, her easy familiarity, the male sound of her contralto voice, and the freedom  of her manners, gave the impression of her being simply a handsome young man, whom
I could treat as a companion and a friend. When Davide left
the hotel in the Via Condotti, I went to seek a lodging for the
winter elsewhere.
xvII.
I had taken an Italian professor, who had been introduced
to me by a German of great distinction, the brother of M. de
Humboldt and an eminent diplomatist, who dined at the same
table d',ote as myself in the Via Condotti. This old professor
was called Giunto Tardi. He was a very handsome man, and
had married a Russian widow lady. He had been named consul at Rome during the short-lived reign of the Republic,
which the French soldiers had quickly crushed.  Giunto
Tardi had gone quietly back to his position as a Roman citizen; but his moderation and justice, during his short tenure
of office, had given him a high place in the esteem and consideration of his countrymen. He lived as a poor man, but
much respected in the town which he had governed, and maintained himself by teaching rich strangers his native language.
I took him not only to teach me Italian, but as a master of
literature, and we became -great friends. I shall have occasion
later to mention his brother, who bore the same name, but who
14




208           MEMOIRS 0 F LAMARTINE.
was a distinguished painter. I was his guest for a few days,
and he set me the example of every Christian virtue.
XVIII.
M. de Humboldt, the Prussian diplomat, was a man whom
I thought far superior to his brother, the author of " A Journey
to South America," and " Cosmos," whom I also knew but
esteemed less, in spite of his great name and reputation. A
clever man he was; but without much real merit; it would be
difficult to cite anything remarkable in his works, except his
adulation of French philosophers and heroes of various shades
of opinion, as he had discovered that theirs was the only real
European glory. People speak of him as " the friend of Arago,"
" of Chateaubriand," "of Napoleon," " of Louis XVIII.," etc.,
&c.; he always, in fact, worshipped the rising sun, and managed to get a reflection from its rays. This reflection (accumulated during thirty years) made him appear to many as a bright
light, while he was in reality only a flashing fire-work.
When one considers his extraordinary reputation and the
mediocrity of his talents, one is bound to acknowledge that
he was a master of savoir faire. His brother, on the contrary, was a frank, modest, and clever statesman. He flattered none, but won the good-will and esteem of every one.
This is the feeling with which he inspired me at eighteen, and
I have seen no reason to change my opinion since. The other
obtained his reputation by a cheat, which is worse than not
having deserved it.
XIX.
When Davide, Camilla, and M. de Humboldt were gone, I
stayed alone in Rome with no other companions than the
monuments and ruins, which Camilla had made familiar to me,
and my Italian master. I asked the latter if he would allow
me to make acquaintance with his brother, to which he consented. I went daill to see him. His studio was an isolated
convent in an obscure corner of Rome. He sold me a charming picture of the Cascades of Tivoli for a few Roman scudi.




BIANCA BONL.                    c09
It is a model of beauty and patient skill. I still have it at
St. Point, and look at it whenever I wish to remember those
happy, peaceful days.
Another artist, a lady named Bianca Boni, did a beautiful
copy of Guido for me which I have never parted with. It is
a Virgin, but with an exquisite expression. The features are
angelic, and the forehead, mouth, and neck are positively radiant with light. Her eyes are looking upwards, as if they could
not think of sublunary matters. A large blue veil falls over
her head, hides her hair, and falls on her shoulders. Everything in this composition is ideal, chaste, and pure; it is better
than a woman, and more than an angel; it is the Virgin before
the Annunciation.
I had my picture taken by Bianca for my mother; and as
she was young, gentle, and very attractive, I was fool enough
to fall in love with her, and let her see it. She was furious,
destroyed the likeness she had taken of me, and sent me back
the money she had received for the portrait. I wrote a humble
note of excuse and apology, and left the sum again at her door,
telling her that I had been justly punished in being deprived
of the work of her hands; but that it was not just that she
should lose the price of her time which was so precious to
her; and so implored her to receive back the money. But
she was inexorable, and made me feel that these great Italian
artists are likewise women of high and unimpeachable virtue.
I distributed the money she would not accept among the poor.
Such was the result of my first adventure in Rome. Bianca
Boni inspired me ever after with a respect which was worth a
good deal more than my stupid affection.
The old painter, brother of Giunto Tardi, was another
object of my esteem; I might almost say, of my veneration.
He rarely left his studio but to go to mass with his wife and
daughter, a young girl of sixteen, as virtuous and good as
himself. Their house was a species of monastery, where
work was only interrupted by a frugal repast and by prayer.




210          MEMOIRS OF LAMAR7TINE.
BOOK IV.
I.
ONE day, at the table d'ho'te of the Via Condotti, I became
acquainted with a young Lyons merchant, who, after a time,
proposed that we should go together to Naples. This young
man was gentle, good, and well educated. I accepted his proposal, and had no occasion to repent it. He was a very agreeable companion, and we started in his own carriage.
We slept at Terracina, the brigands having made night
travelling too perilous. We went on the next day, and suddenly heard a succession of shots fired in an olive wood on
our left. Soon we came upon a carriage half burnt lying in the
middle of the road, which was that of the courier from Rome
to Naples. The bodies of two travellers were lying dead
on the roadside, and a wounded horse lay in the middle.
Some soldiers were guarding them, while others were pursuing the assassins, and firing on them as they fled from rock
to rock of the mountains above us.  We were very much
shocked, and continued our journey not a little saddened by
the scene we had just witnessed.
II.
We arrived at Naples as the night fell; the noise and bustle
of the streets and public thoroughfares positively deafened
us; while the sea was lit up by the reflection of the countless
li-ghts which burned in the shop windows, or in the niches of
the Madonna. We drove through the street of the " Florentines," which crosses that of "Toledo," and stoppefl at an
hotel well known to my Lyons friend. After the silence and




.NAPL ES THE GARDEN OF EDEN.              21 I
stillness of Rome we seemed to have passed into a new woi Id.
The next morning I was woke by some monks who sang verses
in our honor, and brought us magnificent fruits from Castelamare, and other presents from the convent, for which, however, we had to pay handsomely. Then I got into a little
carriage and went all over this enchanting town. I was quite
delighted. No city had ever produced such a magical effect
upon me; Rome was a monastery, Naples the Garden of
Eden.
Nature and man seemed to have combined to produce this
most perfect spot. From the moment of my arrival I was
scarcely myself; I was boiling all over with emotion, and
could not stay still in one place. I rushed off to the postoffice; they spread out a quantity of letters on a board before
me. I found one addressed to myself, which was given to me
readily enough when I had lpaid the postage. It was from my
old friend M. de Virieu, to whom I had written from Rome.
He replied that he was just starting from Grand Lemps with
his mother's consent, and with a letter of credit on Rome and
Naples, and that he should join me almost as soon as I had
received his letter.
In fact he arrived a very few days after. He met me at the
hotel Fiorentino, where I had prepared a room for him, and
where we became intimate with a young Calabrian gentleman,
who initiated us into the mysteries of gambling. This was
the first time that that wonderful temptation had assailed us.
At that period in Naples the great game was the trenta e
qizaranta, played in a public room at the end of the Via di
Toledo. This young Calabrian was married, but as inexperienced as ourselves. We used to spend hours in losing or
spending a few car/lii.
III.
I had all this time a kind of compunction about.certain
letters of introduction which my mother had given me to
M. de la Chavanne, director of the tobacco manufactory at
Naples, and which I had hitherto neglected to deliver. Lib



2 r 2         MIEMOIRS OF LAMAR.i INE.
erty without control seemed to me infinitely pleasalter. At
last, however, I felt I could no longer delay my visit. I inquired for his house and was directed to a magnificent establishment dedicated to St. Pietro Martyro, in the most noisy
quarter of the town. It was just midday; I climbed up a
magnificent staircase of one hundred and twenty steps till I
got to the fifth or sixth story. Below was a large garden surrounded with arcades. These arcades and the lower story of
the house were filled with vats, workshops, and other things
belonging to the state manufactory. I took in every detail of
this picture, which remained indelibly impressed upon my
mind, as it led to one of the great events of my life, and in
fact was to bring about a decisive change in my existence.
Arriving out of breath at the top story, I rung at a great
door which gave entrance to a large and long cloister, out of
which opened different doors to the right and left. At the end
of this gallery were three large windows called fin'estrati,
which threw a brilliant light on the cloister itself. A number of young girls crossed and recrossed this place every
moment, carrying I knew not what in their aprons. I found
afterwards that these children were employed in choosing the
finest tobacco leaves for the manufacture of cigarettes. I was
far from imagining that one of these very girls would soon
become Graziella, change her occupation, and influence for.
ever my future life. I did not dare own the truth when in I847
I wrote the novel of " Graziella," which had such a success
because every one recognized that it was true to nature. I
had from vanity altered the first few pages, but all the rest
was exact. Now I am going to make a full confession of the
whole facts, and give you the true history of " Graziella."
IV.
At the end of the cloister to the right, I perceived an open
door and a good many servants, going backwards and forwards, carrying plates and dishes, while inside the room I
heard the clatter of knives and forks. I saw I had inopportunely chosen the time of M. le. Directeur's breakfast; but it




" THE  VER Y IMAGE OF HIS iIO TIER."   2 I3
was too late to go back; I had already sent in my cardl and
was announced.
No sooner had he heard my name, than M. de la Chavanne
rose and received me with open arms, exclaiming, " He is the
very image of his mother!" He embraced me with the
greatest warmth and tenderness, and made me sit down on a
sofa under the window which lighted the breakfast-room. I
found out that this house had been a monastery, and that we
were in the room of the old superior of St. Pietro Martyro.
Two other persons were breakfasting with M. de la Chavanne:
one from twenty to twenty-five years old, named Antoniellaa pleasing person but with nothing very striking about her;
she was evidently on intimate and confidential terms with the
director, and had, as I afterwards found, the superintendence
of the young girls employed in the cigar manufactory; the
other was a most charming girl, but of her I shall speak later.
Our conversation, in which neither young lady took a part,
turned entirely on my mother and her family. M. de la Chavanne declared that he would never allow me to remain in a
hotel at Naples, and that he would give me a charming little
room in his house looking on the sea. He got up to show it
to me, and I found a most comfortable room with a camp bed
and a winding staircase leading up to the flat roof of this immense convent, from whence there was a glorious view of the
sea, with Capri, Sorrento, and Vesuvius. A trellised wall
sheltered a portion of this beautiful terrace from the wind; so
that you were at the same time warmed with the genial Italian
sun and your head shaded from its rays. I came down quite
delighted with my little apartment, promising myself the
pleasure of occupying it as soon as possible.
M. de la Chavanne, of whom my mother had often spoken
to me, was a man of between forty and fifty years of age, and
of remarkable goodness; his frank, cheery face and cordial
manner made one love him at first sight. He was tall and
large; his honest blue eyes looked you strdight in the face,
and his mouth alone would have told you his character; it
was the very type of benevolence and sweetness  It was




2 [4         MEMOIRS OF LAMIAR TINE.
really impossible not to love him. He had served valiantly
with his countrymen against the army of the Convention at
the siege of Lyons. This seige had ruined him, and he had
sought refuge in Italy.  Here Murat, king of Naples, had
given him the directorship of the state tobacco manufactory,
a lucrative and honorable post. He established himself at
Naples, and became rich and happy. He had left his wife
and several sons in France, whom she had brought up admirably. From time to time she came to see him; he loved
her devotedly, and was equally loved by her; the necessity of
being so often separated from her was the only thing which
ever embittered his life. He lived at Naples as an exile; but
as one who endeavored to forget it by active work for those
dear to him. He was adored by all the French in Naples and
by the Neapolitans themselves, who knew him by the continual
kind services which his position enabled him to render them.
He was always kind and generous, fond of young people, and
ever ready to contribute to their amusements. Such was the
man into whose home I had thus been admitted, and I could
have found no one so worthy.of my esteem and affection. In
taking leave of him, I felt the attraction which he universally
inspired, and promised to return in a few days and take advantage of his generous hospitality. I had not then scarcely
realized the secret and invincible charm which strengthened
my resolution; i. e. the thought of seeing once more the fascinating face I had had a glimpse of at his table.
On returning to Virieu, to whom I had to break my approaching separation from him, in obedience to my mother's
wishes, I went to the post and there found a letter directed to
me in an unknown writing from Macon, which I opened with
a trembling hand. It was from the old man of St. Clement,
the friend of Madame P., and ran as follows: 
"SIR,- Your age and position made me believe that your
affection for Mlle. Henriette P. (of which, as an old friend of
her family, I had heartily approved), would result in a union




OFF WITH  THE 0OL D LOE 0.           215
which would secure your joint happiness; your departure and
prolonged absence have given rise to certain doubts and scruples
in my mind. Mlle. Henriette is very young, and so are you;
you are not yet your own master, and you cannot answer for
the wishes of your parents. I am, therefore, charged to tell
you, in her mother's name, that proposals of marriage have
been made to her by another person, whose character and fortune promise her that which, I fear, it would not be in your
power to give her for many years. Be so good, then, as tc
examine your own heart and conscience, and to let me know
whether you still have the same feelings for this young lady
as when you left Macon; and if her family may expect from
you as favorable settlements as those which are now offered
her elsewhere. We wait for your answer, and remain," etc.
VI.
This letter, which was evidently written with the concurrence of Madame P., if not of her daughter, troubled me very
much. I took some days to think about it. I certainly was
anything but free to choose; I had nothing, or next to nothing,
of my own. I could only love her; but I could not, without
great imprudence, answer for the consent of my family to a
union, which I was not quite sure now of even wishing For
myself. So I wrote a frank and prudent letter, explaining
my position, and virtually leaving the decision in the hands of
Mlle. P. herself.
I learnt soon after that she was about to marry her other
suitor. I regretted her; but I felt that her parents were right
not to sacrifice the future of their child to an illusion of seventeen. Thus ended my first love dream, which was only a short
but delicious bit of imaginary happiness.
I did not see her again for thirty years, when we met, with
some regret perhaps, but with no bitterness. There are passages of this sort in most men's lives, which seem to be but
dreams of our first youth. Mlle. P. was one of those fancies.
She was very happy in her married life, and was united to one
who was far more worthy of her than myself.  I was still a




216    M.EMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
zhild, and scarcely knew my own mind. But I wished to be
sincere and loyal.
VII.
After having passed a day or two longer with Virieu in our
hotel, I went to live with M. de la Chavanne. It was only a
few doors off. I used to part with Virieu at night, sure to
meet him early the next day; so that he became reconciled
to our short separation. M. de la Chavanne was not at home
when I arrived at his house. I was received by his old Neapolitan cook, and by that charming child, Graziella.  She
opened the door of the little room assigned to me, undid my
portmanteau, and placed my things i-n the drawers, even kneeling down to take the creases out of my clothes. Every movement of hers was full of grace; only she seemed to me more
slhy and pale than the day I had seen her at breakfast. I
scarcely dared raise my eyes to look at her, and felt distressed
at her waiting upon me in this manner; but we scarcely exchanged two words. I felt as if she were one of my sisters,
who had come as usual to do little things for me on my return
from a long journey. The simplicity of her manner and dress
added to my illusion.
VIII.
After settling me in my room, we went back to the drawingroom, where she took up her work, and we began to talk a
little. Antoniella came in from the large workroom, where
she had been superintending " her children," as she called
them, in the cigarette factory. Then came in the master, and
the breakfast. We sat down to it as before. " Now I must
introduce you properly to one another," exclaimed M. de la
Chavanne gayly. "This one is Antoniella. She is a good
child, and very useful to me in the factory. She chooses, admits, or sends away the novices of my convent, who number
some hundreds, and who are employed not exactly in saying
their prayers, but in making cigars and cigarettes. She knows
all the poor people and lazzaroni of the place, and finds out




ANTONIELLA. - GRAZZELLA.               217
which of them have too many children to support, and wish to
get work in my establishment. She manages all this quite admirably, and lives with me, as you see, like my daughter, to
receive and transmit my orders. Everybody is pleased and
satisfied with her - employers and employed. My little workwomen are like her own sisters or children. She watches
over them like a mother, and reports to their families if there
be any cause of complaint in the workrooms; and so she
helps me to keep perfect order and peace in the establishment. They call her in Naples'la inadre delle cizgarette.'"
At these words, Antoniella burst out laughing, and M. de la
Chavanne, glancing at her with his kind, paternal face, smiled
also. " Now," he continued, "as for this little girl " (pointing
to Graziella, who colored up to the eyes), " who is still a child,
Antoniella is teaching her French, that she may be some day
my interpreter between the administration and the directors.
who are our countrymen. She is called Graziella, and is the
daughter of a poor fisherman in the island of Procida, who
has a whole tribe of children. She only receives the pay of a
cigar workwoman, but she transmits it regularly, at the end of
the month, to her mother, La Procitana.  She does not, however, work with the rest but lives with us, so as to be under
the immediate care of Antoniella, who is her friend and protectress. She superintends the house under her directions,
and transmits my orders to the servants, who are Neapolitans,
and whose patois she alone understands. She is still a child,
as you see; but a good child, and beloved by everybody. I
treat her more as a father than as a master. She orders everything here, and is our aide-de-camp, or rather, our mouthpiece.
Ask for whatever you wish. She is at your orders; only do
not look at her dress, which is that of the children of Procitana, of the peasantry of an island from whence Naples obtains her most beautiful and her most useful servants. Their
costume is, in fact, a mark of servitude in Naples, but of
nobility in their own island. Go and dress yourself as a
Procitana, " he added, turning to Graziella; "Antoniella will
help you."




21 8          I~MEMOIRS OF LAMARZ NEX.
The shy and beautiful child went out with Antoniella, and
returned in a few moments entirely transformed. It was like
a scene in a play. On her feet she had little yellow slippers
without heels, of which the leather was finely embroidered in
red and silver; her blue stockings seemed not to be knitted, but
wove in some kind of bright stuff. A woolen petticoat, with
a multitude of fine plaited folds, and of a dark yet bright
brown shade, fell to her feet; a boddice of green velvet cut
square, and made into a point before and behind, revealed
her neck and bosom, but both of which were modestly covered by a chemisette of fine lace and embroidery, closely
buttoned down the front. The sleeves and waistband were
trimmed with rich braiding and embroidery, and are alike
for rich and poor. The head-dress, except on a journey,
consisted of nothing but a profusion of raven black hair,
rolled in a thick cable round the head, like a living turban.
Her throat and ears were ornamented with a beautiful necklace and ear-rings of ancient Greek workmanship, and of very
fine gold, the pendants of which clicked like the little bells of
a horse in a circus. The blushing face of the child revealed
a mixture of shame and bashfulness, partly with the consciousness of her own beauty, and partly with the sense of our appreciation of it. We looked at her with mute admiration;
and had she been less of a child, I should not have dared to
lift my eyes. In a few seconds she disappeared, and ran off
to put on her every-day dress. But the effect had been produced and the blow struck. I could not forget it, and henceforth never saw her in her ordinary costume without recalling
the Procitana, and looking upon her merely as a shadow of
her real self. The dress she generally wore was only a common, coarse, brown stuff, fastened close round her throat,
without any ornament whatever, and a simple blue handkerchief tied round her neck. Her beautiful little feet were
disguised in untidy, heavy, black shoes, generally down at the
heel.  Such was the chrysalis - but what about the butterfly?




LESSONS ZN  GAMBLING.                219
IX.
Virieu came to see me in the course of the day. His father,
ts I before said, had commanded the cavalry at the siege of
Lyons. M. de la Chavanne had followed him  in his last
charge, and had been all but a witness of his death. They
talked a long time of this fatal day. Virieu dined with us, and
was as much struck as myself with the marvelous Greciaa;
beauty of.a Procitana.  That evening Virieu and I went out
together, and I accompanied him to his hotel. In passing the
Via di Toledo we went in, from curiosity, to the Palazzo
Fiorentino, opposite the theatre. This was the public gambling house, permitted but superintended by the police. Im
mense tables, surrounded with silent players, filled the rooms,
great heaps of gold and silver were piled on the green table
by the side of each player. We were soon drawn in to join
the game, risked some scudi and lost. That evening, and the
next, and the day after, we did the same. We could not
understand why the luck was always against us. Whilst we
were grumbling about it in the recess of one of the windows,
an old Neapolitan came up to us, and told us, that as long as
we played in that way, without sense or plan, we must lose;
that this game was not one of chance, but of skill and
science; that we were not to expect large gains but moderate
profits; that he himself had once been a victim like ourselves; but that he now lived on what had formerly been his
ruin. We listened to him with astonishment. He saw it, and
lowering his voice, proposed to give us lessons at hazard, having been himself a croufpier of a gambling table, and having
masses of cards with which he could prove his theory to our
satisfaction.  With the ignorant and self-confident folly of
youth, we accepted his invitation, and made an appointment
with him the following evening in Virieu's rooms. The old
man was punctual, and having thrown on the table a mass of
cards, that is, ten or twelve packs, the game began.'Play as you will, gentlemen," he said quietly, " and I will
bet you anything you like that, by the end of the evening, I




220          LMEIMOIRS OF LAMIAR TIAh7'.
shall have gained and you will have lost." He threw down
the cards, we played and lost, his gains were very small, but
he always won.
We tried twenty times and always with the same result.
We were confounded. " Why then are you not yourself
rich? " I asked him at last. " Because riches are not the
result of even successful gambling, but of honest labor," he
replied. " I never promised that I should show you how to
get millions, but small sums. Will you try again? " " Yes,'
we answered. "Well, I am now going to show you my system, and explain on what it is based. Now listen to me.
What is trenta e quaranta? A game in which the player.
playing against the bank, gains every time that the color black
or red, on which he has betted, approaches nearest to the
number forty, without going beyond it, for, if it goes beyond,
the player is dead. He must, therefore, calculate, as nearly
as he can, which is the color, whether black or red, which
offers the best chance of arriving at the winning number, and
conform his play to that. Understand, once for all, there is in
reality no luck in it, only skill and memory."
x.
The old croupier, without giving us more of his practice and
experience, played for another hour, and following out the
calculations he had suggested to us, went on winning, while
we, trusting to luck, always lost.
He promised to return at the same hour on the following
day. I was anxious to find out if it would always come to the
same in the long run; and if he could always reckon on small
but certain sums. The next day, and for twenty days running,
we were confirmed in this belief; he steadily won so many
scudi a night, and we lost as many Napoleons. It was becoming serious, and I asked myself:' But what is the cause.
for, after all, chance is but an effect of which we do not see
the reason; let us go on and try to find it out."
All the winter the croupier came, and we devoted our evenings to him, either at Virieu's hotel or at M. de la Cha



7WENTA E QUARANTA.                 22I
vanne's. One saw nothing but cards. One heard nothing but
frenta e quaranta. M. de la Chavanne's French friends came
and chatted round the braziers, in which the olive wood chips
burnt without smoke or flame. Antoniella and Graziella
worked on the sofa in the corner of the room. From time
to time Graziella would look up at me and try to smile; but
then her face would suddenly become grave, as if she said,
"What a pity that so sensible a young man should have a
taste for gambling."
But the croupier cut his cards perseveringly, and we could
discover nothing except the fact that he regularly pocketed
our carlin.z
XI.
In this way our Naples winter passed until the beautiful
early spring lit up the waves and mountains of Castelamare.
Vesuvius began to grumble and launch out angry puffs of
smoke and flame, from time to time. Virieu was ill, and did
not leave his room. I had met on the staircase of his hotel
one day, M. Humboldt, the diplomatist, whom we had left at
Rome. He received me like a son, and proposed to carry me
off with him on a tour he was about to make in Calabria, after
he had studied the volcano of which the threatened eruption
had become more serious. I accepted his offer with joy; and
yet I was sad at leaving Graziella when I thought of her. But
as yet we had come to no explanation.




222          MEMOIRS OF LAM ARTL,E.
BOOK V.
M. DE HUMBOLDT came to fetch me at M. de Chavanne's.
At the moment of getting into his carriage he asked me:
"Who was that beautiful child? " and I, looking up at Graziella, saw that her eyes were full of tears. Why did she cry;
and why did she follow the carriage with her eyes till we were
out of sight?
The horses rapidly took us on the road to Pompeii and
Torre dell' Annunziata, a pretty village which you come to
before arriving at Castelamare, and which is built at the foot
of the mountain. We put up at a little inn still nearer to Vesuvius, and sent for guides and mules to conduct us to the hermit whose cell was built on the highest habitable cone. After
two or three hours of fatiguing march, either upon cooling and
slippery lava, or on hot ashes, of which the smoke nearly
blinded one, we stopped on one of the lower spurs of the
mountain. On turning round we felt as if we were floating
in the sky: the sea, the islands, the capes, and Naples, all
seemed to spring out of the earth at our feet. We could not
resist an exclamation of pleasure. At last we reached the
hermitage; the hermit had ceased to sleep there at night,
fearing to be surprised in sleep by a sudden outburst of the
volcano. We sat down on the bench at his door, gazing al
the wonderful scene beneath us, which the ether seemed tc,
have evoked from the void below. At last the hermit himself arrived on his donkey, which carried besides a quantity
of flasks of Lacryma Christi; the hermit having catered for




DESCENT OF THE CRATER OF VESUVIUS. 223
his guest as well as himself, and making us pay largely for the
luxury. He was, however, a thoroughly good fellow, not belonging to any regular religious order, but one of those ambulatory friars who attach themselves to certain localities from
whence they draw their means of subsistence. I should say
that this monk was of the " Order of Vesuvius," and nothing
else. He changed his cell according as the eruption changed
its course. The rest of the time he entertained travellers;
his cell was a picturesque and sacred house of refreshment.
M. de Humboldt and I sat down on each side of his little
table, and talked to him about the mountain and the general
prelude to the eruptions. I resolved next day to study it
nearer by descending the crater. It was of no sort of use my
doing so, for I was neither a savant, nor a naturalist. I did
not even know the names of the scientific specimens which I
proposed to bring back with me; but I was just at the age
when one wishes to be thought rather foolhardy, let it cost
what it might; somewhat of the race of Empedocles, who left
his sandals on the borders of Etna. I induced two of our
guides to return to Torre dell' Annunziata to fetch the cords
necessary for the perilous descent of the crater.  M. de
Humboldt laughed at my preparations, and endeavored to dissuade me from so rash an act without any possible object.
But I was only the more strengthened in my pride and folly,
and woke the next morning as determined as ever to carry out
my plan.
II.
Vesuvius had been silent through the night. The sunrise
was magnificent; one saw nothing but a puff of yellow smoke
belching forth at intervals from the pointed cone above our
heads.
We started early, following our guides, who had brought the
cords, which I had ordered during the night. It was no
longer walking but scrambling. Several times we heard the
stones and ashes falling round us, causing a sulphurous smoke
which blinded us for a few moments until dispersed by the
soft morning air. It would seem as if the spirits of this infer.'5




224          MIEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
nal region disputed every step with the human beings who
ventured into their precincts. We often had to throw ourselves flat on the earth to avoid the rebound of the stones and
pieces of rock as they fell; and only when the eruption ceased
for a few moments, could we continue our route.
At last, we arrived at the mouth of the crater and sat down
on the edge, measuring with our eyes, as far as we could, the
frightful gulf, half in shade and half in lurid light, which
yawned beneath our feet. It was the shape of an enoimous
funnel of which the base and the sides were colored, to
windward, by the various streams of lava which recent eruptions had deposited on their course. On one side appeared a
kind of crystallized salt, white as newly fallen snow; on
another: fragments of sulphur as yellow as gold in the crucible. Farther on, the sides of the crater had taken the form of
pointed, jagged, and still smoking rocks, with here and there
bright stalactites which seemed to have frozen as they fell.
One portion of this vast basin seemed filled with a brownish
substance of which I did not know the name. But, towards
the middle of the crater, masses of smoke belched forth, from
the midst of which poured out at intervals rivers of flame lighting up the depths of this abyss of wonder and of terror, which
might well have served for a picture of the infernal regions.
My guides sat down with their cords and said, " What is the
use of tempting Providence? How much more will you see if
you do attempt the descent? " "I should actually have touched
it," I replied. And rising from the hot sand on which I was
sitting, I passed my arms through the knots of the cords, and
prepared slowly to descend into the crater. Not one of the
guides would consent to follow me; but they all hung on to
the mouth of the basin, striving to direct my perilous course,
and to induce me to return. I reached the flat brown surface
I have before described in a few minutes; but the heat increasing in intensity as I neared the burning furnace in the
centre, my shoes were at once almost burnt off, and scarcely
any sole remained to preserve my feet. I strove to stand on
such portions of the sulphur as had cooled a little, and spring



A PERILOUS EXPLOIT.                 225
ing across one of the rushing torrents of liquid fire, tried to
rest for a moment on a less burning crust. I felt I was lost if
the wind, changing for an instant, had driven back upon me
the sulphurous flame and smoke, which fortunately it drove, at
present, on the opposite side of the crater. My guides called
louder to me than ever to retrace my steps while there was
yet time. I hastily knotted together in my handkerchief some
specimens of the burning metals around me, and at last gave
the signal to be drawn up again from this very hell upon earth.
My ascent was accomplished in perfect safety, only my clothes
and shoes were burnt to rags. They hailed my return to terra
firma with cries of joy, while M. Humboldt hastened to explain
to me the names and characters of the specimens which I had
brought up from the abyss. We went back to the hermit's
cell, who could not recover his astonishment at my foolhardiness; and a good breakfast, with the help of the Lacryma
Christi, made every one forget my folly.
That evening I would have given all the world to have had
no part in this ridiculous adventure. If I had undertaken it as
a man of science, to wrest some hitherto unknown secret from
nature, it might have been sublime; but undertaken by an
ignoramus like myself, the attempt was simply ridiculous. My
vanity met with its due punishment; I had been egregiously
vain —that was all; but I reaped what I deserved — that
most bitter feeling of a thorough contempt of one's self.
III.
After our breakfast at the Hermit's we returned to Torre
dell' Annunziata. The noise in the mountain seemed to increase in proportion as we went farther from it: the earth
shook under our mules' feet. All the village had turned out.
Every one, in mute despair, lifted their eyes and arms to
heaven, and rushed from their houses to see which side of the
cone of the crater would open out first and overwhelm with its
burning stream of lava, the crops and the vineyards on which
their whole existence depended. Every saint in the calendar
was invoked in vain by these poor people. All of a sudden, at




226           MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
nightfall, a mighty cry burst forth —the problem had been
solved. A great breach had been made in the cone to the
south, and the streams of liquid fire were pouring down the
sides of the mountain with resistless speed. What direction
would the eruption take during the night? That was the
anxious question. We got back to our little inn and supped,
passing the greater part of the night at our windows watching
the progress of this terrible devastation.
IV.
As soon as it was light, we ran, like every one else, out of
the house to the base of the mountain. The heavy torrent of
lava had made fearful progress during the night, and had already reached not only the vineyards, but the gardens and
houses in the upper part of the village of L'Annunziata. Some
of these cottages, perched on a little rising ground to the left,
were already entirely encircled by the fire. The poor inhabitants were flying from their homes, with cries and tears, carrying with them whatever they could most easily save from the
flames. It was a heart-breaking sight. Men were dragging
great sacks of wheat, or bundles of Indian corn; women, their
cradles full of children, on their shoulders. The animals followed, driven by the boys, and trembling with fear; the very
cocks and hens, with half-burnt wings, were fluttering and
striving to hide themselves amidst the vines. It was exactly
such a scene as Pliny describes at the overthrow of Pompeii.
As the lava slowly but surely encircled its prey, you saw the
green vine leaves shrivel up, crackle and groan, almost like
living human beings; and then the branches, despoiled of
their now yellow leaves, in their turn becoming crisp, taking
fire, and spreading the destructive element along the ground,
which had become as a furnace. These agonies of nature
were slowly repeated, till each vine had fallen a victim to the
destroying element. For me the sight had a sort of fascination, and I forgot that I ran a like danger myself. We had
certainly legs wherewith to fly; out if for a moment we were
to forget, or that the wind had changed its quarter, the same




DEVASTATOiOV FROM  THE ERUP770IA.          227
burning breath would have devoured us like the shrubs, and
our calcined bones would have crackled as rapidly as the vine
branches. I did forget it several times, and drawing nearer
to this bed of fire, the very stick I held in my hand was shriveled up in a moment. We suddenly saw, from the lay of the
ground, that the flames had changed their course, and that we
were in imminent danger of being encircled by them, unless
we rapidly returned to the shelter of the town. At last, the
lava torrent chose for its bed a narrow valley which led to the
sea, crossing the high-road to Naples, along which both horses
and foot passengers were flying at full speed. But anxious to
study this phenomenon to the end, which had been the object
of M. de Humboldt's visit, we remained on that part of the
road which led to Castelamare and Salerno, till the eruption
had ceased. The only sights and sounds which met our eyes
the following day, however, were the tears and lamentations of
the poor ruined inhabitants. After witnessing this terrible
calamity, M. de Humboldt returned to Naples, and I started
alone for Castelamare.
V.
After having driven through the picturesque forest of laurels
which surround the beautiful villas in the neighborhood of
Naples, I went to Sorrento, which gleamed on the horizon before me like a dream of Tasso's.
After some days spent in making expeditions from this lovely
place, I hired, sometimes a corrico/o, and sometimes a boat,
to visit the Temple of Paestum and La Cava, the most beiutiful spot along the whole coast. After spending about a fortnight in these solitary excursions, I found that the high-road
between Torre dell' Annunziata and Naples was again opened,
a certain quantity of earth having been thrown upon the lava
bed; so that I took a little carriage, and returned to Naples.
My heart was still full of Graziella. I felt that all the emotions of which I could neither speak nor write would be shared
in and sympathized with by that delicious child.
On going up-stairs at St. Pietro Martyro, I was startled at




228          IIEAOIRS OF LAAIAR TINE.
not hearing her bright voice as usual at the end of the gallery
Everything in the old convent seemed to be as still as death.
M. de la Chavanne was in his counting-house. Antoniella was
superintending the cigar-makers. My room  was shut up.
The only person I could find was the cook, who exclaimed,
"Ah! you will no longer find Mlle. Graziella. She is gone
back to the islands to her parents. No one has had any
tidings of her since. We suppose she was taken to her
grandmother's house at Ischia, from whence she will not come
back till after the summer. Oh! by the bye, she left a little
note for you, which she told me to give you on your return.
Here it is."
I took the note, which was written, or rather scribbled, in
Neapolitan jatois, as follows: Gii cthe sei partito, nzon fosser
piAz restar. Non ti rivedro mai. La darnizella (" From the
moment you left, I felt I could no longer stay. I shall never
see you again!"  Two or three great tears had left their blots
on the coarse yellow paper.
This note explained to me that which her eyes at parting
had only partially revealed. I went into my room, threw myself on the bed, and burst out crying. Virieu came up a few
minutes later, to know if I was returned. He found me in
tears, and asked in utter amazement, what was the matter.
Without speaking, I showed him the poor little note. " Oh,"
he exclaimed, "why, here's the beginning of a beautiful romance! You must go on with it. What a good thing; for
I was bored to death!"  "Don't joke about such matters," I
replied. " Tears at her age are serious."
I waited till Antoniella came in, and asked her directly
where her little friend was gone. " I do not know," she replied. " I went to ask her father on the quay of Pausilippo.
There was no one there. The neighbors told me that he had
left off coming to Naples, and that they believed Graziella
was gone back to her grandmother's house at Procida. Since
you went off with that clever German, she never spoke or told
me any of her little secrets; only I remarked that she was
often crying."




POOR LITTLE GRAZIELLA.                 229
V'I.
When M. de Chavanne came in from his counting-house, I
asked him the same question. " Well," he answered, laughing; " it appears that yozu are at the bottom of the despair and
the flight of poor little Graziella. We have tried in vain
to find her out, and can only conjecture that to escape a sorrow which she could not conquer, she is gone back to her old
grandmother at Procida. Her good common sense will soon
make her see the folly of all this, and if you wish to meet her
again, you may be sure to do so in the autumn."
I was destined to see her long before that. I knew where
to find her, and I felt that she had left her comfortable position at M. de Chavanne's for no other earthly reason than disgust at my going off with M. de Humboldt. I knew that she
loved me, and that her flight was nothing but a wild declaration of love. I was torn with grief. I felt I could not remain away from her any longer. I have described in my
novel, how I rejoined her at Procida. The little details which
I have now given to my readers, form the only difference between the fiction and the reality. It cost my pride too much to
own that my first deep love had only a cigarette maker for its
object, instead of a coral worker, as she became later. Where
will not vanity find a peg on which to hang itself?
After this confession, I have nothing to add, but that the
rest of the story is literally true. Graziella was as young, as
naive, as pure, as religious as I represented her in my novel.
All the scenes therein described are drawn from life. The
scene and the actors are simple daguerreotypes. The trade of
the child was less vulgar in the novel, but that is all. Our
voyage to Procida, and the purchase of the new boat as a
present to the family, the joy of the grandmother at its reception, the exclamations of delight from the children, all this is
not invented but simply related. So it is with our life in the
island, and our mingled feelings of intense joy and sorrow,
with our nights on the terrace where we had erected a tent,




230           MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
and our days under the shade of the vineyards where we lived
the happy and simple life of the lazzaroni. 1
VII.
Towards the end of the month of May, my family wrote to
Virieu for an explanation of the suspicious life I was leading
at La Margellina. M. de la Chavanne had evidently written to
warn my mother. Virieu, in his warm friendship for me, returned post haste to Naples, and dragged me away almost by
main force. I left Graziella drowned in tears, and as I got
into the carriage she fainted away. I vowed to return and to
live and die at Procida. At Milan I halted for a few days
after Virieu had gone, being resolved to try the rouge el noir
system which he and I had so conscientiously studied at
Naples with the old croupier. I faithfully promised Virieu not
to retrace my steps to Naples till I had seen my family, but
to rejoin them in a fortnight at Milly.
Milan had a gambling table which opened daily at the
theatre of La Scala. It was there that I determined to try
my luck. I was extraordinarily successful. I resolved to reduce the old croupier's theories to practice. I thought, without always arriving at making the number forty, there was
more chance with a good many low cards than with five or six
higher ones. Experience had sho-wn me that high and low
numbers were dealt out, as it were, in sets and not alternately.
I therefore concluded that, by watching carefully the dealing
of the cards, I could make pretty sure of those which were
left. I followed this method steadily, and won as steadily
every night.
I remained a fortnight at Milan, and then started for Lyons
with a Swiss merchant from Lausanne and his servant, who
took immense care of me on the road, and insisted on my
staying a few days at their house, when we reached their'
home.
After resting two or three days at Lausanne, I took a little
1 See the Romance of Graziella. New edition, published by the company to
whom M. Lamartine's works belong. Hachette & Co., I870.




DEATH OF GRAZIELLA.                 231
carriage and came back to Macon. My father was waiting for
me, and received me with the greatest affection, without saying a word of my follies. I felt that I had come back pardoned, and that few sons had a father like mine. Still I was
sad as death, though I did not say why. My poor mother
cried for joy at my return, after so long an absence. If the
rest of the family were displeased with me, they took care to
conceal it. Everything seemed forgotten, except in my own
heart and in the sick heart of my poor Graziella. Alas! I had
not long to wait for news. A traveller passing through Macon
brought me the tidings of her death, together with her letter
of farewell. Her last thought had been for me.




232          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
BOOK VI.
I.
I HAVE now described my first loves, my happiness and my
misery, and my first journey into Italy. Since that time, Italy
became my own country, or, at least, the country of my affections. But my life was about to change entirely. We were
in the year 1812-I3.  Bonaparte, like a man chased by the
Furies, had returned from  Moscow, where he never should
have gone, while the other half of his forces were engaged in
Spain, to which country he had no right to pretend. Of seven
hundred and fifty thousand men whom he had had under arms,
only a few thousand remained this side of the Vistula. But
in the midst of his reverses he was grand. He never despaired. He gathered together the fragments of his glorious
army, and with three hundred thousand men was fighting
a brilliant campaign, though he could not recover the lost
ground.
Austria offered him peace and neutrality. She proposed
certain concessions not unacceptable to his ambition, or to his
former glory. But he preferred fighting on for shadows, and
threw the fate of the Empire and of France on one die. At
Leipsic he lost all. He came back to Paris without an army.
He brought but his genius, his pride, and his authority; in
some eyes he became a hero once more, but a hero of adverse
fortune. He was compelled to lay down his arms and the
Empire at Fontainebleau, and went to the Isle of Elba to
reflect upon his crime towards his country. It was the begin
ning of the end. St. Helena avenged Paris and France.




THE EMPIRE COMING TO AN END.   233
II.
On my return from Italy, I found France boiling over with
indignation at, and opposition to, the Emperor. France never
tolerates misfortune in her rulers; excepting the soldiers,
there was not a soul who was not entirely alienated from him
from one end of the country to the other. The Royalists
conspired secretly with the Revolutionists in I789, and even in
1792 against despotism. But in 1813 the conspiracy was
open and unanimous. One proof of it was in the impossibility
which the Emperor found to recruit his shattered battalions.
The passion for glory had been satiated. Everything that
has been written on this subject is pure conventionality, even
the beautiful military histories of M. Thiers. His relations
of the campaigns are admirable, but his views of public opinion
at that time are erroneous.
III.
On the 3Ist of March, i814, the patriotism which was the
offspring of the Liberty of I792 was expiring in the breasts of
the French people. They felt that the Empire was coming to
an end, in spite of the heroic exploits of its head. I was
alone at Milly. The prefect of Macon, an old friend of my
father's, had appointed me mayor of that little borough, without considering my youth and inexperience. My duties consisted in keeping order, and taking certain measures to levy
contributions from the neighboring villages to feed the bodies
of Austrian and Italian troops by which we were already invaded. Fortunately this was managed without much difficulty.
Marshal Augereau commanded at Lyons, and feebly strove to
repulse the Austrian forces, who were masters of Macon, with
a handful of French soldiers who had just returned from
Spain. Macon was taken and retaken several times, and
finally submitted to the Austrians.
I was present at several of these skirmishes on the neighboring hills. Opinions were divided, between weariness of
the Empire and pity for our brave fellow-countrymen, who




234          MEMOIRS OF LAMIARTINE.
were still shedding their blood like water for the Emperor and
for France. Twice we advanced too far within the lines of
the Spanish cavalry and the Hungarian grenadiers. I had my
horse shot under me, and escaped with difficulty from the
hands of the Austrians.
At last came the great battle, and the occupation of Paris
by the allied armies, the abdication of Napoleon at Fontainebleau, and the proclamation of Louis XVIII. The Empire
crumbled into dust amidst the confused cries of a whole people, cries of wounded self-love and patriotism; and yet of
renewed liberty and peace. I went to Lyons and witnessed
this curious conflict of opinions, and the coalition, in the name
of the Bourbons, between the Royalists and the Revolutionary party. The Bonapartists had disappeared as completely
as if they had never existed. I was Royalist by inclination
as well as by family tradition, and at once declared myself
for the King.
The next day I started on horseback with the Chevalier de
Pierreclos, whose old father fastened the white scarf across
our shoulders with trembling joy, and sent us as scouts to see
how the land lay.
We arrived towards evening at the little town of Cluny, in
the midst of a number of people assembled in the public
square, who might, if they chose, have turned against us for
our seditious colors, as Paris had not yet declared itself, and
the Emperor was still at the head of his army at Fontainebleau. We rode boldly in amongst them, however, exclaiming,
Vive le Roi! The crowd, which was composed of tradesmen
and peasants, were at first mute from surprise and hesitation.
Then they suddenly burst forth with cries of sympathy and
joy at their deliverance from a yoke which had become insupportable. We got off our horses and mixed with the people,
who welcomed us as liberators. Among such hundreds of
men, not one lifted up his voice for the Emperor. Such was
the popularity of the Empire at its decline. I do not pretend
to praise their apparent fickleness; I only relate what happened. But I am writing the exact truth, and describing
scenes in which I was both actor and witness.




A DEMONSTRATION FOR 7HE BOU'RBONS.  235
IV..n the evening we remounted our horses and went to sleep,lt the chateau of Cormatin, and home of Chevalier de Pierreclos, who had married the beautiful daughter of the famous
Desotteux de Cormatin, a Vendeean general, noted for the
treaty of peace he had concluded for the army of La Vendee,
a treaty, be it said in passing, which he had taken upon himself to conclude without any extraneous authority.
General Desotteux had married a rich Maconnaise widow,
by whom he had had two beautiful girls. Madame la Comtesse de Pierreclos was the youngest and the handsomest.
Her chateau was the rendezvous of the most agreeable persons in the county. I was invited there in common with all
the other aristocratic and royalist families in the neighborhood, and found it very pleasant. There was every description
of sport, plenty of horses for riding or driving, an excellent
cook, and all the pleasures of a maison bien mrontee. Politics
soon became a leading feature in our conversations.
I have already said that we arrived at the castle towards
evening, where we found a numerous and friendly gathering.
We sat down to dinner and drank to the King and Liberty.
"Yes," I exclaimed, "our hopes spring from our very misfortunes. Let us drink to the Bourbons, who are going to bring
us back peace and freedom! As to myself, I know not what
fate may be reserved for me; but whatever it may be, no joy
can equal that which to-day's news has given me." Every one
cheered and declared that the upper classes were all of the
same mind. During this political supper, the peasants in the
villages lit bonfires of rejoicing on the hills, and in the magnificent grounds of the chAteau.
v.
On my return to Macon I found my mother crying for joy,
and the whole society of the place mad with excitement.
Every one believed in the Bourbons as in the realization oi
their dreams. They looked upon them as the panacea for all




236          MEMOIRS O F LAMARTINE.
the ills which this unhappy year had brought upon France.
Every one, however, did justice to the personal heroism of the
Emperor Napoleon during this last campaign. The Empire
had fallen, but the Emperor had risen in public estimation on
the very ruins of his throne.
A short time after, I started for Paris with all the youth of
the country, whether noble or not, to enroll ourselves, though
without any views of personal ambition, in the service of the
King. To serve and defend the King, as the ruler spontaneously chosen by France, was our only object. What was curious in this movement was, that it infected at the same time
every one capable of bearing arms, from Grenoble, Dauphiny,
Lyons, Burgundy, and even as far as Dijon. Thus in a few
days, led by the same feeling of enthusiasm, Virieu arrived;
then D'Argout, who was afterwards finance minister; then M.
de Mareste, who from his wit and ability is as great a favorite
in Paris now at eighty years of age as he was at thirty; and a
multitude of other young men, all distinguished in their different ways and all of the noblest blood in France. One and
all burnt with the same sacred fire, and kindled the slumbering spark of royalty throughout the country.  We took a
species of little post-chaise drawn by one horse, and changed
from one town to the other, with the cry of Vive le Roil
Such was the enthusiastic pilgrimage of young France to
Paris at the dawn of the liberty which they dreamed secure
under the new government.
My father, who had been wounded on the Ioth of August,
and who shared in our young illusions as we shared in his
fidelity to his noble recollections, came to Paris himself a few
days later. But not choosing to ask anything of the court,
which was overwhelmed with applications and promises, he
let the flood of emigrants and ambitious place-hunters rush by,
and only came to express his devotedness to the cause, while
he refused all pension or rank in the new army. Never did
a father leave to a son a richer heritage of patriotism and
noble disinterestedness.
As soon as he arrivesc, he presented me to the Prince de




A VISIT TO THE PRINCE DE POIX.             237
Poix, who commanded the company of Noailles. As the sole
recompense for his long and faithful services, he only asked
to matriculate his son in the King's Guard. I see the whole
scene before me even now.
VI.
It was in the hotel of the Quay Malaquais, which was afterwards taken by the Duke Decazes, minister of police. The
Prince de Poix, who had been the great friend of Louis XVI.,
lived there at that time, and had turned the lower part of
the house into a public office, for the formation of the new
corps which he had at heart.
My father, who was a magnificent old man of sixty years of
age, struck every one by his high-bred and martial appearance, which combined the simple dignity of his birth with the
calm energy of one long used to command. To this was added
the sort of plain frankness of a country gentleman, who had
for many years laid down his sword, but whom patriotism had
recalled to the service of his country. There was no anxious
or ambitious expression on his face, mastering a feeling of joy
at the crumbling of one dynasty, or the rise of another. My
father was one'of those who would never consent to emigrate.
He considered that, as a loyal Frenchman, he was bound by
a living vow to the national soil. The events of life never influenced his judgment. It was impossible to look at him and
see in his face such a mixture of military firmness, frankness,
and sweetness, without being irresistibly attracted and drawn,
as it were, towards him. It was the beauty of goodness; even
toQ loQQ1o ti aa1QQft b   Q f to m-akeQ mQt. Aete- man
VII.
I followed him with some shyness through the great anterooms which led to the Prince's quarters. I wore, for the first
time, a simple but elegant uniform, which yet rather drew attention to my youth and inexperience. My long sword, with
its glittering scabbard, somewhat embarrassed my movements;
I passed it under my left arm as a badge, of which I was cer



238           MEMRIOIRS OF LAMIAR TINE.
tainly proud enough, but to which I was unaccustomed.
Every one stared at me as I passed, which added to my confusion. I cast my eyes down to hide my awkwardness, when
we suddenly saw a little old man coming towards us muffled
up in a white swan-skin dressing gown and draggled trousers
rolling over his ankles; with his hair badly combed and only
half-powdered, falling all over his face. I asked myself who
this little man could be, who was so much at his ease in spite
of his dress in the midst of a group of smart officers in full
dress, covered with orders, when he suddenly came forward
smiling towards us, with a face full of benevolent kindness.
Stopping all at once before my father, whose court dress,
cross of St. Louis, jeweled sword, and noble bearing attracted
every one's observation, he seized me by the arm, looked at me
with a smile of satisfaction, and then turning towards my father
exclaimed, "Sir, you are apparently the father of this young
man, whom you are come to present to his general and companions, to form part of the new corps I am organizing of
faithful defenders of the King."
My father replied with a kind of proud humility, " that I was
in truth his only son, whom he had come to recommend to his
care; that my name was Alphonse de Lamartine, and that I
was not only his son but the one remaining scion of a family
who had always been devoted to the cause of the Bourbons;
that nought but royalist blood had coursed through his veins
since that fatal 30th of August, I792, when he had come, at the
head of the gentlemen of his province, to offer to defend the
King, Louis XVI.; and that he remembered the Prince perfectly from having seen him on that memorable occasion."
But the Prince, after hearing my father's first few words, was
no longer listening. Still looking at me, he took me by the
hand, and leading me back to the apartments from which he
had entered said, "Come with me, young man, and let me
present you to my staff." I followed him from one office to
another, till we came to a small room crammed full of officers.
"I bring you a new recruit, gentlemen," he exclaimed pleasantly, presenting me to the one in comman(l. "You will allow




FRI4NDS AND COMPANIONS IN ARMS.   239
that I have chosen well this time, and that we are in luck."
Then, to my confusion, he began enumerating my different
military qualifications in a loud voice. " What a capital figure
for a uniform! March, sir - very well; you have an excellent military step. Enter his name at once, gentlemen," he
added. " You will soon teach him his trade." My father was
much moved and almost ashamed of the laudatory exclamations of the old general. It was not exactly what he expected
from an old soldier, and in fact the Prince had become somewhat of a carpet knight.
This reception was passed on from one room to another,
and I was in consequence received everywhere with open
arms. This was my first campaign. My friends, when I repeated it to them, laughed as much as I did; but I was foolish
enough to be vain of it, while it roused in me feelings of real
gratitude towards the house of Noailles.
VIII.
This sort of reception awaited me each time that my father
introduced me to his old friends and companions at arms.
M. Henrion de Pansey, my mother's cousin, was then provisional minister of justice. We used to spend our evenings
at his house. The lady who did the honors of it was a young
widow, Madame de Pre, and my first cousin, who afterwards
married a General Pernetty, of the artillery. She was a clever
and accomplished woman and is still alive. My uniform was
as popular there as at the old Prince de Poix's. M. Henrion de
Pansey was the very soul of honor, and the pattern of a liberal
royalist magistrate. There I found myself thrown with people
of all kinds, and could glean the dominant opinions of the
most eminent leaders of the day. General Carra St. Cyr, a
relation as well as an old friend of my father's, who had been
ill-used by the Emperor, showed us every species of kindness.
and was not without some feeling of resentment against the
injustice of Bonaparte. The beautiful and witty daughter of
General Hoche, who had married my cousin the Count de
Roys, was a link between us and the Republicans, who had
T6




240          MEMOIRS OF LAMA v tINE.
become reconciled with the Bourbons. This friendship has
lasted until now. Nothing is changed but the dates; and
such changes only strengthen the feelings once engendered.
IX.
After leaving the Prince de Poix, my father took me to one
of his old military friends, the Marquis de Busseuil, majorgeneral of the body-guard.
IHe had lived for some time at Paray-le-Monial, the country
of Marie Alacoque, whose name and holiness, ridiculed by
Voltaire, had been the laughing-stock of the last century.
The Marquis de Busseuil was not likely to vindicate her
honor. He was a gentleman of the old school, leading a life
the reverse of edifying, and who could only serve as a foil to
his saintly neighbor. Under Louis XV. he would have found
his place in the boudoir of Madame du Barry. But the return
of the Bourbons made him keep within bounds, so as to obtain
a restitution of his former rank and dignities. He received
ny father as an old friend and myself as his protege.'He was
lodged under the roof of the palace, rather like a groom of the
chambers in a great family, who is content with any accommodation provided he can serve his masters. The uniform he
wore was sufficient to ennoble him in his own eyes. He proposed to my father to remind the King of the pension to which
his long services and his zeal on the Ioth of August entitled him.
My father positively refused. He had simply done his duty,
he said; and had followed his own honest convictions, without
any thought of private interest. He did not choose to lower
himself in his own esteem. He added: "Those who served
the King for pay may perhaps desire that it should be continued; but a pension would tarnish the honors of those who
served him for conscience sake. I have no wish to purchase
my joy at the return of the King; it is enough for me to see
him once more in his proper place."
These words sunk deep into my mind, and were a lesson to
me for life. I knew better than anybody that my father was
the reverse of rich; but he was a gentleman in the highest




ADOPTING  THE NATIONAL GLORIES.    241I
sense of the term; and he thus impressed upon me the feelings belonging to his rank.
x.
Either from the chance of service, or because the Prince
de Poix had spoken of me to Louis XVIII. and wished to
show the King a specimen of his newly-formed company, I
received orders two days later to appear in uniform at a given
hour to attend the King in person. Louis XVIII. had not
yet seen the artistic spoils which the Louvre at that time contained, and which were exhibited to the French people as
tokens of victory. He knew at what a price of blood and
treasure, and likewise of injustice and violence, these chefs
d'ceuvre had become our property. But they were choice
spoils which the peace had ratified, and which were still
looked upon as trophies. The allies had not yet had the time
to reclaim them. They were, perhaps, afraid of marring the
effect of their great victory and humbling France too much.
Only Domenichino's " St. Jerome " had been restored to the
King of Sardinia. The year I814 had passed over these galleries in silence. Louis XVIII. wished to flatter his people,
and, above all, to make himself popular by appearing to take a
pride in our least legitimate conquests. He thought thereby
to conciliate the Bonapartists, in compensation for the large
portion of Europe which the Congress of Vienna had compelled him to restore.
He wished, therefore, by a solemn and official walk through
the Louvre, publicly to enjoy these wonderful works of art
now brought for the first time in review before a King of
France and a successor to Francis I. He had another object
in view also, which he was too wise to despise; and that was,
to conciliate the liberal and artistic party whom the Emperor
had put at the head of these national museums. It was an
innocent concession to the spirit of the times; an adoption
of one of the national glories, and a sort of mute guaranty
to the somewhat anxious possessors of the property of the
French emizgrs. M. Denon and M. de Forbin, one a classic




242          MEMOIRS OF LAMIARTINE.
courtier, the other a chamberlain of the Emperor, were the
two presidents of the Fine Arts Committee. To pay them a
compliment was to soothe the feelings of Imperial France.
He was determined not to miss the opportunity. It did not
compromise him in any way, and it pleased the so-called Liberal party. The ceremony was, therefore, arranged with the
utmost care and pomp.
XI.
M. Denon, a man of taste and wit, had allied himself, no
one exactly knew how, to the Imperial party. He was very
old and very ugly, but with a classical kind of ugliness, and
extremely clever. He was a man who could accommodate
himself with skillful cleverness to all parties and all circumstances; a courtier by nature; a man of pleasure too and
frivolity; an Athenian of the times of Alcibiades; the Anacreon of ugliness in France - such was M. Denon. I had
some connection with him later on the subject of a celebrated
beauty whom he won in spite of his advanced age, and whom
Chateaubriand carried off in a like manner when his turn
came. This lady is still alive. I never understood before
how wit and cleverness could outweigh such ugliness and so
many gray hairs!
XII.
M. le Comte de Forbin, father of the beautiful Countess de
Marcellus, was, on the contrary, one of the most charming
persons in France. He was equally happy with his pen and
with his pencil. He wrote graceful novels, travels in which
his genius rivaled that of Chateaubriand, and verses in which
his gallantry verged upon passion. His talent for painting
was equally remarkable; his pictures reminded one of Claude
Lorraine. As to his exterior, nature had bestowed upon him
all she had refused to M. Denon; a noble bearing, a beautiful
figure, grace and ease of manner, fine features, luxuriant hair.
the sweetest smile; nothing was wanting to this man save
perhaps that quality which is of all others the rarest - being
perfectly natural. I had a feeling'sometimes that all this




T1A~'OUGI 7ZTIE GALLERIES IVITH TIE K,'ING. 243
beauty and talent were put on; but, in spite of that, it was
very difficult not to be fascinated by him.
XIII.
My companion and I were placed on either side of the
wheel-chair, pushed by two footmen, which was to be the moving throne of the King. I was to the left; my comrade to the
right, with our swords drawn. The royal progress was to be
too long and too slow for the gouty limbs of the King to bear
on foot. We started through the long galleries which join the
Tuileries to the Louvre. A crowd of courtiers and noblemen
followed in silence. They all seemed to me to have that sort
of look and set smile which people put on at court as they do
their uniforms. M. de Blacas, the favorite minister of the
King's household, walked nearest to the Prince, and explained
to him as he went along the various treasures which the Emperor had accumulated. As for myself, at first I saw nothing,
so dazzled was I at the royal pomp and the majestic figure of
the King, with whom I for the first time found myself brought
in such close contact. I heard nothing till we got to the
Picture Gallery but the monotonous, respectful tread of those
men who had served both dynasties, walking before and behind as courtiers of two centuries.
XIV.
But all of a sudden, a wonderful voice, soft and firm at the
same time, like a voice which had coaxed men more than intimidated them, and which wished more than ever to please
the ears of its hearers, roused me from my dreamy retrospect.
It seemed to me as if I were listening to a voice of the past,
formed by the habit of adversity of so many years' standing,
coming forth from a breast which had been long silent, and
speaking to men from the height of a throne.
" Let us stop here, gentlemen, and look around us, for I am
not come here as to a rapid military review, but to see and
admire what you have had the happiness of admiring before
me. NGw look here," he added in a lower voice to M. Denon




244           MEJIO,1RS OF LA:MARTINE.
and M. de Forbin; "you who are familiar with these irt
marvels, come and show them to me. I love Art in all its
branches, and esteem all who make it their profession. Tell
us to stop before all the best pictures, and don't leave out any,
for I love glory, too, especially when it reflects upon France.
Talent is a dynasty which has no usurpers."
A murmur of admiration ran through the court. M. Denon
and M. de Forbin were beckoned on each side of the royal
arm-chair, M. de Blacas yielding his place to them.
XV.
I then saw a little old man with a forehead in which art had
in vain endeavored to efface the wrinkles, draw near to the
King, and say a few indistinct words in his ear, all the whilst
pressing his senator's hat to his breast. The King looked at
him from head to foot with the superiority of eternal youth,
and pointed out a remarkable sketch, which his experienced
eye told him was that of a first-rate master, asking him at the
same time the name of the painter. M. Denon being unable
to satisfy him at once, he appealed to M. de Forbin. The
difference was between a courtier of Cleopatra and of Alexander. The King appeared struck by it, and kept him for a
long time by his side, listening to his observations. Whilst
M. de Forbin was speaking and the King was listening, and
giving little signs of approbation from time to time, I had then
a good opportunity of looking at the monarch myself. I do
not know whether I was more pleased or surprised. To be
just towards him, one must forget Beranger and La Minerve,
the two caricaturists of the Bourbons at that time. Disparagement is not truth. I am now going to give you an exact
portrait of Louis XVIII.
People called him an old man; but he was not so. His vigorous and manly figure rose above the crowd of ministers,
marshals, and artists, as if to impel them to admiration rather
than obedience. His blue dress had nothing to distinguish it
but the military epaulet. This was a compliment to the army,
which had nothing ridiculous about it except to the eyes of the




PORTRAIT OF LOUIS XVIII.              245
fanatics for the long gray great coat and straight collar. Any nman
of sense would at once perceive in this costume the modesty
of a wise man who did not wish to usurp the glory of his predecessor, yet was bound to appear as the sovereign of a military people. A white waistcoat with a sky-blue ribbon across
it, which was the order of chivalry of his family, marked his
birth, and identified him with his nobles. His gouty knees
were covered with the trappings of his horse, like a sign of
peace to reassure Europe and his people.
As to his head, I have seen thousands of men in my life,
and never saw any countenance which corresponded so well
to the idea of one sent by Providence to fill the place of sovereign to a people whom a hero had compromised and lost by
a series of hazardous battles, and who had been called to the
throne to reestablish peace and order.  There was neither
pride nor insolence in his face. One felt that he reigned because it was his proper place; he honored those who had
served his rival, but he reigned because it was his divine right
to be king over France. He was, in fact the exponent of
Legitimacy, and ruled by the force of right alone. No one
could reproach him for ambition. Europe and France had
unanimously pointed to him with the words: "Thou art the
man!" and he had answered, " Here I am."  He had come
without drawing the sword or shedding a drop of his people's
blood. The words, " Iiity, Iforget, Iforgive," were his only
war-cry.
XVI.
Those noble words were written without affectation in his
clever mouth, his graceful manner, and his benevolent look.
His eyes, which were the color of the blue sky after a storm,
were the finest I ever saw. They had the gentle pride of a
man born to the purple, and yet the calm tranquillity of a patience which was ready to wait, but which never doubted. It
was the royalty of Nature. These eyes looked as if they were
made of China and lapis laziui. All the blood of his ancestry
seemed to be revealed in them as in a mirror. They never
kindled with anger, nor fell from timidity. They were the




246          IMEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
eyes of a king who sees everything, understands everything,
and judges everything with serenity and calm.
But this apparent quiet had nothing of the impassable indifference of the Homeric " Juno with the ox eyes." It revealed,
on the contrary, abundant intelligence and understanding of
hidden motives and intentions. Royalty, revolution, misfortune, exile - he had passed through all. There was a something in his look which seemed to know or to guess everything; but he was careful not to reveal his thoughts. To be
silent, and yet with an expressive silence which is at once understood —this was the eloquence of the king.  It was especially through his eyes that he spoke, to the highest as to
the lowest, for he neglected no one, and by his look apostrophized each one in turn. I felt myself, standing as I did for
four hours by his side, that he knew all about me, that he had
been told my history; and a smile of intelligence lit up his
face as he looked from time to time at his young guards, whose
appearance evidently pleased him. In spite of the respect
which forbade my giving expression to the least sign of approbation or disapprobation of the royal speeches (when I was
only permitted to assume the mechanical attitude of a living
piece of furniture), yet nature was stronger in me than etiquette, and an almost imperceptible movement of the eyes or
lips showed now and then an admiration which I could not
conceal, and which pleased the King the more as it was
involuntary. At intervals his ready smile responded; he felt
himself understood; it was the flattering and mutual surprise
of royalty on the one hand and obscurity on the other. His
eyes sought my face several times as if to glean this mute
homage. Years after I knew, through one of his ministers,
that he had remembered this day, when, in I820, my name
came before him as that of a poet, and when he sent me a
complete edition of the poets of Greece and Rome. He
thought himself an Augustus discovering a Virgil. I was
flattered, but not dazzled; it was not the fault of the King,
but of the times.
This official promenade lasted four hours, which, however,




ANrOTHETItR S/IGHT OF TIHE AtXG.         247
seemed to me only too short. Every one had had the right
word and the right look. M. Denon and M. de Forbin were
swelling with importance. I went back modestly to my place
with my comrades, and slept, as those on guard always did,
on one of the straw mattresses in the antechamber.
XVII.
This was the only time when I saw the King close except
once, when I accompanied him on horseback as an equerry by
the side of his carriage, in the neighborhood of Auteuil and
St. Cloud. He liked going at a great pace to get that amount
of movement and air which his gout precluded him from taking in any other way; so much the worse for those whose
horses slipped up in the sharp turns on the Paris pavement;
that was the only danger of this duty.
Sometimes, at the Tuileries, I saw the Duc d'Angouleme, a
prince with too much reserve to conciliate public affection; or
the Duc de Berri, who was too confiding; or the Comte d'Artois, a good man but too much impressed with the divine right
of kings; or tihe Duc d'Orleans, too cringing a courtier within
the walls of the palace, and too popular without; one or other
of whom always accompanied the King to the chapel. Very
often we met the Duchesse d'Angouleme, walking slowly, with
red eyes, through the rooms of the palace, without thinking
of popularity, but keeping back her tears, not to wound by
her filial sorrow those who had witnessed the death of her
father and mother. At other times I followed, with a corps
of the body-guard, the covered and sealed baskets which contained the breakfast or dinner of the King, so that poison
should not be thrown into the dishes; and it was my duty to
see those baskets opened, and their contents placed on the
table of the royal family and their guests. Louis XVIII.
had the reputation of being a gourmand; in reality he was
onlya delicate eater. The conversation at those little dinners
was easy, witty, and agreeable, especially when the King himself spoke: it was a direct contradiction to the orgies which
calumny attributed to the court out of doors. Fancy an orgie




248         VMEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
of any sort at a table where the orphan of the Temple was
seated, which was blessed by a bishop, and at which an infirm
French king presided with open doors! There might have
been license in the streets; but decency and religion,. and the
remembrance of a deep sorrow, reigned within the walls of
the palace. This is the simple truth.
XVIII.
After my turn of waiting was over, which lasted several
weeks, my father left me, and I went into garrison at Beauvais,
which was the quarters of the Noailles Company.
I led a solitary and almost ascetic life, quite to myself, at a
little grocer's in the Faubourg d'Amiens, who let her rooms to
the officers of the garrison. Her husband was dead, and trade
bad. This poor widow, who was already of a certain age,
lived (with a young servant) on the letting of her humble lodgings. I established myself there; and, to avoid the noise and
distraction of the table d'hote I proposed to her to cook for
me, and bring me up my simple meals in my own room.
Thanks to this economical arrangement, my allowance of 501.
a year from my father, with my pay, amply sufficed for all my
wants.
XIX.
I lived like this for three months, getting up at five o'clock
every morning to go to the manege. My passion for horses
and the habit of riding from a child at my father's, made this
the pleasantest exercise of the day. After my second lesson
in the riding-school, I was put at the head of the squadron.
My companions liked me, and I was never thrown or unseated
even by the most vicious animals. Once or twice I went into
the cafe of my corps on leaving the maneg'e. A pretty woman
served behind the counter, and reproached me for my rare appearance in the coffee-room. I answered civilly but avoided
her advances, and kept myself strictly out of the way of temptation, however agreeable. The remembrance of Graziella
was my safeguard. By degrees I made acquaintance with
sevreral of the corps about my own age, whom my quiet and




BARRACK LIFE AT BEAUVAIS.               249
retiring habits had interested. Among these was M. de Vaugelas, a young gentleman from Dauphiny, whose tastes in al.
ways coincided with my own. He was one of the most accomplished men I ever knew. He was a strong royalist, as we all
were, and loved solitude as much as I did. The duty of the
day once over, he fled from the frivolity of the crowd around
is. Thus he came to seek me out, and I to receive him with
joy. Our intimacy soon attracted other men to us of the same
stamp. After a little time we formed a distinguished society
of our own in the garrison, which, however, excited no one's
envy. My room was often the place of meeting, and we discussed literature, philosophy, and poetry; for many of us were
poets as well as soldiers, and it was at Beauvais that I first
began to compose the verses which afterwards brought me
into notice. My hostess (both mistress and servant) had a
kind of deference towards me, as my friends were noted as
superior to all others of their age. But this agreeable society
did not prevent my seeking daily the melancholy pleasure of a
more complete solitude, which from my childhood until now
has been a sort of necessity of my existence. Nothing is
worth an hour's quiet communing with one's self. It was in
the country that I sought and found it. There was not much
beauty there certainly, but it was solitary; there were not
many fine trees or beautiful flowers; but there was God and
his works, and that was enough.
xx.
After three months of barrack life at Beauvais I got leave.
I returned to Paris, and started for Macon. I own to having
felt very proud of my martial apprenticeship, and still more
vain of my uniform. I was longing to show myself to the
young men and young women of my own neighborhood in
my military dress. My hopes were not disappointed; every
one said I was quite another man. I was the object of general attention, and even touched a few hearts.  The only
thing that troubled me was a murmur of opposition against
the new dynasty which seemed to be grumbling around me,




250          ME~MOIRS OF LANAIRTVTE.
and which filled me with some bitterness. However, I did not
at the time foresee that any serious events would trouble the
future; so I gave myself up without reserve to the enjoyment of a brilliant winter without any sinister anticipations of
evil.
A young gentleman and lady, M. and Madame Germain,
kept open house at the Prefecture with all the luxury which a
large fortune could give. M. Germain had been chamberlain
to Napoleon, and had been overwhelmed with imperial favors.
Madame Germain was the daughter of that Countess d'Houdetot, whom the passion of J. J. Rousseau had immortalized
without tarnishing her good name.
Young, tall, well made, and thoroughly amiable in character,
she was a great favorite with my mother, to whose house she
came constantly with a loving and winning familiarity. She
had everything which would have attracted me also, if she
had not been already united to one of the most excellent of
men. These two loved each other as such a husband and
wife were sure to do. I could not help admiring her; but it
was without envy or jealousy. If I had been J. J. Rousseau,
I should have had a hopeless passion for her, but I was as
careful and reserved as she was good and pure. She was to
me like a holy picture. I believe she is still alive, but I have
never tried to see her again. Her husband, who adored and
was really worthy of her, died not very long after, in the prime
of life. She went sadly mourning for the rest of her days.
XXI.
All of a sudden, in the midst of our fetes, and without any
previous warning, the great and astounding news arrived:
"The Emperor has escaped from -Elba, and is marching with
a handful of troops across the mountains to Grenoble."
There was great amazement but no panic. His abdication
at Fontainebleau was too recent. The Congress of Vienna
was still sitting; the allied armies were not yet disbanded;
France had scarcely had time yet to be disgusted with peace
and the Bourbons. Bonaparte had mistaken the hour. No




THE EMPEROA MVARCHING O' PARIS.    2 I
one expected him, and few wished for him. His coming was
out of place; there was no question of him. Even his army
had ceased to think of him. This was the general feeling.
1 own that, as far as I was concerned, so far from believing in
his success, I was rejoiced at his rashness. " He is about to
accomplish what the treaty of Paris only did by halves," I
said, -" the dethronement of his glory."
XXII.
We remained in this state for several days, always imagining that the Government would act on the defensive. At the
end of six days, we heard that Lab6doyere had rejoined the
Emperor at some leagues from Grenoble; that the King's
army had disbanded itself at the mere shadow of Napoleon's
name; that Grenoble had opened its gates; that a large body
of troops were gathering there round his standard; and that
he was marching upon Lyons.
At Lyons, the Comte d'Artois, the Duke of Orleans, and
Marshal Macdonald had been abandoned by the troops, and
seditiously pursued on the road to Paris. At Lons-le-Saunier
Marshal Ney had given it up. The Paris road was open. No
orders came from the King; one felt one must go and seek
them.
I started on horseback with the Chevalier de Pierreclos,
and we determined to take a cross road which would lead us
quicker to our destination. At a few miles from Macon we
met Colonel Duluat, a great friend of ours and aide-de-camp to
Marshal Suchet. He stopped us, exclaiming, "Well! where
is he?"  "At Lyons," we replied, "and marching upon
Paris."  "Upon Paris! " he retorted, with a wild joy which
he did not attempt to repress. "W Well done! Vive l'Einfereur /" and digging his spurs into his horse he set off as hard
as he could go towards Macon  " See what the army is! " I
exclaimed to my companion. " It begins with a little indecision, and then becomes as mad as Duluat! " We could not
help making some rather bitter reflections. " It is no use
fighting against popularity and glory," I continued. "The




252          ME MOIRS OF LAMARTI7NE.
army has no right to rise against the country, against liberty,
against our solemn oaths, against the very people from whom
they spring! But you will see what has happened here will
happen elsewhere. We who have our honor to think of, let
us go forward! " And we galloped on towards Paris.
At the beginning of the line of mountains where the Charolais diligence conveyed its passengers from Moulins to Paris,
we left our horses, and took our places in this primitive conveyance. My journey had nothing remarkable about it save
a sword-thrust which I inflicted on a young Polish officer in
the garden of the hotel, who had been sent to corrupt the
troops, and whom I reproached for meddling with things
which did not concern him, as he was not even a Frenchman.
They carried him to his bed wounded in the chest, and we.
delighted to have thus got rid of him, made the best of our
way to Nemours. Here a good many of the officers of the
King's household joined us, and we travelled together in a
coach. My sword-thrust and royalist feelings won me golden
opinions, and we arrived almost gayly at Paris.
XXIII.
The town was in a strange state of dumb consternation, like
a place where there is but one feeling.
I went to lodge at a little inn which I knew, and which still
exists, called the Hotel du Hazard, Rue du Hazard. My landlady assured me that the court was determined to fight in the
plains of Villejuif, with the King's household, the musketeers,
the body-guards, and the whole population of Paris. On
hearing these words, I felt as if I had found France again.
The cries of Vive le Roi! which followed Louis XVIII. to
the Chamber of Deputies the next.day, seemed to me like the
oath of the whole nation. Unfortunately, enthusiasm is not
discipline, and Bonaparte was steadily advancing.
XXIV.
The day came when we were to meet him at Villejuif, and
there were already neither soldiers nor leaders. The court




A GLOOMY MARCH.                   253
was quickly prepared for a retreat; we would not believe it.
We passed the night armed, lying at our horses' feet, in our
quarters, and expecting every moment the orders which never
came. At twelve o'clock they led us to the Champ-de-Mars;
at six o'clock we were brought back to the Place de la Concorde. We remained there in battle array till ten o'clock at
night. At midnight we were ordered to move quietly on to
the boulevard by the Rue de Richelieu.
Nothing can paint the despair of the people when they saw,
through the glimmering' darkness, that the last defenders of
the King were leaving the city. The inhabitants were crying
at their doors; their wives and children brought us wine and
food; our own tears fell, while consternation filled every
breast; curses on the Emperor echoed from house to house,
and we ourselves knew not where we were going. At last we
were ordered to halt before a barrack, in a great square full of
troops, at St. Denis. We resumed our march at five o'clock
in the morning. The King's carriage had passed us amidst
the silence of the night, and had taken the route to Lille.
We understood at once that he had determined to yield to the
Emperor without striking a blow. The Marechal Marmont,
with about twenty general officers, on horseback, mingled with
our ranks. The Comte d'Artois, the Duke d'Angouleme, and
the Duke de Berri, marched sadly at a little distance under an
incessant fine rain. No one spoke. The pride of France
was humbled to the dust. This universal desertion of a great
cause was best expressed by a solemn silence. I was very
young at that time, but I really felt as if the weight of twenty
revolutions lay on my heart.
xxv.
I followed my column sadly and silently through the Flanders mud, and under the freezing March rain; while the Marshal who commanded us rode on doggedly, with an expression
of disdain and indifference; and the Duc de Berri, wrapped
up in his waterproof cloak, went up and down our ranks, endeavoring to cheer us now and then with a few grateful and




254          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
kind words. But the people in the provinces wept at the
doors of their cottages as we passed by.
After marching a few leagues on the road to Lille, we suddenly received an unexpected counter-order. We retraced our
steps to take a branch road leading to Bethune. It was the
King himself who sent us this counter-order from Lille. He
had found there the Duke of Orleans and the Marechal Mortier, with io,ooo or 12,000 of the Emperor's army, who were
still hesitating between fidelity and defection. They would
not allow us to enter the gates of Lille. The Marshal said he
could not answer for the conduct of the troops if the bodyguard of the King followed him into the citadel. The Duke
of Orleans, who did not wish to compromise himself with
Bonaparte or his troops, was already negotiating a departure
for London. The King resolved to quit Lille and to take
refuge in Belgium. This was the secret of the counter-order
which we had received, and which we could not. understand.
I fell ill in a poor little hut by the roadside. It was only a
slight attack of fever. The care taken of me by the kind
inhabitants of this cottage was what they would have shown
to their own son; and the mother and daughter took it by
turns to watch by my bedside. In a day or two I was quite
cured, and my horse, who had benefited as much by the rest
as myself, soon enabled me to rejoin my column. ~ Towards
evening we arrived at Bethune. To the right we saw bodies
of cavalry commanded by Excelmans, an intrepid general as
well as diplomatist, watching us from the woods, and following us at a certain distance. His orders were to keep us in
sight without fighting. The Emperor did not choose to fire a
shot first against the King of France. He wanted to be able
to say to Europe, " I have restrained every species of violence.
France calls me, and I come. Where then is my crime?"
XXVI.
Our entrance into Bethune, the gates of which were immediately closed upon us, was effected amidst some confusion.
Excelmans's cavalry regiments had made a circuit round the




RECEPTION AT B~THUNE.                 255
town, and were waiting for us at the opposite gate. A shot
was fired by accident. The horse which the Count d'Artois
rode gave a sudden start, and nearly threw his rider, who was,
however, a first-rate horseman. I saw this brother of Louis
XVIII. spring suddenly upwards with the rearing of his horse,
which looked as if he had been hit by the shot; but it was not
so. The beast took the bit between his teeth, and galloped off
outside the town, with the Duc de Berri and Marshal Marmont
at his heels. A regiment of the Grenadier Guards followed;
two regiments of the Imperial army, Lancers and Carabineers,
were ranged in battle array at two hundred paces off, in a
menacing but undecided attitude.
The Duc De Berri advanced alone and spoke to them.
" Fire, if you dare, on the brother and nephew of your King;
or go back, and have the decency, at least, to respect misfortune."
On hearing the Prince's words they retired accordingly, and
left the road open for us to Armentieres, by which we migcht
enter Belgium. The Count d'Artois, the Duc de Berri and
Marshal Marmont reentered Bethune.  We could hardly
satisfy the hospitality of the people, who all pressed food,
lodging, and stabling on our little troop of men and horses. I
went to a blackimith's who had a large shop full of workmen
in the principal square of the town. They lavished upon us
everything that was necessary for man and beast. We drank
with our hosts to the health of the King, and felt that their
hearts were entirely with us.
XXVIT,.
After resting and refreshing ourselves, we went out to stroll
in the " Place" at Bethune, to talk over the events of the day.
The Royal Princes desired our pay to be distributed amongst
us with their last words of thanks and acknowledgments.
"We are going beyond the frontiers of France," they said,
"and do not ask you to accompany us farther. We know too
well the consequences and cost of emigration to press upon
you to adopt it. We have nothing to offer you but what awaw;'
I7




256          AfEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
ourselves. Where the soil of our country ends, therefore, stop
and leave us."
On hearing these words, opinions were divided amongst us.
My mind was made up. It was the first time I had had the
courage to speak in public. My adversary was the nephew
of M. Royer Collard, a young man who felt and argued hotly
on all subjects. He spoke well, and won all hearts to his
views.  But I fought against his proposal with all the energy
of which I was capable. "To emigrate," I said, " is to declare
ourselves defeated on the soil we are bound to defend. We
are more useful to the King's cause in the country itself than
in following his fortunes as soldiers in a strange land. It is
by the force of public opinion that we shall win, and not
by arms."
Five or six of our company insisted on following the King
into Belgium; but the rest of us remained behind. A few
moments later a proclamation was read, announcing that we
were all to be disbanded, and that, in virtue of a convention
entered into by the generals on both sides, we were to return
unarmed to the bosom of our families. Until Bethune was
evacuated, however, we were to guard her gates.
I and about twenty of my comrades were to have charge of
the Paris gate, and prevent the enemy's force from entering
the town before the day stipulated in the convention.
After two or three nights passed in this manner, we heard
some one knocking at the gates under cover of the darkness.
A voice cried out, " Is there an officer here named Lamartine?"  "Yes," was the reply. "Well; tell him that an officer of Hussars, named Descrivieux, wishes to speak to him."
I was summoned; Captain Descrivieux was admitted, and we
embraced each other cordially. " I am come to fetch you," he
said. Descrivieux was an amiable young man from Bourg en
Bresse, a relation and friend of my family's whom I had left
at Macon a few days before the 20th of March, and whom the
defection of his regiment had compelled to follow the cause
of the Emperor in spite of his own opinions. He belonged
to Excelmans's corps of cavalry.  "Follow me," he said,




ESCAPE IN DISGUISE                 257'"your duty is accomplished. I will give you a tradesman's
disguise, a horse, and money to get back to Paris. You must
not wait till the regular disbanding of the King's troops has
scattered them all over the country, for they would, of course,
be looked upon with suspicion by the Emperor's forces, and
your return would be both dangerous and difficult.  Your
mother put you specially under my charge; so come along
directly."
I did not hesitate, and followed my guide through the
faubourg of Bethune. He bought me a capital horse from the
stables of the Prince de Conde, whose accoutrements and
bridle were still marked with his cipher. I exchanged my
own clothes for those of a horse-dealer in the neighborhood,
which disguised me completely, and, after having wished Captain Descrivieux an affectionate farewell, I rode off, with a
jockey's whip at my wrist and a pair of pistols in my portmanteau. " God protect you," exclaimed my friend; "and remember me to Madame de Larmartine." " We are sure to
meet one another again in life." I did meet him often in afterlife, and, at last, as a colonel of Hussars, beloved, and ileservedly so, by his whole regiment. Waterloo had spared him.
His had been one of the twelve regiments whom Grouchy,
unjustly accused, had brought back to Liege. He had a prosperous and happy life, and died two years ago, always gay
and good and bright, and always a devoted friend. Were all
the world to forget him, I should ever deplore his loss, and
remember his kindness to me at the little garrison of B ethune.
XXVIII.
Nothing happened to me on the road. My childish face
was rather inappropriate to my pretended trade; but the
troubles which filled every heart in the rear of the great army
were my best protection. Moreover, the good people of the
North of France would have died sooner than betray a friend
of the King's.
I had a return of fever on arriving at Abbeville. I remember
the great Hotel de l'Europe, where I had lodged before, and,




a25 8         MEMOIRS 0 F LAMAR TINE.
dismounting, I gave my horse to the ostler and asked for a
bed. The mistress of the house and her three charming
daughters, seeing that I was tired and sick, showed me into
a most comfortable apartment; they directly saw through my
horsedealer's disguise, and treated me as a young man of good
family. The doctor came and said that all I wanted was rest.
For several days I was nursed by these good people with a
tender care of which I was really ashamed. The political
state of the horizon seemed to have redoubled their natural
kindness. My own mother and sisters could not have looked
after me better. They always opposed my departure.  At
last, I had no excuse for remaining. I told them my name.
They did not own to having recognized me till that avowal
could only add to their kindness. They would not hear of any
payment for their hospitality. " Allow us, sir," they exclaimed,
"to consider ourselves your hostesses and not your servants;
we can only beg of you to keep a place for us in your remembrance. Wherever the King is loved you will find friends."
I promised I would not forget them as long as I lived, and
( have kept my word. May Abbeville always contain such
good and loyal hearts! Gratitude is like friendship, and takes
no note of time.
XXIX.
When I arrived near Paris, I began to reflect on the way I
should manage to get into the town without exciting suspicion.
I wrote to a good fellow named Michonnet, who let out horses
and carriages in the Rue St. Marc, an old Vendean hero,
whose body had been riddled with shot in the days when
people fought for their opinions. I had known Michonnet during my first visit to Paris, and had made acquintance with his
wife, who was as good and loyal as himself. He used to let
me have horses and carriages on hire, and would even lend
me money at a pinch. I wrote to him explaining my position,
and telling him that I should arrive on such a day at St. Denis
with a fine horse. I implored him to come and fetch me himself in his oig, with a groom to take my horse, and to let me




V'ISIT TO ANr UNCLE.               259
lodge for a night or two at his house. I arrived towaras evening at St. Denis, and found that he had arranged everything
according to my suggestion.  I took his groom's place in the
gig bv his si le, the groom riding my horse, and so we entered
Paris without the least difficulty or suspicion. He took me to
nmy old quarters in the Hotel du Hazard. My landlady gave
me a graphic picture of the state of Paris.  I wanted to remain here privately for some days. Every one who had belonged to the household of Louis XVIII. had been forbidden
to stop in Paris; but I reckoned on getting out of the city as
I had entered it, through the ready wit and good-nature of
Michonnet.
After having, accordingly, stopped a week there, and been
witness to the scandalous scenes in the theatre (when the
Bourbons were given up to the coarse raillery of the dregs of
the people to please the conqueror of Elba), I left it, as I had
come, by the intervention of Michonnet, and mounted the
same horse which had brought me to Paris. I had an uncle,
whom I have before mentioned, a venerable ecclesiastic, who
had given up his ministerial employments, and lived in a beautiful and solitary chIteau in the forest in the neighborhood of
Dijon. He was my father's favorite brother and most intimate
friend, and I wrote to say I was coming, and that I felt it
would be to a second father. I took the least frequented
roads towards Burgundy; but I found the people far less
Royalist than those of the North. The cries of Vive /'Ezmei-ezutr met me on all sides, with menacing looks and provocations to insult, even from the peasants who were working in
the fields or mowing the meadows by the roadside. Sometimes the cry varied to Vive /na Aorl/ But I went quickly on
my way, only chewing the cud of bitter reflections.
At Chatillon-sur-Seine, however, on climbing the hill which
led to the town, I felt I could not resist driving back those
who were pursuing me with such gratuitous insults. I had a
little sword-stick which hung on my wrist by a leatherit strap,
and I drew the sword, galloping after them for a few seconds
with the naked blade. They all took to flight, and hid them.




2 6 0        MEMJOIRS OF LAMAR TINE.
selves in the vineyards. I put back my sword in the scabbard
and walked on. But my impatient movement had broken the
stick and the sword alone remained in my hand. Fortunately
I found it out on crossing the little bridge which led into the
town, and hastened to get rid of my sword by throwing it into
the stream below the bridge. I went on my way quietly, not
thinking I had been observed, and stopped at a little inn in
the centre of the town to ask for some dinner. I saw that my
horse was well cared for, and then sat down to dine. Hardly
was I seated, however, than a captain of the National Guard
came into the room and asked me what was the arm I had
t.lbrown away in the stream. I saw that I was discovered,
and felt that it would be wiser to tell the truth, that my sword
having slipped out of its sheath, I thought it was safer to
throw it away rather than compromise myself by wearing it
thus through the town. The captain saw directly with whom
he had to deal, and that I was not a brigand. He asked me
my name and my country.'" But I know your father! " he exclaimed. " He was one of my great friends. You are one of
the King's household, which has been disbanded, and you are
going home: there is no harm in that. I will leave you for a
moment to finish your dinner, and give you the time to be
ready before me. Tell the ostler to take your horse half a
league from here on the way to Vitteaux, and then leisurely go
on foot in the same direction. I will take care you are not
molested."  I finished my dinner and started as I was bid,
without being in any way hindered on my road, and rejoicing
in the kindness of the captain who thus enabled me to escape
an awkward interrogatory and several hours of prison, if not
more.
The next day I started for Sombernon. I knew the country
perfectly. At Pont-de-Pany I followed a narrow path through
a gorge in the woods, which brought me at night-fall to my
uncle's solitary chateau, where I found my father also, and we
had a merry supper together. I stayed there several days to
rest my horse. I saw that my Royalist feelings were far more
keen and zealous than theirs. My father had become hardened




DETERAINED  TO LEAVE FRANCE.              26I
to changes of government, and my uncle was not very sorry
for the events of the 24th of March, whereby he was rid of a
clergy whose pretensions gave him some umbrage. At Macon
I found I had no alternative but to serve the Emperor. I had
sworn not to bear arms but for the Bourbons or Liberty; so I
determined to leave France for a time and pass into Switzerland; and my nother did not thwart or oppose my wishes.




262           MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
BOOK VII.
I.
I HAD a great friend, who was an old temigrd of Conde's
army, living in the mountains of the Jura. I resolved to
throw myself on his hospitality for a few weeks, and spend a
little time with him in the heart of the Swiss mountains, from
whence I could easily go farther if the state of things became
worse.
This gentleman who was a good deal older than I, was one
of those charming people who suit all ages. He was a Royalist, but not a very keen politician, and enjoyed life as he found
it. He had that witty and keen sense of humor which rather
laughed at enthusiasm or over-zeal, even in the cause of the
King. He was a widower; his beautiful young wife was from
Macon, and had died in her first confinement. Having left
his little boy to the care of one of his sisters, he lived alone,
half sadly, half joyously, in the midst of these wild mountains.'
All parties loved him, because he hated no one, and that he
looked upon all opinions, if sincere, as deserving of respect
and consideration. His name was M. de Maizod. His little
chateau was only a house dignified with that feudal title, but
which the peasants considered as belonging to the village.
His nearest neighbors lived at the little town of Moirans.
There was an old middle-class family in Moirans, which was
not far from St. Claude, who were immensely looked up to and
respected in the country. They were called, like the Scotch
clans, the Chaveriats. Leonard Chaveriat, who belonged to
every one of note in Moirans, was looked upon with affectionate admiration by the whole population. He was, in fact, all
powerful; being lawyer, sportsman, fisherman, and one who




THE  CtIA TEA U OF Ai. DE.1L4IZOD.    2 62
could turn his hand to anything, while his greatest delight was
to be of use to everybody. He was a Royalist; but his opinions were subordinate to his instincts.  It would seem as if
the heart of all the mountains beat in that honest breast. The
moment he appeared, all, even the little children, would smile
and cry out, " There's Leonard!"  This man, by analogy of
character, was the friend and constant guest of M. de Maizod
-that is to say, all Moirans was his.
Leonard Chaveriat, who knew the history of every stone
and ruin in the place, came directly to the chateau de Maizod
to welcome in me the original owner and child of the soil.
II.
The chateau of M. de Maizod was a little square building
perched on the extremity of a flat bit of table-land, which rose,
isolated as it were, amidst the farms of the village. At some
steps from the house, the terrace, formed by the gray rocks,
slopes suddenly down in a precipice towards a retired and
wooded valley. M. de Maizod opened his arms to receive
me with a joyous cry; he was waiting for me at the front
door.
" I come to you," I said to M. de Maizod, " like a bird who
is poising himself on the last branch of the last tree in the
fores', undecided whether to stay or to take his flight across
the fields of Liberty at the first appearance of the sportsman.
Do not let me disturb any of your usual habits, but let me only
live here a little while in peace."
I spent a month, in fact, in this quiet solitude without being
troubled by the convulsions which agitated the other provinces
of France.
III.
Things were in this state when Leonard Chaveriat came to
inform me that war having been declared, and the Emperor
being in need of men, the prefects had received orders to find
out all the young men who had served in the King's household
or body-guard, and to compel them  to march against the
enemy, and join the Imperial army. My decision was instantly




264          MEMiOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
taken.  I exclaimed, " I would rather take flight or die than
fight against the King! " I had told my father so, and I re.
peated it fifty times a day to myself. Neutrality may be accepted, but apostasy never! I had no time for deliberation.
Leonard offered to guide me to the Swiss frontier through the
forest of Fresnoy. I accepted the services of so true a friend.
His known habits as a sportsman, and the way he was looked
up to in the neighborhood, insured my safety on the road. I
wished good-by to my host - that best of men, and followed
Chaveriat. My gun served as a pretext for my departure, and
we started towards evening for St. Claude.
We stopped on our way at Combe, a little village at a stone's
throw from the town. It has a pretty waterfall, which had
been diverted a little from its course in order to work a sawmill belonging to M. Reverchon an old tenant of my father's
in this part of the Jura. He lived with his wife and sons on
the borders of the forest, out of which the stream rushes in
the most picturesque manner. We were treated less as guests
than as masters of the house, and after supper we talked of
family matters. I confided to them my plan of escape. Every
one was ready to second me in it. I went to sleep lulled by
the regular rush of the waterfall and the melancholy creaking
of the wheels of the saw-mill. As soon as the day dawned,
Leonard woke me, and after having warmly thanked our hosts,
we started on our way. Our dogs trotted after us in couples.
After following an oblique course across the fields on the lower
edge of the mountains in sight of the custom-house officers
who knew Leonard, we suddenly entered the magnificent forest which had shaded my cradle, as it was now sheltering my
flight. We took the least frequented paths, under the grandest old firs, and walked on in this way for two or three hours.
These trees resemble the giants in the Californian valleys, and
rise like the great masts of a ship with their leafy sails. I exhausted myself in trying to measure by the eye their height
and diameter. We appeared like dwarfs at their feet. What
are revolutions which displace men, as the swaying of the
branches displace the birds, compared to the kind of perpe



IN  THE COUNTRY OF WILLIAM  TALL.   265
tuity of one of these primeval forests? We were never
weary of talking of and admiring them. At last, a kind of
twilight towards one end of the wood showed us a break in
the dark cathedral-like shade we had been so long traversing.
Here Leonard stopped. " Follow," he said, " that hollow and
unfrequented path which leads up the hill until you come to a
shelving bank, which is the boundary or frontier between the
two countries. If I see the custom-house officers watching
you, I will go and divert their attention till you have passed it.
You will then find yourself close to a high-road, in which you
are safe and free. It will lead you to St. Cergues, a Swiss
hamlet on the summit of the Jura, from whence you will see
at your feet the lakes Leman and Lausanne to your left, and
Geneva to your right. God have you in his holy keeping!
You are now in the country of William Tell." So saying, we
embraced and parted. A quarter of an hour after I saw on
an upright stone the arms of the Pays de Vaud. I cried out
loud for joy at my deliverance, and walked gayly on to St.
Cergues. I asked for the house of M. Reboul, which was
immediately pointed out to me. It was the well-known home
of a noble Swiss, who had been the guide of Madame de Stael
and her friends during the first great Revolution. It was there
that Mathieu de Montmorency, Benjamin Constant, M M. de
Noailles, and countless other distinguished men, had shaken
off the dust from their feet when flying from a land of tyranny
to one of liberty. I thanked God who had allowed me to follow in their steps.
I was courteously requested to come in. M. Reboul was
gone to see his cows, which were fattening on the rich pasture
of La Cahize. A young lady of remarkable beauty came forward and begged me gracefully to await his return. This
young girl, or rather this angel from a higher sphere, had
nothing either in her face or dress like any woman I had ever
seen before. Her voice was not more strange and fascinating
than her features. The calm of the mountainous region in
which she lived seemed to have impregnated the tones in
which she spoke to us, ordinary mortals.




266          MEM.OIRS OF  A-nARTIA-E.
But her face, with her blue eyes and her rose-leaf complexion, had a mingled expression of joy and sorrow, which struck
me the moment I saw her. I did not then know that she had
only lately lost her mother, and that time had not yet effaced
the traces of her grief. She was plaiting a large straw hat
with a wide border to defend her neck from the sun, and little
bits of straw were scattered on the parquet floor at her feet.
She offered me a glass of wine whilst I was waiting for her
father; and we began to enter into a quiet kind of conversation. She, with that calm soft voice, which thrilled me through
and through, and I, with a totally new feeling which made my
words tremble on my lips. I had a letter of recommendation
from Leonard for her father, so that I had no alternative but
to await his return. He came home very late, but by that time
I had become accustomed to my hostess, and it was Reboul
who appeared to me the only stranger.
I gave him LEonard's letter. He read it carefully, and then
said we would speak of its contents on the morrow. He told
his charming daughter to go and prepare my room for me.
She left us at once, but my thoughts followed her. I do not
know how it was that recollections of Graziella mingled with
this new vision. I could not tell why this angelic apparition
gave me at once such a feeling of security and such an inclination to cry.
I supped afterwards with Reboul; his daughter waited on
us. Her soft and holy face seemed to me a good omen on the
threshold of an unknown future.
IV.
During supper, M. Reboul spoke to me openly of his adventures as guide to the many hundred proscribed or voluntary
exiles whom for the last fifteen years he had concealed and
conveyed from one country to another. He began by Madame de Stael, whose chAteau of Coppet was not far from St.
Cergues. The wish he felt to save his friends had insensibly
led him to make a habit of that which had at first been only
the impulse of his kind heart. His reputation was spread




A PANORAMAA INV SWITZERLAND.             267
thrcughout France and Switzerland, and he had always been
fortunate in his ventures. He attributed his success to the
protection of God, which the prayers of his saintly wife and
child had obtained for him. At the mention of his wife his
eyes filled with tears. His daughter turned her face away,
and covered it with her apron to hide her tears. " Do not let
us talk of this any more to-night," said her father. "It is
time to go to bed. You will stay here till to-morrow," he
added, turning to me,'" and I will give you the best advice I
can after I have heard your story, and have found out what I
can do for you."  His charming daughter helped the servant
to make my bed, and I went to rest to dream of the future.
But the face of the Graziella of the Alps prevented my sleeping for a long time.
The next day, at day-break, I was up and ready to accompany her father. She wished me good-by, recommending me
tenderly to God's care. "You are very young," she said, "to
be thus thrown by yourself into an unknown future. Your
mother must have many anxieties on your account!" "  Ah,"
I replied, " I have a mother and sisters also, who pray to God
for me. They are younger, but not better or purer than you."
She wrung my hand, and we parted.
After having walked for some time on the brow of the
mountain which the dawn had hardly yet lighted, I suddenly
burst into a cry of admiration. The whole horizon of Switzerland seemed to me to be emerging from the morning mist;
it was like a second creation. At our feet the Lake Leman
sparkled, half in light and half in shadow. The mountains of
Meilleraie and the rocky Tooth de Jaman, so wonderfully described by J. J. Rousseau, formed the barrier on the Italian side.
The Valais, a country of innocence and of shepherds, seemed
nestled in a little hollow to the left. Then Vevay and the
Chateau de Chillon shone like fallen stars in the lake. Never,
not even at Naples, had I seen so wonderful and glorious a
spectacle. At each rung of the marvelous ladder of terraces
which we began to descend, new bays, new ports, new towns,
new villas, new gardens opened out on our delighted gaze. It




268           MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
seemed as if we were really assisting at the creation of a new
world. After we had walked for about two hours, always
bearing towards the left, Reboul suddenly stopped and showed
me a large and imposing modern castle, which rose like a fan
with its succession of terraces above the village at the head
of the lake.
"Look! " he said to me. " We will wish one another good
by here. That is the Chateau of Vincy, to which I have led
you. I will not go any farther, for you cannot lose your way.
This castle, which is one of the most beautiful on the borders
of the lake, belongs to the illustrious House of Vincy, Lords
of Berne   once very rich, now ruined by the vile revolution
of I799. It is now inhabited by the youngest and last brother
or those who commanded the Swiss troops in the service of
France, and of whom one or two passed into Holland. Some
of the other members of the family are married, and have become once more French proprietors. Others have seen long
service in the household of the King, while this one spends
his winters at Geneva, and his summers in this old family
mansion. He is the best man I know to give you the information you seek, and to put you in the way of obtaining what
you wish. He has, as it were, the kernel of a little French
army, composed of men who wish to fight for the cause of the
King of France without joining themselves to strangers. He
is, in fact, the principal Royalist agent for the French in
Switzerland. Go and introduce yourself to him in my name,
and ask him to look at your papers. They will tell him all."
I thanked Reboul, sent many heartfelt good wishes to his
daughter, and strolled on alone for the chateau of M. de
Vincy. I was not without some uneasiness as to the manner
in which I should be received, for I had only this note from
Reboul, and my personal appearance was certainly not in my
favor. I went down the hill, therefore, rather reluctantly, and
arrived, almost with a feeling of regret, at the iron gates which
led to the castle.




A VISIT TO M. DE VINCYE                269
V.
I pushed open the gate for myself. One felt, by the solitude and the absence of any porter or servant, the ruin which
had fallen on this noble and Royalist house. I walked on till
I came to a magnificent flight of steps, and was admitted by a
servant, who took in my card to M. de Vincy. He was a wizened, ill-dressed little man, and everything about him indicated a certain degree of poverty. He made me sit down in
his own room, and asked me to what circumstance he was indebted for the honor of my visit? I presented M. Reboul's
note in answer.
" I know nothing," he replied, " at this moment, of the state
of affairs in France. The armies gathered against the Emperor are composed of English, Prussian, Russian, Austrian,
and Italian troops. There are no Frenchmen, I fear, except a
handful gathered together by the Prince de Polignac in a village near Neufchatel called La Chaux-de-Fond. The Abbd
Lafond, Malet's only accomplice, is at the head of this little
troop. I will have your passport viseed for Neufchatel."
I thanked him, and stood aside whilst a multitude of people
and farmers came to transact different affairs with him, or to
receive his orders. The same servant introduced them one
after the other. I saw many of these men leave miserable
little sums in copper on his desk, which was evidently their
rent, and which he counted with the anxiety of an apparently
rich man who did not know where to turn for the necessary
expenditure of the house. Everything showed the pinching
of penury in the midst of external opulence. I was filled with
pity for him in spite of my admiration for his magnificent
When the farmers had finished their payments, M. de Vincy
came back to me and gave me my passport viseed. I wished
him good-by, feeling more and more for his unhappy position,
and took my departure.  Scarcely had I taken half a dozen
steps towards the iron grille than a carriage drove up and
stopped at the steps. Two ladies and a little child got out of




270          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
it. They were a mother and daughter, and a pretty boy of ten
or twelve vears old. I glanced at them and raised my hat as
they stopped for an instant on the lower step of the staircase,
where A'. de Vincy had joined them, and was speaking to
them in a low voice. During this conversation I had turned
away and had just reached the iron gates when a soft voice
recalled me.  It was Madame de Vincy.' Sir," she exclaimed, "be so kind as to come back."
I did so, shyly enough. When I drew near them she added,
" Sir, forgive me for having called you back without having
the honor of knowing you. But when M. de Vincy told me
the object of your visit, I feared you might not have dined,
and as we are just going to sit down to dinner, I venture to
ask you to share our humble repast. There is no inn in this
village, and it is three hours' march from here to Rolle. Do
not refuse us the pleasure of being your hosts to-day."
I refused on the plea of my dress; but they insisted more
amiably than ever, and I was compelled to yield. The dinner
was served immediately; my hostess was most indulgent and
kind. Madame de Vincy, the mother, was one of the most
beautiful and imposing women I ever saw. She was born a
princess of some sovereign house in the Palatinate, of which
I have forgotten the name. The Vincys had noble birth on
both sides, but Madame de Vincy did not belie her origin.
Her height, which was five feet and seven inches, gave her
the majesty of a goddess without taking away her grace as a
mortal, and the blue eyes of a German princess impressed a
certain amount of dignity even on her smile. Her face alone
revealed the goodness of her heart; the sound of her voice
spoke to the heart even before it charmed the ear. Her civility was indeed true Christian courtesy. Never had I seen so
remarkable a face. One felt that she was a mother, and there
was something filial in the emotion with which her beauty inspired me.
Her daughter, who was infinitely less beautiful but as good
and sensible as her mother, was gentle and sympathizing in
manner; I saw that her soul was a reflection of Madame de




70INZVNG THE ROYALISTS.              271
Vincy's, and that she was a shoot of the same stem. She was
about sixteen. The boy of twelve had a fine German countenance. Madame de Vincy had two other sons, one in the
Dutch service and one in the household of Louis XVIII., who
had followed the King to Ghent. They were fine well-grown
lads; in fact, their mother was made to bring forth noblelooking sons.
VI.
Our conversation became more and more familiar. We had
plenty of subjects in common in the political aspect of the
times, and in the strangeness of my own position. They insisted on hearing my history, which I related simply and naturally. I saw that it made a great impression on my hostess,
and that the father and son were of the same opinion. The
dinner over, I took up my little bundle, and prepared to continue my journey. " But, sir," exclaimed Madame de Vincy,
" an idea strikes me. My husband tells me that you are going,
at all risks, to join the little gathering of French at La Chauxde-Fond, in the neighborhood of Neufchatel. I highly approve of your determination not to serve your country with
strange troops, who any day may become our enemies. But if
you find this French corps dispersed, what do you mean to
do? "
"I really don't know," I replied.
"Well, then," she rejoined, " if you can put up with such
accommodation as we can offer you here, why should you not
stop a few days till we can obtain some information as to the
state of things at Neufchatel, and let us, for a time, replace
to you your mother and sisters? "
I colored; Put my face showed the pleasure I did not dare
express. The ladies understood me at once, and Mademoiselle de Vincy, at a sign from her mother, taking my little
bundle from my hands, laid it on the table.
" Well," added Madame de Vincy, smiling, " try and fancy
that we are your mother and sister for the moment. You will
not refuse to let us shelter you for some weeks till we can see
I8




272          ME'MOIR'S OF LAMAR TINE.
our way a, little more clearly; and will you not be as comfortable here as on the high-roads, or in some bad Swiss inn?
Make up your mind to stop with us, for I already feel towards you as to a son."
" Ah! madame," I exclaimed with a broken voice, " how
can I resist such kindness, and go against my own heart's
leanings?"
"Well, well, then it's all settled," exclaimed husband and
wife at once. " We will go and order your room, and I hope
you will be as comfortable or more so than at the inn of
Rolle."
They gave me a room with a most glorious view over the
lake of Geneva, and I found myself treated in all respects
as one of the family.
VII.
From  that hour my life become most enjoyable.  The
mother and daughter took possession of me, whilst M. de
Vincy, busy with his domestic troubles, was painfully collecting his rents from the tenants of Vincy. I had almost forgotten the object of my journey. But I soon found that the
so-called French army, which had been organized in Switzerland by the Royalist agents of the Pays de Vaud, was reduced
to nothing, or contented themselves with some insignificant
movements without any result. In the mean time I reveled in
the enjoyment of the confidence which my circumstances and
age had inspired in the bosom of a hospitable and virtuous
family.
One day during my stay withl them I went to dine in the little town of Nyons, to try and glean some news to bring back
to my hosts at the chateau of Vincy. There was at Nyons an
inn dear to all old emigrants, kept by a maiden lady, who was
well known in the country. Madame de Vincy gave me a
line of introduction for her, and I went there for a night.
She received me as an old friend. There were about thirty
guests at the table d'hote, at which she presided. Hardly was
I seated, without any intention of being remarked by anybody,




A ROYALIST CHAMPION.                 273
than an angry squabble arose at the other end of the table
between some people who had been quietly occupied in eating
their dinner in silence, and a Swiss officer belonging to the
canton of Berne. I could not help listening to the quarrel,
which seemed to get warmer every moment.
"No! " at last exclaimed the officer, " I ani not one of those
mean Frenchmen who renounce the great man who has been
the origin of all their glory in Europe, and who are at this
moment forming wishes for his second fall from the armies of
the allies. And if you don't like my principles, you may, if
you please, call me to account for them. I am ready to answer
any one who chooses to contradict me."
Everybody was silent. Some of the company went away.
I was the youngest, the most unknown, and the farthest from
the speaker, who was at the extreme end of the long table. I
therefore held my tongue, when a young man and two very
pretty women who were with him, started up close to a side
door which led into the dining-room. Their speaking faces,
the deep frown on their foreheads, and the eager eye with
which they looked up and down the room seeking for one who
would answer and avenge their cause, made me instantly resolve to break the silence.
"Very. well, sir," I exclaimed, rising and turning to the officer from Berne, " as no one seems disposed to answer your
insolent speech, I shall take it upon myself to reply in my
quality as a Frenchman. Yes, sir, I am one of those Frenchmen whom you call mean, because they believed in the reality
of abdications, and in the sacred nature of treaties; and did
not think that the caprice of a voluntary exile in the island of
Elba could dispose at his will of France and of Europe. They
still hold to these opinions; and if you wish to be answered
otherwise than by words, I am ready, and will meet you where
you please."
At these words a low murmur of applause ran through the
whole length of the table, which went on increasing till the
officer, looking thoroughly ashamed of himself, retired, and I
remained confused at the praise I had unexpectedly received.




274          3EAMOIRS OF LAiIAR TIVE.
I sat down quickly, rather ashamed of my easy triumph, when
the two pretty women, whose presence had inspired me to
speak, rushed towards me, and drawing me towards the door
I have before mentioned, carried me off through the corridor
of the inn to their own room, and congratulated me in terms
which I have since heard in the House of Deputies.
" We are proud, sir, to be French women," they said, "and
to have by chance heard one of the youngest of our countrymen avenge our country by such words after the insults of that
miserable wretch, whose only admiration is for tyranny. As
to ourselves, believe that we have never made a pact with
those who look upon glory as the one good, and that we
hailed the restoration of the Bourbons as the return to right
and liberty. Tell us who you are, and pray make use of our
little apartment here while you are staying in this hotel."
They brought some punch, and I drank to the health of my
enthusiastic friends; after which, thanking them warmly for
their kindness, I went back to Vincy. A note from the landlady of the hotel had preceded me: my little adventure, colored by her good-nature, seemed heroic. They received me
in consequence as a Royalist hero. Fortune had served me.
I had defended at the same time the cause of the Bernese
aristocracy, and that of the King of France.
These two ladies were Mesdames de Bellegarde, doubly
famous from the part they had played during the French Revolution of I792 and I793, and by their enthusiasm for the
restoration on the return of Louis XVIII. in I8I4. Although
very different in expression, they were still very beautiful, a
beauty which had exposed them in former times to all the
snares of human love and admiration. The eldest, the Countess de Bellegarde, had a face like that of Judith by Allori.
She was tall, large, dark, with passionate black eyes, a living
picture in fact of enthusiasm. The youngest, also tall and
with a beautiful figure, was a great contrast to her sister; she
was fair, delicate, and sensitive, with blue dreamy eyes, which
often wore an expression of great sadness. They were natives of Sardinia, the daughters of a Count de Bellegarde, and




Zl~RAULT DE S~CHELLES.                 275
had been left orphans very young. Their father had been in
the service of the House of Austria, and their name had, long
been distinguished among the generals whom the Emperor was
fond of selecting from the Italian states, such as the Montecuculli and others. Left in the country home of their ancestors during the beginning of the French Revolution, they
lived in a magnificent chateau called Des Marches, in the
midst of the beautiful valley of Gresivaudan. After having
conquered Savoy and Geneva, the revolutionary general, De
Montesquieu (then in the full height of his power, though
soon after proscribed), had taken refuge in the mountains of
Switzerland, to wait for better times, and the province of Savoy had been given up to the proconsul Herault de Sechelles.
Before the days of the Convention, He'rault had been a magistrate and a philosopher, and a model of honorable and highprincipled conduct. His beautiful face and figure resembled
that of Antinous; he was the "Barbarossa" of the aristocracy. Elected unanimously by the legislative assembly, he had
obtained a high position there, not only by his eloquence and
the dignity of his bearing, but by his Jacobin enthusiasm.
With his great zeal, his voice, and his expressive face, he became the idol of the neophytes of those days; but, insensibly
dragged on by the revolutionary torrent beyond his own convictions, he had, like Le Pelletier de St. Fargeau, yielded to
the popular tumult, and sacrificed the King to the exigencies
and barbaric violence of the republic. Popular favor, however,
had rewarded him for this weak compliance as if it had been
a virtue. Sent soon after to republican Savoy, he was at the
same time a conqueror and conquered: he came to the chateau
of Marches, and saw these two beautiful orphans without a
guardian or protector; the one in all the splendor of her
grown-up beauty, the other with all the tender grace of budding girlhood. A passionate love for the Countess de Bellegarde took possession of his heart; while his burning eloquence inspired these young girls with an enthusiasm for his
own opinions. The two sisters had been introduced by him
as mrodels to the fanatical people of those provinces. A little




276          MEMIOIRS OF LAMAR Ti.E.
later he became unpopular with his party from his moderation,
and Herault de Sechelles followed Danton to the scaffold, and
died an honest republican, a victim to the crimes of the people.
The Countess of Bellegarde and her innocent sister wished
to share his fate; but even these brutal judges, dazzled by
their youth and beauty, would not condemn them. They had
lived ever since that time in the Chateau of Marches, sharing
in the society around them, and in the reaction against the
Terrorists, of whom they had so nearly been the victims
The events of the 20th of March had revolted them; they
had quitted their chateau and come to Nyons to live with the
Royalists. It was thus that I first became acquainted with
them, and in their enthusiastic declarations I recognized the
pupils of him in whose political school they had been brought
up.
Two days after, I resolved to profit by my near neighborhood to see, at least once before her death, Madame de Stael,
who had long been the object of my antipathy on account of
her father, and of my enthusiasm as regarded herself. Coppet,
which was the abode of M. Necker, had been previously
bought by my grandfather, who had kept it a long time without living in it; but all of a sudden the canton of Berne passed
a law refusing the rights of proprietorship to any Catholic; so
that he ceded it to I know not whom, and bought in its stead
the beautiful castle of Ursy, in Burgundy. I felt that it
would hardly be right for me, as a guest of the Vincys, to go
and introduce myself at the chateau of Coppet as a pilgrim at
the tomb of M. Necker, whom it was impossible for me to
admire or to love. " I should be wanting to two persons," I
said: "to Madame de Vincy and to myself. I will not go!"
Only, as the high-road is the property of everybody, I thought
a cat might look at a king, and that a glimpse of her would
satisfy without compromising me. I knew that Madame de
Stail went twice a week to Geneva with certain friends of
hers, among whom were two beautiful women, one Madame




MNIE. RECAMIER AND MMIE. DE STAEL.  277
Recamier, her great friend, exiled, like her, from all countries
under the dominion of the Emperor; the other, Mlle. de
Constant, a German, of still wider reputation; but, at this
period of my life, the admiration of genius extinguished all
other in my heart.
IX.
I got up, therefore, very early one Saturday, which was the
day they told me Madame de Stael made her weekly expedition to Geneva, and putting a piece of bread in my pocket, I
hid myself at a turn of the road from Coppet to Geneva, being
partly concealed by a great ditch on the high-road, by the side
of which her carriage must necessarily pass. I remained
there from nine o'clock in the morning till two o'clock in the
afternoon, hidden by the shrubs at the side of the road; during which time I amused myself by reading " Corinne" (that
beautiful work of that modern Sappho), and listening with a
quick ear to the least sound of a carriage coming from Coppet.
In spite of the poetic interest of this beautiful book on Italy,
the day appeared to me rather long, and I at last determined
to quit my hiding-place, when to my great joy I heard the
rolling of two carriages, which left me no doubt as to their
occupants. They passed like the wind; the first contained
only two gentlemen with Mlle. Constant; a beautiful person in the flower of her age. I could only, however, snatch
one look at her, which was followed by an involuntary cry of
admiration. The next carriage, which was an open one, contained two women, whom it was impossible not to recognize.
One was Madame Recamier, whose angelic face could bear no
other name, and of whom it was said that one look sufficed to
bind your heart to her forever; but her beauty, although it
dazzled, did not distract me. Her companion, who was speaking to her in a loud voice, was, however, the person of whom
I was in search. I had time to take in her features thoroughlly,
for the horses slacked their speed at a little rise there was in
the ground. Madame de Stae was, as usual, dressed in an
Indian turban, of which the varied and well-assorted colors




278          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
seemed to be magically reflected upon her forehead. The forehead was large, prominent, and high, as if to give space to a
whole world of thought and new ideas; it shaded two prominent
eyes of magnificent shape and brilliancy; all her expression,
in fact, lay in these eyes; they spoke more than her mouth.
Her nose was short and finely shaped; her lips thick and open,
made for eloquence or for love; her complexion was pale, but
brightened by a look of inspiration. Her arms, which were
always in movement, and exposed by shlort, open sleeves, were
white and magnificent; her whole person, though large, was
not wanting in a grace which called forth admiration; in fact,
it commanded it. The little hill had been climbed. The
horses started again at a trot, and nothing remained to me
but the dust they left behind them. Genius had passed me
with its escort of beauty; but what remained on one's memory
was the genius. I could not finish the volume of "Corinne"
after having seen its author! I came back very late and
found my friends waiting for me for supper. I was obliged to
own to Madame de Vincy what had been the cause of my
long absence. " Why did you not tell me of your very natural
admiration? " replied this noble woman; "in spite of some
differences of opinion, we have for Madame de Sta6l as much
enthusiasm as yourself. We would have taken and introduced
you to her. It is impossible to see without admiring her, or
to be her neighbor without loving her. Her faults are those
of her training and her wit; her good qualities belong to her
own heart; the foundation of all her glory is really her goodness." "No," I replied to my kind hostess. "I would
rather have seen her quietly without knowing her; I have
had a glimpse of genius, and it was as rapid and fugitive as
itself; " and then we began to talk of other things.
x.
I had spent three weeks in this delightful house in a delicious intimacy with the Vincy family; but I knew the extreme
poverty of the house, and I was afraid of being indiscreet, and
perhaps burdensome. I settled, therefore, to delay no longer




IN SEARCHt  OF A FRENCH ARMY.            279
my start for Neufchaftel and La Chaux-de-Fond, to seek the
French royalist military gathering. They smiled at my enthusiasm, but they let me go. A gentleman from Lyons, who was
a great agriculturist, came in the same way that I had done to
present himself to Monsieur de Vincy, and gave me a pretext
for departure. I took leave of my kind and generous hosts
with a pang; it appeared to me as if I were again parting
from my own family. Madame and Mlle de Vincy had
tears in their eyes at wishing me good-by. I started with
my Lyons companion, but promised to return if the gathering
at La Chaux-de-Fond disappointed my expectations.  At
Rollo we chartered a kind of Swiss car to conduct us to
Neufchatel. Our vetturino brought us there in three days,
the road winding round the base of the Jura mountains,
amidst the most beautiful scenery possible, with the Lakes
Leman, Yverdun, and of Neufchatel to the right, and grand
rocks and pine forests to the left. We were perfectly charmed
with our expedition, and as our opinions were identical, there
was nothing in our conversation to mar our enjoyment of this
magnificent scenery. The first question we asked on arriving
at the hotel at Neufchatel was about the French military
gathering at La Chaux-de-Fond. No one had an idea of what
we meant! I began to fear our royalist visions would vanish
in smoke. My companion was so discouraged that he decided
to return to his Lyons property. I, however, was determined
to persevere in the search, and next day started on foot for
La Chaux-de-Fond. The path led through a beautiful forest
of sombre pines and magnificent waterfalls, and I did not
arrive there till the morning of the following day. La Chauxde-Fond was then a poor little Swiss village, situated on the
extreme frontiers of France, and inhabited by peasants who
were all clock-makers. Its picturesque wooden houses were
scattered here and there over the plain which led to the pine
wood. My appearance and dress were rather those of a journeyman watch-maker, who was coming to seek employment
from one of the clock-makers in the district. I went into the
first public-house I came to, and asked for the address of the




28,)         AMEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
head of the staff of the French army. The people looked at
one another with surprise, and after having said something in
a jafois unintelligible to me, concluded with a smile that I was
wishing to find a French priest named L'Abbe Lafond, who
had been living in the only decent hotel in the village for one
or two months, and to whose lodging they proposed to conduct me. I began to doubt the existence of a staff corps,
which thus disappeared like a mirage, and which seemed to be
represented by an abbe in a wild village on the side of the
Alps; however, having come so far, I was determined to see,
and I saw. What was called the great hotel of La Chaux-deFond was a little house at the end of a long solitary street, on
the opposite side to that by which I had come into the village.
A young girl, who had volunteered to be my guide, said smiling to the innkeeper, "Here is a gentleman who is looking
for the French army; they told himn at our house that its
head-quarters were with you, and that its general was L'Abbe
Lafond! "  " It's quite true," replied the innkeeper; "we
have got here a gentleman who calls himself the Abbe Lafond, but who says he is a major-general in the French army.
If you, sir," he added, turning to me, "' wish to speak to him,
I will go and ask him to come down-stairs; in the mean time,
here is a little table, with some fresh bread and cheese, and
beer, to refresh you after your hot walk."  They brought me,
accordingly, this primitive breakfast, and I sat down to eat it
in the best parlor of the little inn.
XI.
I was hardly seated at the table, however, before I saw a
little man with a beaming face, between thirty and forty years
of age, come rapidly down a little wooden staircase. " Oh!
there is Monsieur l'Abbe Lafond," exclaimed the servant,
and she brought him to where I was sitting. He was dressed
in a brown great-coat, which was half military, half ecclesiastical. His black stockings carefully drawn up over his well
made calves, reminded one of a priest; while the black cra.
vat and military collar made me fancy that he was an officer.




A DISCUSSION WITH L'ABBt.               281
He thus represented a double character, the ecclesiastic below
and the soldier above; he was, in fact, made to suit every
taste. I got up and bowed, while he came forward smiling,
and asked me, " What had brought me to see him in this outof-the-way part of the world?"  I begged him to sit down.
He said he would breakfast with me, and ordered some eggs,
and we entered into conversation while filling our glasses
with beer. " You have come from Monsieur de Vincy," he
said to me at last. " Here is a letter from him," I replied.
He read it, and then said quietly; " This is just what I had
supposed."  I continued: " I am come to join the little army
which is being organized, I am told, under your orders, at La
Chaux-de-Fond. I will not serve with strangers against
France, but I am dying to fight for the King against the Emperor; where is the army?   "The army! " he exclaimed;
" why, it is I! there is no other. Was not I alone, two years
ago, the army of a general, who, with the help of a single man,
put a whole ministry in prison, and an empire in his pocket?
Men after all are nothing; it is the idea which is all in all;
the idea is mine, and if I can persuade every one from here
to Besangon (as I have done) that a formidable army has been
formed on this frontier, ready to act when the time comes, is
it not as useful, and as much dreaded by the enemy as if indeed numberless battalions were prepared to enter France by
this route, to bear succor to the Royalists? Without money,
without pay, without soldiers, without arms, I keep a whole
province in check, and paralyze both Besangon and Belfor.
You see that you come yourself to join us, and you find only
a head instead of arms; believe me, it is enough; stay with
me, we shall be two instead of one; and when the Emperor
has been defeated in the open fields by the armies of Europe,
we shall have been believed to have led a general insurrection,
and the East of France will think that their deliverance is
owing to us." I fairly burst out laughing. " From this statement, Monsieur l'Abbe, am I to imagine that shadows are as
powerful as bodies, and that imagination surpasses reality? "
He replied: " Have I not already clearly proved in I813, that




282           MEMOIRS OF LAMAR TINE.
if General Hulin had consented to allow himself to be convinced by a ball in his jaw that the Emperor was dead, the
empire would have died in reality? " " You are right, Monsieur l'Abb'," I answered; "but a surprise is not a revolution. Some man comes, more curious, or perhaps, you will
say, more obstinate than others. Instead of a well-appointed
army he finds nothing but an ecclesiastic; and if he does not
want to pass for an adventurer, he blows upon the shadow,
and its nothingness is made apparent. Let us have our breakfast together in peace, and I will take leave of you afterwards.
I shall not believe again so lightly in representations from a distance, and shall content myself with waiting; while you must
be satisfied with my good wishes."  He saw that his army
would never arrive at more than one man; but he comforted
himself by giving me all the details of Malet's conspiracy, in
which he had played the principal part. Fifteen or twenty innocent Bonapartists had been shot to convince the Emperor of
the reality of the conspiracy; the Abbe Lafond, who was the
only guilty one, escaped. He evidently hoped to play the same
game a second time; but I refused to act as his second. I
must do him the justice to say, that he, was a man of wonderful
genius and resources. When he was chaplain of a madhouse
close to one where General Malet was expiating a previous
sentence, he felt that he wanted a soldier to pull the strings of
a military conspiracy, and persuaded him to undertake it. He
had but one man, it is true, but he very nearly succeeded. He
vws confident of succeeding again, but miracles do not happen
twice in a man's life. It was impossible to hear any one relate
a story which one might think little to the credit of an ecclesiastic, with more confidence in the purity of his motives. He
was really a master in political intrigue; but he had not the
art of varying his subject; lhe always played the same tune.
After having studied him for one whole evening, although
immensely struck by his genius, I left him the next day without regret, and went back to Neufchfatel, my illusory search
after military glory being dispelled. I came back by Berne
to the Chateau de Vincy, where I gave them a full account of




A STORM  ON LAKE LEAI~AN.              283
the puerili ies of the Abb6 Lafond. I always wonder what
has become of him since, but I never could find out. He
lives, and probably conspires still. I have always been astonished not to hear of him as having been shot in some great
conspiracy strangled at the birth; but I believe that there is a
special Providence which watches over men of this sort, and
that L'Abbe Lafond will probably go to his grave in peace.
XII.
At Paris, the Emperor could not live long on the conspiracy
of Elba, and the Royalists and Liberals gave him little time to
decide on any line of conduct. He was continually promising
reforms; but his only real hope was in the army. Before he
was really ready, he made up his mind to take the field.
Waterloo was to cut the knot; that day, so fatal to military
France, was drawing near! In the mean while I resolved to
pass into Savoy on the other side of the lake.
There was a boatman in the Savoyard village of Narnier
who spent his time in ferrying over the inhabitants of the two
countries, from the Swiss to the Savoyard side of the lake.
He was known to Mademoiselle -, the mistress of the hotel
where the Mesdames Bellegarde lived. I took'leave a second
time, therefore, of my kind hostesses at the Chateau de Vincy,
and went to Nyons. I begged the mistress of the inn to
recommend me to the boatman of Narnier as a good Royalist
flying from Imperial France, and only wishing to live in peace
until the political horizon brightened. The boatman, himself
a devoted Royalist, consented on these terms to ferry me
over. I embarked in his little open felucca, which was loaded
with cattle, towards the end of June; but it was one of those
stormy days which made the Lake Leman as tempestuous as
the Archipelago. We had, in consequence, a very dangerous
crossing., and the waves increasing in violence as we approache(! the shores of Savoy, prolonged our voyage till far
into the night. Luckily, one billow, larger than the rest,
threw us safely on the sand. At Narnier I went to lodge in
the house of the boatman himself, who consented to sheltem




284          MEMOIRS OF LAMAARTINE.
me for some hours. During supper I asked him if there were
any lodgings in this place which would recdive me at a very
low price, for my journey to Neufchatei and Berne had made a
great hole in my fifty pounds; and if my exile were to be
prolonged some time longer, I began to think I must pass
over to England or to Russia, and earn my bread by teaching
French. The boatman spoke to his daughter (a young woman
about twenty years of age) about a little empty house on the
borders of the lake, which had been used as a guard-house by
the custom-house officers of the King of Sardinia until the
breaking out of the war; but which he would be very willing
to let to me if I could content myself with such humble accommodation, and if the hay of his poor neighbors, which he
yearly deposited there, was no inconvenience to me. " The
house," he said, turning to me, " is about a quarter of an hour's
walk from Narnier: if this arrangement should be agreeable
to you, I would let you the apartment for twopence-halfpenny
a day, and would feed you for sevenpence-halfpenny a meal;
without meat certainly, but with excellent bread, lake trout,
and cheese." That would come to tenpence a day, and his
proposal suited not only my purse, but fully satisfied my love
of solitude; so that the bargain was struck, and the very next
day his daughter took me to my new quarters.
XIII.
On leaving the village of Narnier, an unfrequented little
path leads across some beautiful meadows by the side of the
lake. After walking for some minutes in silence with my
guide, I heard the regular noise of the waves of the lake
grating on the rocky promontories, and dying away softly on
the yellow sand of the shore, while the fresh breeze from the
lake refreshed my whole frame. At a litttle distance I perceived a square and solitary building very much like the hull
of a shipwrecked vessel; the walls on the shore-side had only
a low door, which was partly hidden by a group of osiers; on
tne water-side was a little window, low and narrow, like a
loophole, from whence you could watch the lake without being




" BATS AND RATS."                 285
yourself observed. Window and door, all was shut; there
was no sign of life about the place, nor a sound in the house
or out of it; it reminded one of the dwelling of a leper in the
Middle Ages, such as Xavier de Maistre described in his
" Solitude" some months before; only there was no leper.
"Here is the house, sir," said the young boat-woman to me,
not, however, without a look of some anxiety, as if she were
afraid that the mournful appearance of everything would disgust me with the place.
Whilst speaking she put a great wooden key into the lock.
and the heavy door rolled on its hinges. A bat, the only inhabitant of the place, flew in my face, blindly knocking its
wings against the wall; but I was not thereby dismayed, and
we went up-stairs to the only room in the house, which had
served as the head-quarters of the custom-house officer. The
room was not more than eight or ten feet in diameter, with the
exception of a window, which remained open to give some air
to the forage. Everything was full of hay.  "This is the
room," said hesitatingly and modestly the girl; then, as if
ashamed to offer so extraordinary a lodging to a stranger, she
hastily added, " But, of course, it will be' emptied and cleaned;
and we shall put a nice bed and table inr the place of the hay."
As she spoke she gave unintentionally a little kick with her
sabot to the dried grass before us, and out rushed a whole
army of mice, which began racing about the room. "Oh!
what pleasant bed-fellows," I said, laughingly, to the girl:
"Bats and rats! " Well," I added, after a few minutes, putting my head out of the window and contemplating the beautiful waves which dashed gently against the walls of the cottage, the glorious scenery of the mountains of the Pays de
Vaud in front of me, and the two promontories which formed
the bay of Narnier, " well, I find the house charming, and I
will take it." Her face expanded with pride and satisfaction,
while I sat quietly down on the hay. "' I don't want any other
bed," I continued; "a pair of sheets and a counterpane are
all I need; I shall do very well here. I am used to campaigning, and the smell of the hlay is rather pleasant to me than




2896         IMEMOIRS OF LAMAR TI[A.
otherwise.  Are Nou married, mademoiselle?"  "No, sir,"
she replied; "my father is a widower and old. He would remain quite alone here if I were to leave him; there would be
nobody in the house to make his soup; no one in the boat to
mend his sails; no one at the helm to guide the rudder. 1
could not make up my mind to leave my father." " You are a
good and noble girl," I answered, " and God will bless you
for it." I looked at her with an expression which seemed to
say, "Any man would have been happy to have won so fair a
face." She rowed me quietly back, without speaking, to her
father's house. " I will bring you some fresh bread and milk
and cheese every morning for your breakfast," she said, as we
landed; " and I will fry your fish and make you some coffee
at home for your dinner; that is all I can do, I am afraid, as I
am not a great'artiste;' you will forgive, monsieur, such
plain country fare; it is not like the inn at Nyons, you see!"
XIV.
The boatman was very much pleased to find that his strange
little house on the lake would answer my purpose. Everything was arranged that evening to my satisfaction. I dined
at Narnier with my host, and in the evening I went and installed myself in my new abode. All my baggage went in a
pocket-handkerchief, and consisted of some books brought
from Nyons and a pair of pocket-pistols, which I placed in
front of my window. I slept on the hay as one sleeps at
eighteen. The troubled mice ran about all night, trying to
find their accustomed holes, and the bats cried out at dawn of
day; but that only showed me that I was not alone. The
swallows knocked their wings against my window early in the
morning, and were very much astonished to find the panes of
glass which had been put in the night before by the young
boat-woman. I got up and opened the window, and they flew
fearlessly about my room; then I took my pencil, and looking
beyond the lake to the little white speck which marked the
Chafteau of Vincy, I wrote the following verses:Pourquoi me fuir, passagere hirondelle?
Viens reposer ton aile aitpr's de moi.




BATTLE OF' WATERLOO.                  287
Pourquoi me fuir quand un ami t'appelle?
Ne suis-je pas voyageur comme toi? etc.
The daughter of the boatman came to knock at my door at the
very moment I was finishing these verses, which I mentally
addressed to Vincy. I gave them to nobody, and I was very
much astonished some years after to hear them sung at Paris
and attributed to Monsieur de Chateaubriand.  They were
not worth his while to disown, nor mine to claim. We all remember his touching romance,
Ma sceur, te souviens-tu encore
Du chateau que baignait la Dore,
Et de cette tant vielle Tour
Du More,
Ou l'airain sonnait le retour
Di jour?
Chateaubriand was a great poet in prose, and I was nothing
but the nightingale stammering by chance a plaintive air in my
solitude.
I continued to live alone in my empty dwelling with my
dumb companions. Oh  how happy I should have been if
Providence had granted me a dog! One, at last, came to me
from a castle near Narnier, who attached himself to me because I petted him, and he found me alone. Whenever a
person is unhappy, God sends him a dog; I have proved it
twenty times, although man does not always perceive it. The
moment the dog adopted me, my solitude ceased; for he
never left me. We loved one another, and so we walked, eat,
and slept together; and he understood me as thoroughly as I
did him. I had now two friends, the dog and the boatman's
daughter, and my days were calm, peaceful, and delicious.
xv.
The news of the battle of Waterloo came to me one morning in a little boat rowed by a messenger from Madame de
Vincy. I watched it at sunrise out of my window like a seagull whose wing are colored by the rays of the morning, never
dreaming that this little skiff bore for me a new fate -the
I9




288           M24EMOIRS OF LAAIART.NF.
fate of the whole world. The boat grounded on the sand; 1
put my head out of the window and the messenger asked me if
I knew a young Frenclhman who had taken refuge at Narnier?
I replied that I was the person of whom he was in search.
He gave mne directly a long letter from Madame de Vincy, and
a quantity of newspapers from Geneva. The letter ran thus:
"I do not know whether you will be able to rejoice at the misfortunes of your countrymen; but as far as we are concerned
we cannot help being delighted at the victory of Europe over
tyranny. Bonaparte has been bitterly punished for his rash
enterprise; he has been entirely defeated and put to flight at
Quatre Bras. He is already at Paris, and has no longer any
army.  Oceans of blood have flowed on all sides, -the
French are completely beaten; our own son is badly
wounded; but the world is saved. I send you all the details in the inclosed packet of newspapers; send them back
to us." The boat was moored to the shore; the mnorning
breeze carried off the letter. I fell eagerly on the papers
which were at my feet, but I could scarcely sit still and read
of our disasters. It was impossible to rejoice at the destruction of the whole French army; but, if Bonaparte had won,
the cause of the King would have been lost. I was silent and
undecided from conflicting emotions. Finally I burst into
tears. Was it from sorrow as a Frenchman, or from joy as
a partisan? I could not explain this even to myself. Every
one will understand this conflict of feeling; but no one can
express it: my tears said what words could not. This is the
misfortune of the bad actions into which the ambition of one
man drags his country.
XV L
I stayed eight or ten days longer at Narnier, waiting for
further news before I returned to France. Fouche, the chief
of the Provisional Government, held the strings; Carnot
talked and let him act; Caulaincourt was furious at the slowness of the Emperor in deciding upon any distinct line of conduct. In the mean tinie Louis XVIII. reentered Paris by




PIOUS PILGRIMAGES.                 289
selling his dignity to a regicide. My mother wrote to me by
Monsieur de Maizod not to return till she could announce
that the King was once more fairly established at the Tuileries.
I could not leave my peaceful solitude at Narnier without the
greatest regret. I continued there a fortnight longer, and employed my time in wishing good-by to the lake and to the
sites where I had been so very happy. A secret instinct
warned me that I should never find another spot so much
after my own heart. The boatman's daughter rowed me in
her father's little skiff to all my favorite bays in the lake.
With my dog I retraced all my steps by the creeks and woods,
where I had so often lost my way. All the trains of thought
which I had followed during the past month returned to my
recollection, and I garnered them up like the wild flowers
which the traveller gathers and dries near his heart, so that
their perfume might remind him of spots which he will never
revisit. After these pious pilgrimages I watched the last rays
of the sun lighting up the white walls of the Chateau de Vincy,
walls which had been to me so hospitable and so friendly. The
evening breeze carried with it from me all the blessings which
could be showered on a spot which contained one who had
been to me as a second mother. I was going to sleep my last
sleep on my hay bed at Narnier.
XVII.
My night was sad and my awakening still more so. For
the first time the heavens were dark with clouds. As I was
to go to Chambery by Geneva, the boatman and his daughter
came to wish me good-by; the father remained to put back
the displaced hay in my room, whilst his daughter, to shorten
my land journey, proposed to row me on the lake to the Cape
of Bellegarde, where I was to leave her. We embarked,
therefore, at seven o'clock in the morning, and launched the
little skiff into deep water; but we had hardly gone three
hundred yards, when, looking back in the direction of my
deserted house, I thought I saw something black swimming
with effort in our wake. I recognized my dog, that faithful




290          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
friend who, after our departure from the shore, thinking that
we should speedily return, had discovered that we were about
to double the cape to our left, and could not resist the impulse
to follow his master to the opposite coast. The poor fellow
had miscalculated his strength; his stertorous breathing came
to us across the water in gasps and sobs. WVe instantly
dropped our oars and turned our helm towards Narnier,
striving to meet him; but it was too late, and when we
stretched out the handle of the oar he could not seize hold of
it, and was drowned, exhausted by his efforts. We got hold
of him, however, and dragged him into the boat; but we only
rescued a dead body, the loving eyes of which followed us
still! We burst into tears at the death of this faithful friend,
the victim of his tender fidelity. The boatman's daughter
promised me to bury him on her return at the door of my little
house. Then she resumed her oars, and cried quietly until
we reached Bellegarde.  I could not speak either, fearing
that our farewell would end in a sob. Silence and tears, on
both sides - such was our parting. The silence of emotion
on my part; on hers tears and the dead body of the dog
under her feet: what words could better have expressed our
sorrow! The wind blew towards Narnier. Each time that a
rise in the ground enabled me to see the lake I watched the
poor girl motionless in the boat kneeling opposite the dog,
wiping her eyes. She could not see mine, but they were
equally full of tears. This event greatly saddened me. I
arrived very late at Geneva, with my little bag on my shoulder,
and went to lodge at the hotel called Les Balances. The
next evening I slept at Frangy, and it was the end of the third
day before I arrived at Chambery.
XVIII.
I knew Chambery since my first visit to Italy; my old college friend (of whom I long ago spoke) lived there, the nephew
of the Count de Maistre, who was then Sardinian Ambassador
in Russia, and whose family held a distinguished position in
the town. This family, with Whom hereafter I was to become




THE DE MAISTRES.                  291
so very intimate, was then composed of four brothers. The
eldest was the Chevalier de Maistre, author of " Le Lepreux de
la Cite d'Aoste" and the "Voyage autour de ma Chambre;"
two inimitable books for agreeableness and depth of feeling.
He was still in Russia, where he married a rich and distinguished wife. The next was the Bishop of Aosta, the author of
several remarkable sermons, living at Chambery, an accomplished man, still young, full of merit and originality, and one
whom Sterne alone could paint. There was a sweetness in his
goodness, and a natural fun even in his piety, which made him
irresistibly attractive. You might imagine Yorick and Fene'lon
kneaded into the same mould and producing a thoroughly
honest man. The third, who was the eldest in point of wit
and cleverness, was the famous Count de Maistre, ambassador
at St. Petersburg. He was certainly a writer of the first rank,
and I should be the last to disparage his ability; but I, who
knew them all so well later in life, infinitely preferred his two
more modest brothers, the chevalier and the bishop, who were
original without effort, and produced chefs d'oauvre without
any pretension, as the marmot of the Alps produces its soft
fur. I even preferred his youngest brother to him, who was
only the colonel of a brigade in Savoy, and who had never
written anything in his life, contenting himself with admiring
his brothers; in a word, the whole family, -brothers and
sisters, nephews and nieces - were all remarkable in their
different ways: it was impossible not to esteem, admire, and
love them all. These De Maistres were in fact an unique
family, whose parallel could scarcely be found in Europe.
XIX.
The only member of the family with whom I was intimately
acquainted at that time, although we had rarely met since the
days we had spent together in the Jesuit College at Belley,
was Louis de Vignet. His wit and his high character made
him worthy of his uncles; but, although excellent at bottom,
he was less simple and natural than they were. His genius
was incontestable, but he was inclined to be willful. He knew




292         AMEC'MOIRS OF LAAR TINE.
his own worth, but he conceived, in consequence, as great an
esteem for himself as he had an ill-disguised contempt of every
one else. I must make an exception, however, for his own
family, because his admiration of everything belonging to them
reacted also on himself. It cost him nothing to allow the superiority of his own people as it completed his own. To praise
his uncles was to praise himself. He was only a De Maistre
on the mother's side, as she was their sister; but in that family genius had no sex, and she was as charming and remarkable a person as her brothers. To be a relation, however distant, of such a family was an honor; but Louis was very just
towards all those of whom he had once appreciated the merit.
In that way I had nothing to complain of. He had a higher
opinion of me at college than I deserved. His friendship had
blinded his judgment; in a word, he loved me passionately.
No sooner had he heard that I had arrived at Chambery than
he rushed off to announce it to Colonel de Maistre, his uncle;
to his aunt, the colonel's wife; to the Bishop of Aosta, and to
some charming and very pretty cousins, the Mademoiselles
Constantin, who lived in a country-house at Bissy with the
colonel. He was just then madly in love with the prettiest
and most interesting of these cousins; but this passion did
not last. His fickle heart soon found other charms, while the
object of his love lived sadly and died blind. She had lost
her sight with crying at her cousin's inconstancy. The imagination of Vignet was far too vivid to be relied on. He was
only faithful to his fancies for the moment; but these fancies
had, while they lasted, all the seriousness and melancholy of
a great passion.
xx.
Vignet hastened to seek me at the hotel and to carry me off
to Bissy. He had predisposed all the family in my favor.
We went first, he and I, to see the woods and the water of
La Laisse, in that beautiful Cashmere valley which Chambery
hides in the folds of the Alps. Indian dreams accompanied
us. From thence we went to Charmettes, the house of Madame de Warens, the lady who was so adored by Jean Jacques




THE FIRST DAY A7' BISSY.              293
Rousseau, and who was equally beloved by her. Here they
lived together an ideal life of affection. Later, he was deceived
by her, and abandoned her himself. He was ungrateful, and
became an adventurer and a sophist, because he did not know
bow to be faithful to nature and to love. In those days we
were not so severe in our judgments; youth and love made
us believe that everything should be forgiven to genius. We
spent a whole morning rambling over the deserted house of
Charmettes, and especially the vine-trellised arbor at the bottom of the garden, where Jean Jacques Rosseau had given full
vent to his tenderness.
Xxi.
The next day Vignet carried me off to his tailor at Chambery, where I changed my exile's clothes for a more decent
traveller's dress. At dinner time he took me by a shady and
picturesque path to Bissy. It is an isolated village, situated
on the slope of the Cat Mountain, at the extremity of the lake
of Bourget, which dwindles at this end into marshy meadows.
Richly cultivated fields of Indian corn and a wood of old firs
cover the slope of the Aonlzt -du Chzat almost down to the court
of the little square villa, where a fountain, of which the water
falls into a circular basin, sends up continually its gentle murmur: here horses and cows quench their thirst, and white
piigeons and dark swallows skim on its surface. The windows
and cdoor of the house open on the court opposite the mountain; on the other side is a terraced garden, and below, a
meadow full of great walnut-trees, which I might call the tree
of Savoy, and round which the vines twine and fall in festoons
the whole height of the trunk, as if to accustom themselves to
the olive and orange trees which they will embrace on the
other side of the Alps.
XXII.
As soon as we arrived, Vignet called his uncle, the colonel,
who opened the glass window of the dining-room which
looked into the court, and came to embrace me as if I had been




294          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
the eldest of his nephews. He was a little man with a cordial,
gay, and sensible face, still wearing a blue coat without epaulets but of a military cut, which marked his profession. He
introduced me to his wife, a charming person, whom the colone:
had loved tenderly from his earliest years, even before the
Revolution. She was his cousin, but he had been compelled
to leave her at Chambdry in I798 to fight for the King of
Piedmont. On his return from his forced emigration he had
joyfully married her, and they had been as happy as possible
ever since. She was rather stout, with a face in which goodness and candor were happily mingled; and there was an expression in it of thorough content, as of the fruition of a love
long waited for; while the sound of her voice seemed to say,
" I am perfectly happy, and I now only ask of Heaven the
happiness of others." Her two nieces Constantin were sitting
at the table by her side. I at once recognized in the face of
the eldest the girl of whom Vignet had given me such a glowing description. She had a languid grace which generally
belonged to the young beauties of Savoy. All the family
received me as if I had been their brother, and I felt as if I
were at home. Louis had described me as a Royalist and a
poet, but I only accepted their praises for the first quality.
By the time we had arrived at the dessert, these acquaintances
of an hour had already become to me like old friends. They
gave me a room not far from that of my old college friend, from
whence I had a charming view over the beautiful valley of
Nivolet and the village of Servolex, where the eldest brother
of Louis Vignet lived in a very pretty country-house. On the
horizon to the left glittered the blue lake of Bourget, where,
many years later, I was to know a love more pure and more
faithful than that of Jean Jacques Rousseau. After dinner,
Louis took me out and explained the country to me. We did
not come in till sunset. Then we talked of Waterloo and of
all the things that had happened in France. Savoy was undecided then, but we felt that when the peace came she would
again become Piedmontese. Colonel de Maistre had already
been pointed out as ambassador to arrange this in Paris. Joy




EN7OYABLE DA YS.                 295
and hope shone on every face, and I could not feel annoyed
at the natural satisfaction of a country which was about to
regain its independence. In the evening arrived the Bishop
de Maistre, who, as I said before, was the colonel's brother;
his simple benevolence and cordial gayety added to the pleasure of the evening. He told us all sorts of stories connected
with his past life, and we laughed heartily at the amusing and
innocent recollections of his friendship with Madame de Stail
and other remarkable persons. His gayety, united to his piety
and high character, made him the delight of the family circle.
The colonel, his wife, and his pretty nieces were never tired
of listening to him. He only stopped to go and say his office.
Thus passed our first day at Bissy. All the others were
like it. Occasionally various relations and neighbors came
to congratulate the colonel and the bishop on the restoration
of the King of Sardinia and of their own fortunes. Piedmontese troops were marching upon Chambery. The news
from France left no doubt as to the reestablishment of the
Bourbons. I only waited for a line or a sign from my mother
to rejoin her at Milly. The second invasion had been in all
ways less serious than the first.
I have already said that all our days at Bissy were alike.
Vignet treated me as a brother, Colonel de Maistre as a son,
his nieces as a cousin. We passed our days in walking or
driving in the fir woods, or in the meadows, or on the soft
grass which sloped towards the lake of Bourget and the valley
of Chambery. At dusk Madame de Maistre and her pious
nieces always went to a little chapel, where the old rector of
La Motte said the Rosary as regularly as his daily Mass. We
all shared in these services with regularity and devotion.
The example of this perfect family, the happiness of thinking
that I should soon be able to return to my own country, with
my father and mother, and the knowledge that they were in
safety in their country home, gave me feelings of gratitude
which brought back to me the piety of my childhood. Except
in the solitude of Narnier and at the Chateau of Vincy, I had
never spent a more enjoyable time. At last the long-wished



296          AlpiMIOIRS OF' LAMAR TINE.
for letter from my mother arrived, telling me that I had no
longer anything to fear, and that I could return to Macon to
rejoin the King's guard, which was about to be reorganized.
I wished a joyous good-by to the colonel and to the charming family, whose home-life resembled so much our own; and
then took my place in the Savoy diligence to return to Lyons,
and so on to Matcon.
This is the whole history of my emigration. It consisted,
in fact, of only three happy and innocent visits, where I was
treated as the son of the house, without in any way having
been wanting to the love of my country. I was happy not to
have failed in my duty either towards France or to my King.
XXIII.
My father, mother, and sisters received me with a tenderness as warm as it was touching. They congratulated me
on having been. so well received everywhere, in spite of my
being a perfect stranger; and my mother wrote a letter of
heart-felt thanks to Madame de Vincy. When we came to
discuss my future career, my father felt that my birth, however honorable, would not give me much chance of advancement in the King's guard, which was reserved for the sons of
emigrant nobles. He told me, therefore, to go again and offer
my services, but not to lose my youth in a fruitless waiting,
and to resign after a little time with such of my companions
as were in the same position.. I went to Paris, and then passed
some days at Beauvais. Eight days after I was recalled to
Paris, and ordered to resume my military service. I rejoined
my corps accordingly; but, after having finished my turn of
duty, I gave in my resignation as well as the greater part of
my companions in the same corps, who had too much fortune
to care for a pay of two hundred francs, and whose families
were too distinguished for them to like to remain without a
fortune in the King's guard. Soon afterwards I returned to
Macon.




MEMOIRS OF MY MOTHER.
[THE second volume of "Twenty-five Years of my Life
is devoted to " The Manuscript of my Mother." This " manuscript" is a diary, kept by the mother of Lamartine. It exhibits her as a devout Christian, a noble and worthy woman.
From it there might be gleaned additional interesting details
of the early years of her illustrious son; but as these would
to a certain extent traverse the period covered by " Twentyfive Years of my Life," we are compelled to rest content with
a few extracts.
In the introduction to the " diary " by Lamartine himself,
we have the following sketch of his father and mother:]
I have found an old description of my mother at thirtyfive, and I am going to give it literally to my readers.
"The evening is closing in, the doors of the little countryhouse are shut. The bark of the watch-dog outside gives
notice from time to time of any strange step. A sharp autumn shower rattles against the window panes of two low
windows, while the wind, blowing in gusts through the planetrees, and sweeping their branches towards the outside shutters, produce that melancholy whistle which we sometimes
hear in a great pine wood before a storm. The room I am
describing is large but nearly bare of furniture. At the bottom is a deep alcove in which stands a bed. The curtains of
this bed are of white serge edged with blue. This is my
mother's. On four wooden chairs at the foot of the bed rest
two cradles. They contain my two little sisters, who have
been asleep for a long time. A cheerful fire of vine logs




298           MEMOIRS OF LAMARTI.NE.
crackles on a stone hearth beyond, with a white marble chimney-piece, of which the revolutionary hammer has broken the
arms in the centre, together with the fleeurs de lys ornaments
on each side. Even the iron plate at the back of the fire-place
has been turned inside out, because it bore on its surface the
arms of the King. The ceiling is of old wooden beams
blackened with smoke. There is no carpet or inlaid parquet,
only square unvarnished tiles, and these broken in a hundred
places by the heavy hob-nailed shoes of the peasants, who
had made this room a dancing hall during my father's imprisonment. No paper or hangings of any sort adorn the walls.
You see that the plaster is broken away in many places, showing the stone of the outside wall, just as a torn frock would
display a little beggar child's legs! In one corner is an open
piano with different pieces of music (among the rest, Jean
Jacques Rousseau's " Divin du Village" ) scattered over the instrument. Near the fire-place, in the middle of the room, is a
little card-table, of which the green baize cover is all marked
with ink stains and with little holes in the stuff. On the table
flare two tallow candles in two silver-plated candlesticks,
which throw a little light and a good many flickering shadows
on the whitewashed walls of the room. In front of the chimney-piece, with his arms resting on the table, sits a man holding a book in his hand. He is above the middle height and
is strongly built. He is still in all the vigor of youth. His
forehead is broad and good, his eyes are blue, his smile is singularly winning, and displays the brightest white teeth. His
dress, his hair, and a certain military stiffness in his carriage,
betray the half-pay officer. Any doubts on the subject would
be dispelled by a glance at the sword, cavalry pistols, helmet,
and silver-gilt trappings of his horse, which hang on the walls
of a little room opening out of the large one. This man was
my father, and that was his dressing-room.
"On a straw sofa, in a little angle formed by the chimney
and the wall of the alcove, sat a woman still young in appearance, though she had numbered thirty-five summers. Hei
figure had all the elegance and flexibility of a young girl. Hei




MIEMOIRS OF NMY MOTHER.               290
features are so delicate; her black eyes have such a calm and
penetrating look; her transparent white skin with its blue
veins still betray so vividly, by its ever varying color, the
emotions of the moment; her black, soft, thick hair still falls
so silkily on her neck and shoulders, that a stranger looking
at her would find it impossible to decide if she were eighteen
or thirty-five. But no one who knew her would wish to sweep
away a single one of those years which have only ripened her
beauty by adding to its expression. This peculiar beauty of
hers did not depend so much on the regularity of her features as
on the harmony and grace of her whole person, and especially
on the wonderful tenderness and love which beamed from her
eyes, those true windows of the soul; eyes which would have
lit up the plainest face with that light coming only from above.
This young woman, half leaning against the cushions of the
sofa, held a little girl on her lap, whose soft curly head had
fallen fast asleep on her shoulder. The child still held one of
her mother's long black curls with which she had been playing before she had dropped into happy unconsciousness.
Another little girl, somewhat older, was seated on a footstool
at the side of the sofa, leaning her head of fair hair against
her mother's knee. This young woman was my mother; the
two children were my elder sisters. The two little ones were
in their cradle."
[Under date of Rieux, January r4, I803, Madame de Lamartine writes:]
"I am going to virite down now a strange anecdote of J. J.
Rousseau and the Marechale de Luxembourg, with whom my
mother was very nearly connected. This lady, who was an
old friend of J. J. Rousseau's also, ascertained that the lady
with whom he lived was with child, and that she was in an
agony lest Rousseau (as he had done three times before)
should carry off this baby, and place it in the Foundling Hospital. She sought out another friend of Rousseau's, M.
Tronchin of Geneva, and entreated him to bring the baby to
her as soon as it wras born, as she had decided to bring it up
herself. M. Tronchin spoke of the matter to J. J. Rousseau,




300          MEIMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
who appeared to consent, nay, to be even pleased at the proposed arrangement. He told the mother of it also, who was
wild with joy. The moment she was brought to bed, the poor
woman sent word to Tronchin. He came and saw the child,
a beautiful little boy, full of health and life, and agreed with
the mother and the nurse as to the hour the next day when he
should come and fetch it. But at midnight, Rousseau, dressed
in a dark-colored cloak, stole into the room of the poor
mother, who had her baby in her arms, and, in spite of her
cries and protestations, carried him off and left him at the
hospital, without any mark or possibility of recognition!'And this is the man of whose tenderness and fine feelings
people are so fond of talking!' exclaimed Tny mother. I
replied:' It was the act of a madman, whose addled brain had
made him forget his heart.'"
[Of some of M. de Lamartine's most serious escapades in the
way of gambling, we in have the following record under date
of January 3I, I8I3.]
"I have had a great deal of sorrow lately on Alphonse's
account. From Lyons and from Italy, heavy bills have been
sent in to his uncles and aunts for debts incurred by him during his travels. The family, who think I have spoiled him,
consider me responsible for these extravagances. They have
stormed at and scolded me, and I have shed many bitter
tears; for, after all, the faults of one's children are in a great
measure one's own. Why was I not more strict with him at
first? He was afraid, above everything, of displeasing me.
Perhaps, however, had I been more severe with him, he
would have loved me less; and then I feared that later,
should still graver circumstances arise, the dread of grieving
me would have ceased to be a second conscience to him.
Everything will be paid by the family. But they have made
me pay too for the thoughtless follies of my child, a bitter
price, in reproaches and tears.
"He is at Paris. M. de Larnaud, a very able and distinguished man, and a great friend of my brother-in-law:s,
lives in the same house. He has written confidentially to




MEAMOIRS OF MY MOTHER.                301
warn us that Alphonse's state of health gives him great
anxiety; that he has lately developed a passion for gambling, into which he has been led by certain bad companions; that he spends his nights at M. de Livry's, where
he might easily lose his whole fortune in a few hours; that he
certainly studies and even works hard the greater part of the
day; but that, what with work and sitting up half the night
at play, his youth and strength are being rapidly undermined.
He ended by imploring us to recall him from Paris as soon
as possible. In consequence of this letter I started directly
for Paris with my second girl, Eugenie, whom I let into my
secret. I took out of my husband's desk all the money which
he had left there when he went to his brother's in Burgundy.
My old friend, Madame Paradis, my brother-in-law M. de
Lamartine, and my sisters-in-law, helped me also; so that I
could set off at once, writing to my husband at the same
time to tell him all I was doing, so as to avoid, if possible, a
scene of anger and reproaches, which must have ensued had
he himself gone to fetch his son. When I got to Paris, I
would not go straight to his hotel, for fear of giving him too
sudden and too painful a surprise. I own too I was tremblingly afraid, after M. de Larnaud's letter, lest I should find
him sadly altered in face, and that I might faint away if I
saw him like that without any preparation. So I wrote to M.
and Madame de Larnaud to tell them  privately that I was
arrived, and to ask them to arrange a plan for our meeting.
I went to a little hotel not far from theirs in the Rue Richelieu and waited. It was still broad daylight. Oh! how I
suffered at not being able to rush off to my boy and kiss him
us usual, instead of having to wait till the next day for the
visit or answer of M. de Larnaud! I was quite worn out with
fatigue and anxiety, and at last threw myself crying on the
sofa close to an open window. Eugenie went and sat on the
window-sill to see the carriages going to the opera and to the
French theatre. All of a sudden she cried out:' Mamma,
come quickly.  I think I see Alphonse!'  I ran to the
window and recognized him directly. He was driving himself




302           MIENMOIRS OF LAMAR TIAE.
in a very smart cab with another young man alongside of him.
He looked very gay and bright, which comforted me very
much. It was certainly my own boy! All my foolish fears
vanished at the sight of him. But I determined not to spoil
his evening's amusement; so I went to bed quietly and had a
very tolerable night.
"I got up the next morning dying to see him, but dreading
what effect my unexpected arrival would have upon him.
Also, I feared that he might not be inclined to come home
with me, and that the state of his affairs might be much worse
than I had anticipated. At last I made up my mind to write
to him and tell him frankly the reason of my journey, He
came running directly to our hotel. and seemed not only
delighted to see me, but very much touched at the step I had
taken. His health appeared to me far better than I had expected. He told me that on my account and for my sake, he
would return to Macon; but that no one else would ever have
induced him to do so. He only asked for a few days to arrange his affairs. I gave him a week, which I was not at all
sorry for, as I wanted to show Paris to Eugenie."
[Then follows a description of Paris, the Louvre, museums,
walks, etc.; also her wish to go to the play, which she resisted
from religious scruples, and this entry concludes the history
of the affair:]
" I have given all my money to Alphonse to clear his gambling debts, which were heavy, though he had begun by winning largely."
[The last entries in this journal bear the date of Milly,
October 2I, I829. The following " Epilogue " relates so far
as it can be done in words the unutterably distressing circumstances under which this illustrious woman met her death.]
It was the end of the autumn of I829. Both in the Government itself and among the different parties in France, there
was nothing but fever, trouble, and delirium. The Prince de
Polignac, then Prime Minister, had so insisted in his letters
(which were most kind and friendly) on my coming to Paris,
and was so determined to keep for me the place of Under



MEMOIRS OF MY MOTHER.                 303
Secretary of Foreign Affairs, that I obeyed his summons: not
to accept the office, but to explain, with proper gratitude and
courtesy, the motives for my refusal. I loved the Prince, but
I dreaded his policy. I wished, in speaking to him, to make
a distinction between the man and the minister, both as to
feeling and opinion. In my speech before the Academy I had
spoken frankly but decidedly against the coufz d'eYat, which
destroyed the Charter, and against the opposition of the government to free thought and the independence of elections.
This political programme (which was quite unexpected from
me) was received with immense applause by one party; but
was looked upon as an exposition of a retrograde or Royalist
policy by the Republican and Bonapartist organs. M. Lain6
and M. Royer Collard hailed me as their disciple. But on
leaving the hall of the Institute, which was still fearfully
crowded, the Duke de Rohan, my old friend, said in my ear:
"Wish good-by to all promotion in your diplomatic career,
You have thus disappointed all our hopes, and given pledges
to the most factious members of the Opposition." I did not
care whether or no I got my promotion. But I saw a gulf
opening under the feet of Charles X., and I wished, as far as
in me lay, to avert the danger.
The Prince de Polignac, full of hope in my future, had
spoken to me, the year before, of his political views, in a way
and with a freedom which had touched me very much. In
those confidences, as in his occasional reserve, I felt that I
had to do with a thoroughly honest and loyal heart; but with
one whose mind had been warped by emigration, and who
was alarmed by his own conscience.
The Duke de Rohan's prophecy was not fulfilled. I ought
to remember it, to the honor of the King, Charles X., and the
Prince de Polignac. The Prime Minister showed no resentment at my speech; but after having long and vainly argued
with me, in private and in public, on the ill-founded reasons
(as he called them) for my refusal, and the non-premeditation
of the couz2 d'lzat, he resigned himself to my opposition, and
offered me the place of Minister Plenipotentiary in Greece.
s"




304          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
It was just at the moment when Europe, through a fleeting
enthusiasm, had founded that artificial kingdom on the relics
of past greatness. I shared in the general illusion of liberal
and classical men about the Hellenic race, so brave in battle.
but so undisciplined in government. The Prince of Coburg,
widower of the Princess Charlotte (the heiress to the throne
of England), had just been elected King of Greece by the
united consent of the Western Powers of Europe. This
Pri.ice was then at Paris, and I had known him very well in
Italy as an inconsolable mourner for the loss of his wife. The
Prince de Polignac, therefore, introduced me to him as the
most agreeable minister whom the French Government could
offer him. I was rejoiced at the idea of going there under
such auspices, and helping, however feebly, in the restoration
of a kingdom on that sacred ground of classical memories in
which I should thus share, like Lord Byron, the heroic poet of
this resurrection. All of a sudden, however, the intended
King took alarm at the insuperable difficulties of the task lie
was about to undertake, and renounced the responsibility of
striving to regenerate the Greek people. He started suddenly
one night from Paris, flying from a kingdom as one would
fly from an abyss.
We learnt, on waking that morning, that there was no longer
a head for that crown, which had been offered in vain to so
many other distinguished personages. Diplomacy had to set
to work again to find another. That took time; but I remained
still Minister Plenipotentiary, at least in expectation, and continued to receive from the Prince de Polignac such testimonies
of kindness and intimacy as were consistent with my obstinate
refusal to form part of his cabinet.
My mother enchanted at my advancement in my political
career, at the prospect of my future residence under the
shadow of Athens, and, above all, at my election as a member
of the French Academy, was at last at ease as to the future
of the son who had been her one poignant anxiety, and who
had now realized almost all the dreams of her life. I made
arrangements to spend with her the few months that I thought




MEMOIRS OF MY MOTHER.                 305
I should still have on the soil of France. I prolonged my stay
in Paris only for a few days more, to collect such little presents
of dress or furniture as it was my greatest pleasure to bring
home to my mother and sisters on my return from my travels.
Ah! it was a poor return enough in love and gratitude for all
the privations which they had borne on my account during my
youth - to my mother especially, who had deprived herself of
every luxury and jewel, down to the very rings off her fingers,
to procure me an extra pleasure, a journey, or a treat of some
sort; or to hide one of my faults and extravagancies from the
just severity and censure of my family.
The tables and even the bed of my rooms at Paris were
covered with jewel-cases, ornaments, and pieces of stuff or
silk for hangings, which I had collected with such delight,
thinking of the exclamations of surprise and pleasure which
they would call forth in my mother's simple home. I was
rejoicing beforehand at her astonishment, and was quite absorbed in the thought of all the pleasure I was going to give
not to her vanity but to her heart. That evening, at dinnertime (I will not insert the date for my own sake), I drove into
the courtyard of my hotel, the cab loaded with pretty little bits
of furniture and paper boxes, my face bright with joy at the
thought of my start on the morrow, when, as I sprung out of
the cab on the first step of the stairs, I saw standing by the
porter's lodge, that dearest of my friends, the Comte Aymon
de Virieu, whom Providence seems to have given me, from
childhood to old age, as the sharer in all the joys and sorrows
of my life. After having followed the same studies at the
same school and college, the same pursuits in our respective
homes, the same route in our travels, and the same society in
the different capitals in which we had resided together, we
were now embarked in the same diplomatic career. He was
to start on the morrow for his post in Germany, and we had
settled to dine together, and to pass the evening in my rooms
to prolong the pleasure of a last talk together before wishing each other " good-by" for so long a time. On shaking
hands with him, however, as I got out of the carriage, I was




306          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTI-NE.
struck at his pallor, and at the distress which was visible on
nis expressive face. His eyes, which generally sparkled with
fun, and sometimes with a kind of gentle sarcasm, seemed for
the first time to be heavy with unshed tears. Instead of
responding to my joyful exclamation of welcome, he seemed
to avoid looking at me, while an inexplicable fear, mingled
with pity, seemed to pervade his whole countenance. No
smile met mine, while, on the contrary, he looked vexed at
seeing me so confident and happy. He was troubled at my
gayety, and seemed to reproach me for it involuntarily, without
explaining why I should be otherwise. His whole appearance,
in fact, struck me with a presentiment of coming evil. My
face fell, and the smile died away from my lips. " Come upstairs," he said, with a broken voice; " I have to break sad
tidings to you. Let us shut ourselves up in your room, and
summon all your strength of mind to meet them bravely." I
went up the staircase stunned by the threatened blow. He
dragged me into my own room, shut the door, and made me
sit down on the edge of the bed, where my poor dog, jumping
for joy at my return, could not understand why his caresses,
ordinarily responded to so warmly, should now be met by a
rude rebuff. " Speak! " I exclaimed to Virieu, hiding my face
in my two hands, and striving to brace myself up for some
unknown misery, that worst of torments, which threatens all
points of one's heart at once. Then, with all the tenderness
and consideration possible, and the groping hesitation of one
to whom has been committed the charge of delivering a mes-,age as terrible as it was unexpected, he ended by breaking to
ne, as he clasped me in his arms, the awful fact, "You have
no longer a mother! "  It seemed to me that the earth was
sinking under my feet, and that I had no longer any existence
in the past, the present, or the future. My soul flew upwards
to meet hers who had been my life here below, and without
whom I never seemed till now to have realized that I could
live.
Sh2 was still so beautiful, and seemed so young, so full of
tife, activity, and energy, that the idea of a separation had




MEMOIRS OF MY MO TflER.              307
never crossed my thoughts, save as a very distant prospect,
softened by the gradations of age and by the shortness of time
which I myself should have to pass in this world after a slowly
protracted farewell. The separation had indeed come, and
that without preparation and without an adieu. In the morning I felt as if I lived a double life, in her heart and mine, and
in the evening only one was left in my breast, to cry and moan
and live on alone for evermore. The best half of my life was
gone. To make matters worse I was quite by myself at Paris.
She who alone could have shared in my despair and mingled
her tears with my sobs, was away. Neither mother, wife, noi
child! Nothing but a blank in me and around me,- now and
for evermore!-only a devoted friend, who strove by his tenderness to soothe the agony of my grief, and point out the only
consolation. I remained sitting on my bed dressed as I was,
and completely broken down, that whole evening and all that
night. Every moment of that time is as vividly before me now
as if it were yesterday. When I became a little calmer, I
strove to gather from my friend the agonizing details of her
death. The circumstances attending it were as heart-breaking
as the event itself was sudden and unexpected. I dragged
them one by one from the reluctant lips of M. de Virieu. He
did not leave me till dawn, in order to prepare everything for
my departure for Macon. Alas! it was already too late for
me to be able to hold in one last embrace the mortal remains
of her who had borne me for nine months in her womb, and
all her life in her heart!
These are the details which my friend at last gave me, and
to which my father and the servants added a few more circumstances when describing the agony of which they had been
the witnesses. My poor mother was expecting me joyfully
from day to day. The alternations of hope and disappointment, and the immense joy she had felt at my election to the
Academy, and my appointment as Minister in Greece, had
agitated her more than usual and brought' on a slight attack
of fever. On the 27th of November, after having, according to
to her invariable custom, heard mass at dawn, she went from




308          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTJNE.
church to the public baths, kept by the Sisters of Charity in
the town, adjoining the hospital which bears their name. The
Sister Superior, who received her and talked to her whilst
they were preparing her bath, said that she spoke as usual of
pious things and works of charity with that grace and brightness which were her peculiar characteristics in her best days.
The bath being prepared, she went in without being accompanied by the bathing-woman; in accordance with a vow she
had made in her youth at the " chapter " where she was chanoinesse (and which she had preserved ever since her marriage), never to be seen undressed, or to employ a maid in personal services of that nature; always to dress and undress
herself, and even to light her own fire, in continual remembrance of the humility and holy poverty which she had then
embraced.
She had been only a few minutes in the bath, when the
Superior, passing by the corridor into which all the doors of
the bath-rooms opened, heard a cry, and then a groan, from
her cell. She rushed in. The bath was overflowing with
boiling water on to the floor; the swan's neck, by which the
hot water flowed, was open, and streams of the boiling liquid
were pouring over my mother's breast and arms, the effect of
which had been that she had already fainted away. The
strong arm of the Superior and of one of the bathing-women
dragged her out instantly from this fiery cascade but she was
more than half dead. It was evident that, finding the bath
too cold, she had turned the hot-water cock; and that the
sudden rush of boiling water, which was the result, dashing on
her chest, had taken away her breath, so that she had neither
the time nor the power to shut up the swan's neck again,
which was rather stiff to turn. The fresh air restored her to
consciousness; but she was terribly burnt. She embraced
the Superior, who had scalded her arms and hands very much
even during the moment of dragging her out of the bath, and
thanked her warmly for her care. They laid her on one of
the mattresses of the hospital, and four of the young incurable patients, to whom for twenty years she had continually




MEMOIRS OF MY MOTHER.                 309
brought linen, food, and medicine, bore her tenderly back
from the hospital to her own home. The rumor of this terrible event had already spread like wildfire through the town.
A crowd of servants, working people, and pious women, who
were coming out of church, followed her with tears to her
door, offering up prayers and vows to heaven for her recovery.
Public lamentations burst forth in each street through which
the stretcher was carried. It seemed as if the whole town
were losing its mother as well as ourselves. The doctors
hastened to her bedside. At first the accident did not seem
to be so serious; but in the evening, when the dressing of
her burns was examined, the gravity of the case became apparent to all. Fever ensued, followed by delirium. This delirium was, however, gentle and loving like herself. From
time to time she recovered her senses sufficiently to thank
those around her for their care, and to console my poor father,
who remained motionless and despairing at the foot of her
bed, overwhelmed by a blow which it was impossible even
for his resignation to accept. She struggled against physical
suffering and pain up to the last, so that her remaining hours
might be given to those who loved her, and to God, whom
she saw already through the light of faith. She wished to
unite herself once more to Him in the Blessed Sacrament, in
which she had so often anticipated the possession of the Divinity even on earth. The by-standers affirmed that her beautiful countenance, inflamed by the ardor of her convictions,
and beatified by this mystical union with her Spouse, seemed
to light up the whole bed, even more than the tapers which
the kneeling choir boys of the hospital held in their raised
hands behind her curtains. A great calm, a long silence, a
sweet sleep, which revived the hopes of the watchers, followed this solemn rite of the dying. Alas! it was a false
flicker of the expiring flame. She woke again but to expire,
and that with perfect calmness and clearness of mind. She
who assisted at that last agony towards nightfall, and who
endeavored to supplement my absence by her own tenderness, has often repeated literally to me the words (brnken




310         IMEMOIRS OF LAMAR7TI'E.
by dreams) which she pronounced from time to time until
dawn.
"My husband," " my children," " Alphonse, Marianne, Cdcile, Eugenie, Sophie - may God bless them all!"  "Why
are they not all here that I may bless them myself?" 6 My
Alphonse, my poor boy! Oh! how he will grieve at not having been with me at this last hour! Tell him, oh! tell him,
that I do not suffer any more now - that I am already as if
in a place of peace and joy, from whence I have a vision of
heaven, and of all kinds of blessings for my dear children
upon earth!" Then falling again into a dreamy kind of sleep,
sweet and peaceful as that of a little child, and broken only by
a word now and then, and a smile which hovered round her
lips and finally lit up her whole face, she exclaimed, towards
dawn, " Oh! how happy I am! Oh! how happy I am! Oh!
how happy I am! " three times running; and then, " My God!
thou hast not deceived me. I am so happy! " and, with those
words, her pure spirit, with a gentle sigh, ascended to her God.
This is, word for word, the history of her death. All who
were with her are still alive to bear witness to its truth, save
my father and our poor Philibert, who, in losing her mistress,
lost also her wish to live; and who only remained on earth
long enough to continue to her master those faithful services
which she had rendered from affectionate admiration to my
mother. How beautiful is the tie between the servant who
serves ior love and the family who rewards that service by
gratitude, tenderness, and equality in affection! It is the
perfection of the different states of life on earth, diverse in
fortune but equalized by love.
It was three days after my irreparable loss that I arrived at
Macon, hoping to see at least her dear remains before they
were hidden forever from human view. I was accompanied
by an old friend, a true Samaritan, who had witnessed some
of my anguish, Amedle de Parseval, and whom a circumstance, already alluded to in this journal, had fondly attached
to my mother, whose real son he had vainly wished to become.
It was too late. The coffin was already buried under heaps of




TMEMOI~RS OF MY Af OTHER.             31  
snow in the village cemetery. Owing to the absence of my
poor father, who had been dragged away half dead from his
home as soon as our mother had breathed her last sigh, and
to the fact of all her children having been unavoidably far
away in their respective homes when this terrible event occured, it had been entirely forgotten that my poor mother had
particularly wished to be buried in the cemetery of St. Point,
in the shade of the little village church where she had so often
prayed during her summer residence in that peaceful valley.
I could only press my burning lips on the bed on which she
had died, and kiss every object she had last touched, down to
the very floor of her room and the threshold of the door
against which her coffin had brushed when she was carried
(amidst the sobs of the poor) to her last resting-place. But
my heart rebelled against the idea of any wish of hers being
neglected, and also at the thought of being unable to go and
pray by those dear remains except amongst a crowd of people
who were unknown or indifferent to her. I resolved, therefore, while I had the opportunity, to repair this neglect of her
secret wishes, and to exhume the coffin so as to transport it to
the spot she herself had chosen. It almost seemed to me as
if the eternal distance which separated her soul from mine
would be lessened if her dear body rested between her own
door and that of the church of St. Point, which almost adjoined
the chateau. If I confess the whole truth, there was also in
this exhumation a pretext for once more looking at the dear
face which had been so ruthlessly closed from me, before time
had disfigured or reduced it to the handful of ashes which would
soon be all that was left of her human remains. The coffin,
which bore no distinguishing mark to tell it from others, and
the very site of which had been effaced by the snow before the
gravedigger's spade had barely covered it,, was to be reopened
to prove the identity of her dear body, so that our pious intention might not be frustrated, or any danger exist of our bearing away an unknown corpse instead of our mother. I pass
over these sad details. All was accomplished in the night, as
I had wished. We swept away the snow which had fallen




312          MAEMOIRS OF LAMARTINE.
thickly over the uneven ground, and discovered, by groping,
the right coffin among many others. Philibert, who had laid
her dear mistress in it herself, recognized it at once. By the
glare of the tapers it was opened that I might gaze once more
on that sleeping face. She was there in all her beauty, save
that the eyes were closed. The dear look, which ever thrilled
through me, was gone; but death had not yet marred her pure
form with its corrupting touch. My lips were pressed with
love and yet terror on that icy forehead, and bitter tears fell in
that silent coffin. At last it had to be closed. I watched
by its side with Philibert until the midnight hour, when the
peasants of Milly were to come silently, one by one, and bear
away noiselessly on their shoulders that dear burden to my
home. At midnight we started on foot, through deep snow,
past the suburbs of the town along the road which led to our
chateau in the hills. Although I had limited the number of
the followers in this sad procession to myself (of all the members of the family) and to the farmers and laborers of her dear
old home at Milly, the wives and children of these poor fellows, all wearing some token of humble mourning, considered
that they had a right of affection to follow the Head of the
house and lengthen the black file of weepers, whose tears were
her noblest panegyric. Not a voice nor a whisper broke the
silence during the long march of this solemn crowd. Nothing
was heard but the wooden shoes of the women as they marched
on the crisp and frozen snow, holding their little children by
the hand; or, from time to time, the cavernous sound of a slight
shaking of the oak coffin as it was shifted from the shoulders
of one peasant to the other, each envious of his turn in bearing
the holy burden.
At about two and a half hours from the town, we left the
high-road and climbed up the steep hill leading to the hamlet
of Milly. The path was slippery with icicles. Every household was awake and watching for our arrival; and one saw, at
the threshold of the doors, old men or children, each holding a
little brass lamp, which lit up pale and tearful faces and hands,
shivering with cold in that bitter December night. When we




MEMOIRS OF MY MO THEA'.               313
arrived at the courtyard of the house, the bearers, followed by
all the inhabitants of the village, mounted slowly up the five
steps which led to the hall door, and deposited the coffin in
the centre of the vestibule -on the very spot where every
morning she was accustomed to receive the old, the sick, or
the needy; and to distribute amongst them the food, clothing,
soup, or medicines which they required, while she dressed, on
her knees. the wounds or burns of the sufferers. Those very
walnut wood benches on which I have so often seen the legs
of the peasants stretched out while she tenderly wound round
them lint or bandages, now bore the coffin of her.whose loving,
skillful hand was forever still.
She was laid, as it were, among the very instruments of her
charity. A long sob filled the hall into which the peasants
had crowded. Every one drew near to dip a little box branch
in the holy water placed near her head, and to sprinkle as many
tears as holy water over those dear remains. During this
halt under the roof which had sheltered her youth and early
love, I retired to her own room and cried my heart out, my
face buried in the coverings of her empty bed. I heard the
dull tread of the sabots of the men and women, perpetually
ascending and descending the steps of the front hall, to come
and kneel and pray by turns round her coffin. We waited
thus till the slow dawn broke of the winter's morning, before
embarking in the defiles of the mountains, incumbered as
they were with driving snow, which a cold north wind had
blown over the paths, filling up the ravines and effacing all
visible tracks. These roads would have been very dangerous
for the little procession at night, and still more for those who
were to bear their precious burden from Milly to the cemetery
of St. Point. As soon as the dawn had reddened the distant
peaks of that Alpine horizon, which at Milly was her great
delight, we started again, escorted to the top of the first hills
by the whole village in tears. On turning into the higher
valley, we parted sorrowfully from the weeping crowd, who felt
as if their only friend was being torn from them; and with a
little knot of eight strong men, climbed up. the steep defile




314          MEMOIRS OF LAMARTINrE.
which goes by the name of Croix-des-Signaux. Four of the
men walked before the coffin to sound the path, whilst the
four others carried her. I walked behind alone, following
closely on their footsteps. The snow in some places was up
to our knees  it deadened all sound except the sharp whistling of the blast through the crevices of the rocks. Two
little half-frozen birds, not seeing any other solid ground for
their feet, perched themselves on the black cloth of the coffin,
which the bearers had laid down for a moment on the edge of
a ravine, whilst with their knives they cut away the snow
which was clogging the soles of their shoes. 1 do not know
why, but these poor little birds, seeking help and shelter even
from her coffin, made me burst into tears!  It reminded me
of all the miseries and sadness of which that loving heart had
been the shelter whilst it still beat on this earth. The birds
twittered for a moment and then gave a little mournful cry,
after which they resumed their flight in the direction of St.
Point. My thoughts flew towards the souls of Cesarine and.
Susan, who seemed to come under the symbol of these wings
to meet their mother and precede her to her place of rest.
The heart is naturally superstitious when riven with emotion
even beyond its strength. There are moments in the life of
every one, whether man or woman, when all their powers of
reasoning are dissolved in tears.
Our journey, which, in fine weather, ordinarily lasted but
two hours, took seven in that ocean of snow, whose waves
threatened every moment to swallow us up altogether. There
were some turns in the deep ravines leading down to the
valley of St. Point, where our only guides were the blackened
stems of the chestnut-trees hanging over the abyss, and where
we must have perished but for the skill and strength of
those devoted Milly peasants. It seemed as if their very
burden gave them power and confidence.
We did not arrive till towards the end of the day. We deposited the coffin in my mother's own room, and on her bed,
which for the last few years I had taken for myself. I shut
myself up in a little tower, which serves as a dressing-room




VMEMOIRS OF MAY MO 7TlE-re.          315
to this apartment, and there watched alone, with the door of
communication open between, during the whole of that last
night which my dear mother was to pass under the roof of her
old home. I do not know why, but I felt as if she were
nearer to me while I thus prolonged my watch by her side.
God alone can tell the prayers, the invocations, the tears, the
remorse, the blessings, the revelations of that night! I fell
asleep from very sorrow and exhaustion as the sun rose, and
was woke by the sound of the funeral bell, which was already
summoning all the inhabitants of the neighboring mountains to the mournful ceremony of her second interment.
Strangely enough it was not the last; for, by a curious and
unpremeditated combination of circumstances, it seemed as
if the earth were to take, give up, and retake possession of
the mortal remains of one whom the tenderness and veneration of those she had left behind, disputed even in her grave.
Looking out of the window on the two great pents covered
with snow, which form the valley of St. Point, I saw crowds
of black figures descending towards the church and the
chateau, gathered from all the chalets and huts in the mountains. The whole country seemed to be in mourning, and the
sighing of the wind brought even to the house the murmur of
sobs.
Nothing had been prepared in the cemetery for the interment. Death had surprised us before we had time to think
of her tomb. If our mother had been consulted (as my father
was later) as to the place and mode of her sepulture, her
humility and the dread she had of too much care being bestowed on her body, would have certainly induced her to
leave a memorandum in her will begging only to share the last
resting-place of the poor. But she had not the time to do
this. She had only expressed a vague wish to be buried at
St. Point. I could not make up my mind, however, both for
my own sake and that of my sisters and their children, and
that innumerable family of peasants who were united to her
in heart as much as we were by blood, to lose in a few years
all traces of her relics under a grassy knoll nibbled by sheep




316           MEMOIRS Of LAAAA'RTIA'.
in the ordinary churchyard. I felt that such relics should be
embalmed in a special manner to mark her holiness and our
love. I, therefore, resolved to build a little family mausoleum,
where some day we might be allowed to rejoin her should
God give us the grace to die where we have lived and loved.
The site and laying out of the gardens at St. Point favored
this thought. On a rising ground, in the middle of the valley,
like the pedestal of an old temple, are built both the church
and the chateau. The church is so inclosed in the terraces
of the castle that it was evidently in old feudal times only the
chapel of the manor house. Even now the gardens are only
separated from the rustic cemetery which surrounds the
church by a low box and filbert hedge, with here and there an
old walnut-tree, of which the nuts fall (to the great satisfaction
of the little shepherd boys) on the graves below. The walls
and tower of the old Roman church, dark with age, add their
shade in summer to that of the nut-trees, and give this part
of the garden almost the look of a sanctuary. This was the
favorite resort of our mother during the hottest hours of the
day, when she came here for the months of harvest. I used
to watch her with delight, from the windows of my little tower,
sitting with her book in her hand, or else reciting the Rosary
on a wooden seat, which had been placed under a large cherrytree, of which the branches, heavy with fruit, used to hang over
her head.
Even in the midst of my despair I felt a kind of sweetness
at the thought, that she would rest exactly in this spot, under
the same shade, and the same grass, covered with the fruit
and flowers of the garden she had so loved during life. I resolved, therefore, to build the mausoleum in this very place,
where I felt it would be the most cherished of all the family
possessions. But as, in these days in France, no one can
answer for any one family retaining their property long (not
even a sepulchre!), and as misfortunes might necessitate the
conveyance of this estate, mausoleum and all, to some creditor
or indifferent person, I did not choose that my children or
grandchildren should be robbed of this treasure, like an




MIEMOIRS OF MY MOTHER.               317
ordinary thing transferred for so much money from one hand
to another. The idea of such a profanation in future filled me
with horror. I thought over it a great deal, and finally decided
on what I subsequently accomplished: namely, to make over
to the village in perpetuity that portion of the garden on which
the mausoleum would be placed, with a solemn charge to keep
it from any sort of profanation. And lest that charge should
become burdensome on the parish, I bound myself in return
to give a piece of land on the hill adjoining the church for the
building of a presbytery, which was much needed, and to
build that presbytery at my own cost.  The laws of the
" Commune " could not refuse to ratify a contract which was
so clearly to the advantage of the inhabitants of the valley,
and, in fact, the deed was signed without any difficulties.
But, as I also wished that during my life-time, or during
the life of those dear to me, this mausoleum should be reserved for our own private devotions, without being exposed to
the criticisms or visits of strangers, I resolved to build a little
low wall, covered with ivy, between the garden and the cemetery, which should enable us without observation, whenever
we pleased, to pour out our prayers and our tears over her
much-loved grave. All this passed through my mind during
that long night's watch, by her coffin, which the morrow was
going to carry away out of my sight, and which the instinct of
tenderness, shrinking from the idea of an eternal separation,
made me resolve to bring back, as it were, within my reach as
soon as possible, in this mausoleum. I had dimly conceived
the idea at Macon, and had obtained from the government
permission, in the mean while, to place the coffin under the
pavement of the church, in the vault of the old Lords of St.
Point, of the illustrious house of Rochefort. What would I
not have given that the miracle which was enacted a century
ago in this very vault could be reproduced for us! A young
Marquise de St. Point, whose prolonged fainting fit had been
mistaken for death, had been interred in an open coffin under
these very stones. The night of her funeral, the bell-ringer,
coming in to ring the Angelus, heard a groaning under the




318         M.IEMiAOIRS OA' LAilIARTJAIE'.
pavement, where the tomb had been sealed down. Filled
with fear, he rushed out of the church and up to the chateau
to tell what had happened. The Marquis and his servants
ran into the church. The stifled cry was again heard; the
stones were torn open by the half-distracted husband, who
descended into the vault. and found the supposed corpse living
and breathing in his arms. Wild with joy he carried her back
to the chateau, where, still young and beautiful, she graced
her husband's home for many years before returning (this time
in good earnest) to her final resting-place.  I had often in my
childhood heard the bell-ringer and his old wife tell this story,
as they had been witnesses of the miracle with several of the
older people in the village. But, alas! such prodigies do not
recur in every sorrow of one's life.
At eight o'clock, the coffin was borne from the bed to the
church, followed by the weeping inhabitants of twelve hamlets,
and carried through the garden and by that same nut-walk,
where I had so often met her coming back from the altar, her
face bathed with tears of compunction, recollection, piety, and
holy joy. With my own hands I placed her in her last resting place. Then I came back alone to my tower and locked
myself in. Tears have their shamefacedness, like all feelings
which are deep-seated in the soul of man. I stretched myself
on the floor, my forehead buried in my hands, my eyes fixed
on the church, my ears involuntarily listening to the sad toll of
the funeral bell, that bell of which she so loved the sound, and
which seemed to weep for her now as its mournful echo reverberated through the surrounding hills. My heart was full of
unspoken thoughts: I only remember that, in consequence of
all these days and nights of anguish and sleeplessness, my
fevered brain seemed to be on fire with a pain which beat on
my temples as with a sledge hammer, and vibrated through my
whole being in unison with the funeral bell, so that my prayers
were mingled with sobs, and physical suffering almost overpowered mental agony. Strange contradiction of our nature!
at the same time material and spiritual, when our senses are
bewildered, and the ear takes in outward sounds, whilst the
soul is riven with untold anguish!




MEMOIRS OF MY MOTHER.                319
Towards morning I fell into an uneasy slumber, after which
I rose and retraced, with my guides, the snowy paths of the
mountain, where we very narrowly escaped being buried in a
fresh drift. The winter sun shone brilliantly, as if to mock
both the season and my sorrow. I was anxious, however, to
return as quickly as possible to my poor father, who needed
every possible consolation. Our winter was as sad a one as
this day; and all the remainder of his long life was henceforth
as winter.
Thus we lost our mother, and the people one who had been
their Providence, their example, and their guide in all grace
and holiness. Ask any old man or widow whom you may
meet by the wayside, - they will tell you the same tale! And
for us, let us forever cherish her dear memory. It is for this
reason that I have transcribed her manuscript. One by one
we shall ourselves disappear from this mortal scene, carrying
away with each one of us a portion of this tenderness and of
these regrets. These pages will preserve for a little time
longer, perhaps, the remembrance of her goodness, and the
trace of her hand; then they will become ashes like all the
rest. This is the end of all books and of all generations!
21








RECOLLECTIONS
G BY
GEORGE SAND








RECOLLECTIONS BY GEORGE
SAND.
A DISCUSSION  WITH  EUGENE  DELACROIX, CHOPIN, AND
MICKIEWICZ.
ARIS, 7anzzuary, I841. - I passed a portion of to-day
with Eugene Delacroix. I wish I could remember
exactly what he said. I cannot very well transcribe
it, for he speaks better than I can write. When I
first saw him I was in a state of distraction. I had just met
that maniac, De, who had been revealing to me the
strangest theories concerning outline and color, separate
studies, according to his idea. I related to Delacroix our
little dispute. " Do tell me, my friend," said I, " if this man
is in his right mind."
Delacroix. - Well, yes! He is laboring under a mistake, but he will not believe it. He reasons upon his error,
and clings to it, supposing it to be truth. How can it be
helped? This heresy did not originate with him. It is of
higher authority. It belongs to the school of M. Ingres, who
has decreed that color is a superfluity, and that it is very dangerous to become captivated with a mere detail which is injurious to the purity of the outline. They have systematized the
thing to such a point as to value only Raphael's first style,
and to regard the primitive masters with perfect admiration.




324     RECOLLECTIONS BY GEORGE SAND.
Myself. - I know it. They hold in utter contenmpt the
Venetian school, with Titian at its head.
Delacroix. - Aind the Dutch school, too!  That dauber,
Rembrandt, and that miserable Teniers! and all the Spaniards, Velasquez included! and the great Rubens, who excites
their disgust! Does that make you indignant? I was indignant too when I believed them involved in serious error; but
since I have assured myself that it is all a humbug, I am
not angry, only amused.
Myself - You are at liberty to become philosophical; but,
at the same time, the public who are not artists and do not
understand definitions, is satisfied with stupid sentences and
ready-made phrases. " Rubens gives fine coloring, but he is
no drawer. Rembrandt produces happy effects, but he bungles: he does not understand outline. Raphael alone knows
how to draw. Michael Angelo is a fool who can produce only
monsters. Pure art is the uniform tint, the silhouette." The
Ingres school makes this assertion, and the bourgeois adds:
"That appears to be the truth."
Delacroix. - Well! what is it to us if the bourgeois does
talk nonsense?
_Myself. - It is a good deal to me. The bourgeois is the
fool that we should have been, if no trouble had been taken to
perfect our taste and elevate our feelings. Why does not the
critic, whose duty it is to enlighten -
Delacroix. - Oh, the critic generally comes from the bourgeois, or from literary bachelors who become bourgeois in
order to secure readers. Look at the writers who possess
taste, originality, and independence! They are not understood. They preach to the desert air.
Myself — I am not such a pessimist as that. I am convinced that many literary men have no decided opinion, and
that if art were explained to them -
Delacroix. - A mere fancy! Painting is something of
which every one cannot be a judge. They must have a particular gift, or a special education. Young literary people who
earn their living by writing articles for newspapers try to ob



EUGENE DELACROIX, CHOPIN, MICKIEEWICZ. 325
tain an interview with some painter, and write from his dictation. If the painter reasons falsely, so much the worse.
But do not make me talk any more. I have one of my sore
throats.
Myself:- I will leave, especially as I smother my feelings
when with you; but I warn you that I shall go home only the
more angry from your present indifference.
"Stop a moment! You think me calmer than I am; but I
have seen Ingres''Stratonice' again, and, my faith! I am
as simple as the others; I think it is charming."
"I am glad you like it; but I think it childish and affected."," I do not deny that; but what pretty little touches! what
finish in the carving! "
"Carving is the word. It is done after the manner of the
Chinese fans with their little ivory figures fastened to one another. Well, good-by till we meet again."
"Yes, till we meet again; but why won't you talk to me
without making me talk? I should like to know why you do
not like M. Ingres."
"I never said that I did not. I like M. Ingres although
and not because he is systematic. He is half a man of genius,
has an immense talent, and is particularly high-minded. His
failing is partly in coloring, partly in perspective, partly in a
want of animation. We could forgive him these serious imperfections, however, if he did not convert his inability into a
system."
" Stop! When we view a book of art, it is not necessary
to ask what the author says and thinks. We must judge of
the work, and forget the man. I know very well that M.
Ingres looks upon me as a booby and a mean rascal, and that
he dismisses his pupils as soon as he perceives in them a tendency towards color. But I do not care to know anything of
him, to judge of his picture."
"That will do very well for you; but when this picture
argues still more strongly a lamentable conviction, an overbearing blindness, a mental paralysis converted into a de



326     RECOLLECTZIONS BY GEORGE SAND.
cree, I cannot help deploring the error of the master, and
feeling indignant with the adulatory school that confirms him
in his folly."
"Then you think that the'Stratonice' indicates a decline ""Don't let us talk any longer. I must go.  It is dinnertime."
" Is it? Where are you going to dine?"
"At home. Will you come? "
" To dine with you socially! That is a great temptation!
You will not make me talk?"
"We will make you keep silent. Get ready, and I will
wait for you."
He walked into his chamber, leaving the door open so that
he could speak across, and requested me to explain to him
what displeased me in the' Stratonice.' But he did not give
me the opportunity. The exercise of taking off his slippers
and dressing-gown having restored his natural animation, instead of letting me criticise, he did it himself.
As we were on the way to my home, notwithstanding his
resolution, he did not cease railing at the false coloring of the
adherents of Ingres.  He called them fiasticheurs and illuminators of manuscripts.  My anger was appeased through
his. Chopin met us at the door, and the two walked up
stairs discussing' Stratonice.' Chopin does not like it, because
the characters are affected and without any true emotion;
but he is pleased with the finish of the picture. As to color,
he said, out of politeness, that he understood nothing about it;
not believing that he was telling the truth!
Chopin and Delacroix love each other, I may say, tenderly.
They possess a great similarity of character, and the same
grand qualities of heart and mind. In point of art, Delacroix
understands and adores Chopin: Chopin does not understand
Delacroix. He esteems, cherishes, and respects the man, but
detests the painter.  Delacroix, with his greater variety of
faculties, understands and appreciates music.  His taste is
true and exquisite. He never wearies of listening to Chopin,




EUGENE DELACROIX, CHOPIN, MICKCIEWICZ. 327
who is touched by this adoration; but when the latter beholds
one of his friend's pictures he becomes distressed, and cannot utter a word. He is a musician, nothing more.  His
thoughts can be translated only into music. He possesses an
infinite amount of wit, discernment, and sly humor, but has no
knowledge of painting or statuary. He is afraid of Michael
Angelo. Rubens makes his hair stand on end. He is scandalized by everything that appears to him eccentric, confining
himself to the strictest conventionalism.  Strange anomaly!
His genius is the most original and most individual in existence; but he would not like to have any one tell him so. In
literature, also, Delacroix has a taste for what is most classical
and most precise.
It was useless to attempt to enter into their discussion; so
I listened. Maurice began breaking the finger-bowls in his
earnestness to have Delacroix explain to him the mystery of
reflection, and Chopin listened with eager eyes. The master
drew a comparison between tone in painting and sounds in
music.
" Harmony in music," said he, " does not consist merely in
the construction of concordant sounds, but in their mutual relations, their proper succession, in what I should call, for
want of a better expression, their audible reflex. Well, it is
just so with painting. Here, pass me that blue cushion and
that red rug. If you place them side by side, you see that
where the two colors touch, they blend.  The red becomes
tinted with blue; the blue is enlivened by the red, and, from
the two results violet. You can mingle in a picture the most
gorgeous colors; but give them the proper reflex, and you
will never be gaudy. Is nature sober in her tones? Does
she not abound in striking contrasts, which in no wise destroy
her harmony? They are all blended by reflex. Some attempt to do away with this in painting. It may be done, but
only at the expense of the picture."
Maurice remarked that the science of reflection is the most
difficult of all.
" No," said the master; "it is the simplest thing imagin



328     KECOLLECTIONS BY GEORGE SAAND.
able. I can demonstrate it to you as easily as that two and
two make four.  The reflection of one certain color upon
another certain color invariably produces the same effect,
which I have explained and proved to you twenty times."
"Very well," replied the pupil; "but the reflection of that
reflection? "
"Mercy on us! How you run on!  You are asking too
much for one day."
Chopin moved uneasily upon his chair.  "Let me take
breath," said he, "before discussing relief:  Reflection is
quite enough for the present. It is something ingenious, new
to me, but savors of alchemy."
" No," cried Delacroix, " it is pure chemistry. The tone is
continually undergoing composition and decomposition, and
reflection is as inseparable from relief as the outline from the
model.  They think they have invented; or at least discovered outline; that is, they believe that they can portray
the outline. By no means! The contour laughs at them,
and turns its back"
Chopin did not listen any longer. He sat down at the piano,
but did not observe that we were listening to his music. He
improvised a little, then stopped.
" Come, come," cried Delacroix, "that is n't finished! "
" It is n't commenced yet. I can think of nothing but reflections, shadows, and reliefs that will not stand still. I am
looking for color, but I cannot even find the outline."
" You will not find one without the other," replied Delacroix,
"and you will succeed in finding both."
"What if I find only moonshine?"
"You will have found the reflection of a reflection," remarked Maurice.
This idea pleased the divine artist. He resumed his playing, without, apparently, commencing anew, so vague and uncertain were his strains. Our eyes gradually filled with a soft
moisture corresponding to the sweet modulations received by
the ear. Now the blue note sounded, and we were in the
qzure of transparent night. Light clouds, assuming fanciful




EUGENEt' DELA CROPG', CHOPIN, MHICKIEWIC'Z. 329
forms, covered the heavens, then pressed around the moon,
which threw out great opal disks, and roused their dormant
color. We dreamed of a summer's night, and listened for
the nightingale.
Chopin talks little, and but rarely of his art. Yet, when he
does speak of it, it is with an admirable perspicuity and soundness of judgment and purpose which would completely annihilate many heresies, if he wished to make an open profession. But, except in cases of intimacy, he is reserved, and
lavish of nothing but his piano. He has promised, though,
to write a method, in which he will treat, not only of the profession, but of the doctrine. Will he keep his word?
Delacroix has promised, too, in his moments of communicativeness, to write a treatise on outline and color. But he will
never do it, although he is an elegant writer. These inspired
artists are condemned to be always looking forward, and never
to spare a day for retrospection.
Some one rang the bell. Chopin started, and left off playing. I called to the servant that I was not at home to any
one.
" Oh, yes," said Chopin; "you are to him."
" Who is it, pray?"
" Mickiewicz."
"Oh, yes, of course. But how do you know that it is he?"
"I do not; yet I am impressed that it is. I was just thinking
of him."
It was he, to be sure. He pressed my hand affectionately,
then seated himself in a corner and begged Chopin to continue. Chopin went on.  He was inspired, sublime.  My
little servant rushed in wildly, exclaiming: " The house is on
fire! We hastened to the point of danger. The fire had
originated in my sleeping-room; but we were in time, and
quickly extinguished it. Nevertheless, it took us a full hour;
at the end of which time we asked: "Where can Mickiewicz
be?" and called, but he did not answer. We went back
to the parlor: he was not there -yes! there he was, to be
sure, in the very corner where we had left him. The lamp




330     RECOLLECTIONS BY GEORGE SAND.
had gone out, but he did not observe it. We had made much
noise and commotion, but he had heard nothing. He did not
even inquire why we had left him alone, not having discovered
that he was alone. He had been listening to Chopin, and the
music still sounded in his ear.
This would have seemed like affectation in any one else;
but the meek and humble great poet is as artless as a child,
and, seeing me laugh, he asked what was the matter.
"Nothing is the matter now," I replied; "but the next
time I am with you in a house that takes fire, my first step
will be to put you in a place of safety; for you would burn
up without knowing it, like a mere shaving."
" Indeed! " he exclaimed. " I did not know that there had
been a fire."
And he left without another word. As Chopin accompanied
Delacroix to the door, the latter, returning to the world of
reality, began a conversation about his English tailor, in seeming oblivion of any other care in the universe than that of
having his garments very warm without being heavy.




AN ATTACK OF FEVER.                331
II.
AN ATTACK OF FEVER.
-TAMARIS, near Toulon, February 20, I86I.....
still feel the effects of my late illness; but do not be uneasy,
I shall get over it. I drive out every day, and in the evening
I amuse myself by writing the "' Romance of my Fever;" for,
you must know, this illness has not interrupted my literary
pursuits. I mentioned it to you at Nohant. Now I will give
you an account of it, as an addition to our observations and researches concerning the phenomena of sleep, delirium, and
hallucination. What passed through my brain is curious
enough to be recorded.
The evening preceding my sudden and serious attack, I was
feeling very well, and had sketched the commencement of a romance entitled, " La Famille de Germandre," one which I have
just finished. I had decided on all my characters, and assigned to them their positions in the world, their tendencies,
ideas, characters, and mutual relations. Their faces were familiar. All that was left for me now was to decide on what they
were to do, and I did not'trouble myself about that, feeling
that there would be time enough for it the next day. Unconscious for several succeeding days, I thought no more on the
subject, but I dreamed of it, probably at those times when I had
been in the habit of writing, and the most unforeseen adventures entered into the story.
I seemed to be travelling with all my characters, without
exactly knowing whence we came, or through what countries
we were passing. This did not seem to trouble either of us,
and we journeyed on, determined on reaching home, that is, nmy




.3'J 2  RECO~LLECZYO NS BY GEORGE SAND.
home, at whatever cost. I can only touch on the numerous
events of the journeys. Sometimes we were in comfortable
carriages which glided on with a rapid but easy motion,
giving us an opportunity for conversation: of what nature,
God only knows! Perhaps they were instructing me as to
their respective parts.  It seems to me now, at times, as
though I had kept it in remembrance. Sometimes we were
travelling in a cart over frightful roads. The cart would lose
one wheel, then another; still we kept on, never overturning, and never thinking of making a stop, but endeavoring
to ride upon the shafts in such a manner that our feet would
escape the ground. The animal which was drawing us seemed
to change every moment. At one time it was a donkey, at
others a cow, a bull-dog, or a goat; sometimes it was nothing
more than a blind beetle, which travelled as well as either of
the others.  Then the roads began to overflow with water,
and, turning into brooks, became rivers, a pond, a lake, and,
finally, the open sea. We kept on, however, our cart becoming first a ship, then a boat, a wreck, a plank, a floating stick.
It still made its regular stops, however, and we put up at unendurable taverns, met with fantastic adventures, and saw strange
cities; but this was all confusion, one idea being uppermost,
to start again with my companions; and we renewed our adventures, extremely perilous and wearisome, without any of us
being alarmed or fatigued. I cannot tell whether this dream,
which from my remembrance was one of long duration, lasted
throughout my illness; but I know that it commenced the first
night, and that the last day, just as I returned to consciousness, I was so deeply absorbed in it that I was obliged to make
an effort to distinguish the persons who were standing around
me from those who belonged to my vision, who were exactly
the same as when we started on our journey. A new incident
had just occurred. From the extremity of Cochin China, perhaps, we had arrived at the castle of Motte-Feuilly, in the
neighborhood of Nohant. The Germandre family, notary and
major-domo included, took it into their heads to ascend to the
tower, the circular wooden revetment of which I could distinctly




AN ATTACK OF'  ElVER.                333
see. The planks were broken and gaping, and I cried to my
companions not to rely on these boards; but they paid no attention. Suddenly, amid a burst of laughter, they were precipitated from the height of the corbel to the pavements of the
courtyard.  They were uninjured, and the joke seemed to
amuse them, for they hastened to repeat it. This thing seemed
to me very funny, and yet I felt provoked at it; for they could
not rise without my assistance, and as soon as I had picked
them up and set them on their feet, like puppets, they made
their escape. I reproached them, in vain, for their folly. " You
will end by breaking your necks," said I; "and then what
will become of my novel?"
I was just on the point of becoming angry in good earnest,
and threatening to leave them, when the dream gradually faded
away. I seemed to be alone in the castle, which had turned
into a ruin, and I felt very'cold. Some one spoke to me, and
with delight I recognized my son, my friends, my room, my
bed, and my real self.
All this may be included in the well-known phenomena of
dreams; and I do not see that, in this case, it differed essentially, except in duration, from what would have taken place
if I had been in a state of health. What strikes me in this
act of obsession to which I submitted, is the important position
held by fictions which have been voluntarily admitted into the
brain. Every one who creates figures destined to live solely
in the domain of art, has, probably, tried to picture them to
himself in such a manner as to make. them appear as natural
as possible.  Most likely, too, they have entered into his
dreams, performing all kinds of impossibilities.  My son,
when very young, had a great desire for a manikin; but the
first night it occupied his room, his sleep was much disturbed
by dreams of it.'This inert individual appeared to assume
life, and performed all sorts of antics, driving nails into the
inlaid floor, breaking the plastering, and tearing my son's
clothes.




334     RECOLLECTIONS BY GEORGE SAND.
III.
PIERRE BONNIN.
7une 25, I866. -I made a visit recently to Pierre Bonnin
and his old wife. It was on a delightful spring afternoon,
neither too warm nor too cold. The sun shone brightly, and
a slight breeze rustled along the corn-fields, relieving some of
the overloaded ears of their surplus fruit. This exceedingly
pretty place is called'" The Elms." Five or six little houses
are grouped together on a level plain, very wisely surrounded
by trees and tall hawthorn bushes, and adorned with those
pretty gardens in which our peasants were, formerly, so skillful.
They have plenty of shade and a good well; which is the
cause of the grouping and intermarriage of families, as in the
time of the patriarchs. The soil is good; and around the circuit of the gardens extends a belt of hemp-fields and lucernfields, planted with walnut and cherry trees, and interspersed
with charming little paths and a few fences easy to leap.
Geese, goats, one or two cows, fifty sheep, a few pigs, and a
quantity of hens, with the product of the surrounding lands,
complete the wealth of this colony. To tell the truth, it is, at
present, composed of only three families allied by marriage.
The principal representative, and a very peculiar one, is
Pierre Bonnin. Whence did he derive that restless activity,
that ironical and inexhaustible mirth, that sudden decision,
that sort of mania for labor, and that disinterestedness so extraordinary for a peasant? I cannot tell, for I did not know
his patents. The family have been peasants for generations
past, and lived on this same tract of land, in old houses which




PIERRE BONN.lV.                  335
were buried in ruins during my childhood; but they have left
nothing to mark their existence.  He himself had hardly
known them. The history of the peasant is a blank; and
yet, there must be here, as everywhere else, marked exceptions, intellects grown sterile for want of development, earnest
minds extinguished for want of fuel. What account could be
given of Pierre Bonnin, even in these times, when a peasant is
a man? Nothing, indeed. He has done nothing remarkable;
and, in a hundred years from now, no one will be aware that
he ever existed; and yet, he is a man whom I shall never forget, if I survived him for centuries.
He is extremely old, but does not remember his age; like
some old people with us, whose certificate of baptism has been
destroyed and who have no record of their birth. He remembers'annede de la grand'fieur,'89. A cry of distress arose,
"There they are! There are the robbers!" and, without
knowing what this meant, everybody hastened to conceal himself. Mother Bonnin hurried her little Pierre into the cornfields, and there they squatted all day. He might have been
five or six years old then; now he is at least eighty-two  He
has no other recollection of the Revolution, nor of any domestic occurrence. When very young he learned the carpenter's
trade, in the village of Father Lecante. To his great regret
he had never been a soldier. He was fond of war and adventure; and all his life he had lamented that a military life had
not fallen to his lot. When very young he married quite a
pretty woman, with whom he quarreled on the eve of their
wedding. She was proud and determined, as she is still. Did
he find fault with her for drinking too much? -that was her
failing. Or did she flirt with the groomsmen? — I know not.
He remained three days at the public-house without coming
home at night. At length he returned, and they have been a
happy couple ever since; he very imperious, she very calm.
Although there are only the two, they keep up the old custom
in country households. He eats alone at a little table, and she
waits upon him, eating her own meals near the fire, with a
porringer upon her lap.
22




336     RECOLLECTIONS BY GEORGE SAND.
The earliest remembrance that I have of him is on his wedding day, when I was a child. He was very handsome, had
eyes as black as ink, a straight nose with large nostrils, a fair
complexion, a well-formed mouth, was tall, slender, and flexible.  I was much struck with his wedding costume. It
consisted of a complete suit of drugget dotted with blue, a
waistcoat three fingers in length, the skirts of his jacket
reaching to his knees, and a large black hat ornamented by a
cockade at one side. He was much admired. His hair was
cut short at the forehead, and curled at the ear, meeting the
extremity of his black whiskers, which gave him, as his friends
assured him, the appearance of a real bourgeois! He was the
beau of the village, took liberties with the belles, was addicted
to the use of light, home-made wines, took the greatest delight
in making fun of others and teasing them, and overflowed with
the spirit of wit. It must be confessed that he was not a very
promising young man. When he was reproached for his
levity, he used to reply: "I ought to have been sent to the
army. I should have made my mark there."
But he had a good, honest nature, and as soon as the
children came along he began to work like any four men.
Father Lecante was dead. Bonnin did the jobs at our house,
and upon the farm, which were considerable. The buildings
were old, and always needing repairs. As soon as the Revolution was over, every one began to put in order his long
neglected nest.
The steward was impetuous and exacting, and freely used
his cane upon the lazy workmen. Pierre was quick to understand, quick to execute. The steward was struck with his
intelligence, and employed him constantly; but one day, the
work not being performed exactly to the liking of the steward,
he became angry, unjustly, and threatened the workman. The
latter replied: " Do not run any risks. I am hot blooded,
and for every blow I return ten." A lasting peace was concluded.
He worked with renewed ardor. It seemed as though the
combined vigor of this robust frame and enterprising spirit




PIERRE BONXVINA.                337
needed a violent effort for its expansion. He went at the
wood furiously: it seemed like a sort of delirium; and when
he superintended the work of the hewers, he scolded them
with a decided contempt for their slowness and caution.
" Wherever he comes, he raises a breeze," they would say;
yet they liked him, for he was good-natured, and lavish in his
expressions of tenderness when he was well served.
To zeal for strength he soon added zeal for invention, displaying great adroitness and intelligence; yet he knew how
neither to read, write, nor draw; nor did he possess that
knowledge of geometry necessary for his trade. He could
not make a bargain nor rectify mistakes by calculation. If
any one gave him a defective plan, he would not discover it
until he had attempted to follow it, and then his anger was
intense with those who know, and yet do not know. However, he never got discouraged, but commenced repairing the
mistake, even if he had to go over his work ten times; but
when he considered how he had been made to lose his time,
his rage was so great that he became feverish and could not
sleep.
My brother and I used to provoke him by playing with his
tools, making wigs for ourselves of his shavings, stealing his
pencil to write upon the walls, or teasing him to mend our
wheelbarrows.  He would scold us, make terrible threats,
and then pat us on the back with his rule. We were not
afraid of him, and so he loved us. " Those rogues," he used
to say, "know very well that I shall not harm them."
He aspired to becoming a joiner; but Father Godard did
all that kind of work, and did it very well too. So as soon as
the old man joined his contemporaries in " The Garden of
Nettles," as Pierre styled the cemetery, the latter set up for a
joiner, without relinquishing his business as carpenter and
wheelwright; for these callings are a little confused in the
village. He had now more work than he could accomplish,
and his zeal increased tenfold. He had children to bring up,
but he did not complain of trouble. Universally beloved, he
endeavored to give universal satisfaction. It must be ac



338     RECOLLECTIONS BY GEORGE SAND.
knowledged that he was jealous of any one who received the
patronage of the public, and that, at one time, people used to
go without necessary articles, in order not to incur his displeasure.
So it was at our house. Not keeping a steward, I engaged
him myself. Where one lives in an old house all the year
round, a great many things are needed; still I could not
monopolize him; so we had to suffer. When I had made up
my mind to find fault with him for leaving the work half done,
he would return, and go to work so furiously that I was
obliged to speak kindly to him to prevent him from hurting
himself.
He accumulated money, although he was not at all greedy.
He never asked for a cent more than his pay, nor ever disputed
with the peasants whose coche was not as full as his own. The
coche is a little square piece of wood upon which is recorded,
by means of slight notches, the number of days' work. This
account is kept by both parties, and sometimes the employer
forgets to mark one or two days. Pierre Bonnin preferred to
lay the blame on his memory rather than on his customers.
He seldom kept an account of the days of the week, but-he
always remembered Sunday. On that day he carefully shaved
his beard of a week's growth. This became gray very early;
but he was still very fine-looking, with his scattering, silver
locks brushed away from his forehead. From  beneath his
thick, bushy eyebrows he cast piercing glances. He conversed well, being neither a talker nor boaster, and preferring
to make inquiries rather than give his own ideas. He was
observing; but although he made fun of everybody, he injured no one. Very incredulous in regard to religion, he left
others to think their own way. He never became intoxicated,
but drank too mnuch, as was apparent from the slight dimness
of his eye and the hesitancy of his speech; yet he was neither quarrelsome nor tiresome, and Monday morning he was
quite sober again. Though undemonstrative in his affections,
he uttered words that went to the heart; and though he exhibited no apparent tenderness for his family, his infinite devotion
was betrayed through his incessant toil.




PIERRE BONAXIN                   339
His old house threatened to fall over his head. He built a
new one, which, to-day, is in no respect superior to the other;
but at that t:ime it was esteemed a wonder. It was very convenient and comfortable, bountifully provided with closets,
recesses, and shelves. A little corridor protected the principal
room from the cold  and over the entrance was a glass light,
which, I remember, was the astonishment and admiration of
the neighborhood. No one had so fine a dwelling; but no
one was quite so shrewd.
They were doing well, when, unfortunately, his wife, who
was more practical than he, set her heart on the possession of
a certain piece of land. It was at the time of their success,
at that period of life when physical strength is greatest, and
at a time when they were favored with a goodly amount of
patronage; but after the house was finished and the children
provided for, there was no money left. He yielded to his
wife's entreaties, and borrowed; after which he was taken
with sciatica, and since then has suffered from it every winter. Whether from some slight dissipation, or from the dullness of trade at that time, he failed, several quarters, to pay
his rent, abused his creditors, and at last took sick to his bed.
Soon after returning home from a journey, I learned that his
house and garden had been attached, and that his creditors
were about to take possession of them. I waited for him to
come to me; but as he did not come, I went to see him, and
questioned him. He was up, but was still feverish. He answered me in monosyllables, without appearing anxious concerning his situation, or supposing that his creditors would not
allow him time for payment. Was he not an honest and hardworking man? In short, he was easy and careless.
But affairs had taken their course, and he was about to
suffer the penalty of the law, when I hastened to send the
sum for his relief. I met him a few days after. He spoke to
me about some work that I had ordered, and, just as he left,
he remarked: " While I think of it, you paid my debt. That's
right."  He did not even add, "Thank you;' and some one
who was present at the time exclaimed: "How ungrateful




340     REKC'OLLECTIONS BY GEORGE SAND.
these peasants are! It is folly to do them a favor." " You
are very much mistaken," I replied. " This man is so safe a
debtor, that the service rendered by me amounts to almost
nothing. He regards it as nothing more than an act of goodnature on my part, and he is right."
A few days after he offered to work for me gratis until he
had acquitted his obligation. I begged him not to think of
such a thing yet, and he answered, " You are very kind." He
was right then, also. It was nothing more than an act of
kindness. After he had gradually paid his debt, he said to
me one day: -
" You are a person of whom I am very fond."
"Why?" I asked. "I have never done much for you:
you never ask for anything."
" I have loved you ever since you were quite small. Your
mamma used to go to mass on Sunday; and they used to lift
you over the bad places in the road. You were a princess,
and did not like to be carried in the arms of everybody; but
you would come to me, and throw your arms about my neck;
for my countenance pleased you. Afterwards, you were terrible. You used to provoke and annoy me continually; but
when you said, " Please do, Bonnin," I yielded to your requests. Now it is your children who annoy and provoke me;
but, for your sake, I do not pat too hard, and I love them
too."
This momentary tenderness never prevented him from
promptly dismissing me if I visited his work-shop for the purpose of engaging him to do a piece of work while he was
busy with another job.
" Go away from here," he would say. " You are just the
same as when you were four years old. You worry me."
His inclinations were as uncontrollable as his desire for independence. When he did not like any job, he would leave
it, without giving any other reason than, " It bothers me."
Why some kinds of work more than others? Why did he
enjoy making inlaid floors, and yet had a horror of common
floors? He did not know, or did not know how to express it.




PIERRE BONzJIV.                  341
He would leave, and, when requested to return, would reply,
" I will not. You must get along as well as you can without
it."
As he treated every one lthe same, people had to put up
with his peculiarities; for he worked so well and so fast when
he chose!
But his attacks of sciatica becoming more frequent, and of
longer duration, it became necessary to employ a younger and
less capricious man. Bonnin consented, on condition that he
should work when hle chose, andon wzhat he chose,; and, as his
successor showed him great deference, he took it kindly, and
worked by his side without any ill feelings.
He worked till last year. I was away from home when he
gave up business, and did not hear of it until my return. On
inquiry, I learned that his affairs were in an embarrassed condition, that he had lost his cattle, and that his wife was very
much depressed. I went to see them, and found him in his
garden, scraping the earth from the bottom of a spade which
he had no longer the strength to use. He did not perceive
me, and I walked up to him, without his being aware of my
approach, and touched him  on the shoulder.  He turned
around, and looked at me with a melancholy smile. I spoke
to him, and he shook his head. " I cannot hear now," said he,
"and I am not able to work any longer.  I am used up! "
His wife joined us. She was almost blind, but not deaf,
and quite active still, though seventy-eight years old. She
did not recognize me, and when he informed her that it was I,
she began to weep, as she described in a dramatic manner the
death of her last pig. She lamented that the old man was
now worth nothing, saying that they would have to finish their
days in misery, after having worked so hard. As the account
of the death of her animals threatened to be prolonged indefinitely, I interrupted her with the news that I had brought the
wherewithal to repair their loss. She was so excited that she
continued her Iliad, without stopping to listen.  Never was
Trojan Hector the cause of so many tears as that last little
pig that she could not save.




342     RECOLLECTIONS BY GEORGE SAND.
At last I succeeded in putting into her apron the money
that I had brought in my pocket. She paused in amazement,
and ran to her husband, who was'sitting on an upturned
wheelbarrow. Looking with indifference, first at the money,
then at me, he said to his wife: " I told you she would come.
It is foolish to cry about the animals."
Then, addressing me, he referred to having seen me as a
child, and added: " You have always been kind to me.
That's right."
As, tired of the woman's repeated thanks, I started to leave,
he called out: " You will never see me again at your house.
It is all over! You must bid me good-by now."
He extended his hand, and, as he held mine, he seemed to
have something in his thoughts that he could not make up his
mind to utter. I made him understand that if he had any
particular desire, I was always at his service. Then, coming
to the point, he repeated that strange aspiration of his whole
life-time:  " I have no further needs.  I am leaving this
world without being able to declare that I have been unhappy.
I enjoyed labor. I have nothing to regret but loss of health,
and one other thing, which was fated not to be!  I should
have -liked to be a soldier, and become a general - and emperor! "
"This same nonsense again! " cried the old woman. "He
has always said, and persists in saying, the same thing. He
would have liked to be emperor! Do you hear that! "
I remember having heard him make this remark several
times, when he had taken too much liquor. Was there a vortex, then, in this peasant's solid brain? An inordinate ambition had he concealed under great wisdom of conduct. WTas
it the love of glory, restrained by a consciousness of his impotence? What was it? It was, assuredly, something - something besides an hallucination, perhaps. An inward revelation
of some neglected power, for which he himself would not
have been able to find a name. All that he could make manifest was an extraordinary vital energy, a great love of command, a horror of obedience, a natural dignity which yielded




PIERRE BONNIN.                   343
to no custom, and no compromise; added to these, an exceeding goodness of heart, with no narrowness of mind. Who can
tell what education might have made of Pierre Bonnin? He
has left, as the result of many hours' faithful employment, only
carpenter's work, and furniture of Cyclopean solidity.  He
never finished anything without saying: " That will last longer
than I do."
Sad and thoughtful I wended my way home through flowery
paths. When I entered the great courtyard, where I was
accustomed to see him at work, it seemed deserted, and larger
than ever. No more will be heard here the heavy blows of
his hammer, his angry exclamations, or merry shouts, which
could be heard far and wide when old Bonnin was angry or
joyous.  Was he ill-natured?  He used to call out to the
passers-by: "Walk fast. You make my blood boil at your
ox's pace." If a dog laid his paw on a piece of his work that
was finished, he would fasten a shaving to his tail, and people,
hearing the animal's cries, would say to themselves: "Some
creature has been disrespectful to Pierre Bonnin."
If he was in a jovial humor, he would address his jokes to
those passing. He was the personification of noise, energy,
and activity. All that is over now. His exuberant nature
will be reproduced in other men, but in a different way. This
particular type will soon join the great Mould that never repeats
His models.








INDEX.
ABOUa'  Edmund, 77.  " Le Progrds,"  Bienassis, Guichard de.  Friend of Lam.
I r3.                                     artine, 184.
Academ?.  Mdrimee's visits to members Bismarck.  At Biarritz (IS65', I19.  A
of, 28, 38, 40. Election to, 46. Recep-   great man, 120, 124, 125.
tion and address, 51.                   Bonaparte.  Battles of, I58. After MosAcademy of Inscriptions. Solicitingvotes    cow, 232.  Downfall of, 234.  Esca:ez
for, 49.                                  from Elba, 250.
Alboni. In' Barber of Seville, 85.       Boitelle.  Ludicrous blunder regarding
Americans. At Biarritz, I05.                M. Fould, 80.
Anna, Princess.  Marriage of, T I9.       Borrow on gypsies, 121.
Angoul8me, Duc d', 249.                   Bosio the bandit, 88.
AngoulCme, Duchesse d', 249-              Bonnin, Pierre.  Sketch  of by George
Antonelli. Comment on Lamoricikre, 8x.   Sand, 334.
Antoniella. A friend of Graziella, 217.   Bravo, Mme. Gonzalez, 48.
Apraxine, Countess of, 70.                Breadalbane, Marquis of. Visit to, 69.
Arabic.  Study of, 48.                    British Museum.  Mdrimde visits, 71.
Aristophanes.  Comments on, 113.          Brougham, Lord. Mdrinime dines with,
" Arsene Guillot," 46.                      73Artois, Count d'.  Narrow escape of, 255. Brougham, Wm., brother of Lord B.
Asturias, Prince of, I3I.                   Caught cheating, ii6.
Athol, Duke of, Ioo.                      Buccleugh, Duke of, I26.
Augereau in command at Lyons, 235.        Buckingham, Duchess of. Singular omen,
Avignon.  Characteristics of, 43. Mdri-   50.
mee's encounter at with lady traveller, Bull-fights.  At Madrid, 34.
31.                                     Bulwer's  " Ernest  Maltravers,"'  39.
" What will he do with it " criticised, 79.
Bank of England. Mdrimde's visit to, 98. Bunsen,  Baron.   With  daughters  at
"Barber of Seville," 85.                    Cannes, 78. On origin of Christianity,
Baudelaire's works, I30.                    79Bellegarde, Mesdames de.  Encounter of Busseuil, Marquis de.  Major-gen-ral of
Lamartine with, 274-                      King's body-guard. 240.
Belley. Lamartine sent to Jesuit college
at, 173.                                Caesar.  Mdrimde at work on, for EmBdquet, Pere. Lamartine's instructor at   peror, 96.
Belley, I78.                            Cambridge.  M6rimde visits, 60.
Bkranger and Rachel, 37.                  Camilla.  Protegde of Davide the actor,
Berri, Duc de, 247.  Defends Count   206.
d'Artois, 255.                          Carabanchel.  Playing comedy at, 62.
Berzd, M. de, I52, 155.                   Cassagnac, Granier, de. On Girondins,
Beyle's correspondence.  Mdrimee  read-   8I.
iug, 62.                                Catherine II.  Memoirs of, 73.
B3iarritz. G' iests at poisoned by verdigris, Catholics martyred, 93.
xo6.                                    Catullus.  Criticisms on, 41.




346                                IZNDEX.
Cavaignac.  Speculations  of, 58.  At   of Duchssse d'Albe, 86. Journey of
competition for prizes, 59.            I  to Scotland, (,o.
Cerberus.  Incognita compared w'th, 47. Eugagements   Philosophy of, 21.
Cervantes.  M&imde proposes writing  England.  Visit of Incognita t', 5I.
life of, I31l  English.  Stupidity of, 60.
Changarnier.   Writing  a narrative of English and Scotch.  Peculiarities of, 84.
1Lanocricierees campaign, 85.           Entrails eaten by heroes and mo erns, 33.
ChlAteaubriand.  Lamartine's introdtUc- IEscturial at Madrid, 03.
lion to his works, i86. Love affair, Exhibition, British(1862). Afailure, 0O2.
242. Verses by Lamartine attributed    Keport read by M6rimie to Internatto, 286.                                 ti,)lat J ury, 103.
Cl;avdriat, Leonard, 262.  Guides Lamar-  Expositon, Paris (i867), I22.
tine to Swiss frontier, 264.
Chavanne, M. de la. Director of tobacco  Fever.  Sensat'ons durin g an attack of
lactory at Naples and friend of Lamar-   described by George -.and, 33Itine, 2I,, 213.                         Figurante.  Story ot, i8.
(thimay, Princesse de, I62.               Ftaubert, MI. Gus ave.  " Salammbo,'
Chinese. War with, 89.                      107.
t hinese romance.  Translated by Stan- Florence character zed, I0o8.
islas Julien, 89.                       Forbin, Comte de, 242.
Children. How to talk to, 102.            Fould. Visit to at St. Sauveur, 77. In dis
Chopin.    Discussion  xwith  Delacroix    grace, 9o, 9I. Far-m  of at Bagneres-de.
touching color, sound, etc., 326.         Bigorre, o10. Question of return to
Cobden characterized, 91.                   office, 107. Death of (867), I24.
Cormatin, ChAteau of. Lamartine enter- "s  redigonde," 34.
tained at, 235.
Collard, M. Royer.  Discussion with, Gambling.  Lamartine's experiences in,
256.                                      211, 219.
Cochin China. Presents from  Emperor Garibaldi.    His expedition  to  Sicily
of to Napoleon, Ito.                      (I66o), 8i. Shameful conduct of in
Cotusin.  Converted to Catholicism, 94.   going to Caprera (I867), 128.
At Cannes (I862), IOI.                  Germain, M. and Madame de, 250.
Cuchares the matador, 63.                 Gladsione.  Visit to (I865), II7.
Goethe.  Criticisms on, 64.
D'Albe, Duchesse. Death of, 86.           Gortschakoff.  Bon mot on by Belgian
Dancers.  Spanish, in Paris, 6x.           nmitister at Vienna, 67.
Davide the actor, 205.  His protegee Ca- Granville, Lord. M6rimne dines with,
milia, 206.                               103.
Debrosse, Pere.  Superior of Jesuit col- Graziella. Original of Lamartine's novel,
lege at Belley, I74.                      2I2, 2ISI 228. Death of, 231.
Delacroix, Eugene.  Discusses art with  Greece. Travels in, 27.
George Sand, 313.                       Gleek novels, 33.
Devon, M. Anacreon of ugliness, 242. Greeks.  Love of for country, 33.
Derby ministry.  Attack on, 76.           Greenwich.  Mdrimee dines at, 98.
Derby race.  Favorites beaten, 103.       Grenoble.  Lamartine's visit to, I86.
Ddsotteux, General, 235.
Dinners in London, III.                   Hamilton, Duke of.    Merimdees visit tc
Disraeli.  Defeated in House of Corn-   at Edinbutrgh, 68.
mols (i862), 103.                       Hastintgs, Marquis of. Elopes with Lady
Dixon, Hepworth.   "New  America,"'   Floience Paget, 114.
126.                                    Haussnman. Election to Academy desired
Dumouchel.  Lamartine's  instructor at   by Emperor, 86.
Belley, 179.                            Heine.  Adopted daughter of, I19.
Dupanloup, Abbe. Letter of (I868), 127. Helen, Grand Duchess. Introduction to
cleclinled by Mrimde, 70o.
Egyptian sarcophagi. Inscriptions on, I9. Herodotus, 33.
Ellice, M., 91.                           Homer.  Mdrimee's advice about readEmperor.  At ball, 8o0. Mdrimde break-   ing, 30. Comprehension of enlarged by
fasts with Emperor and Empress at   visiting Greece, 33.
Saint-Cloud,.87.  Emperor recovered  Hook,'heodore. Death of, 39.
trom illness (I866), a20.               Houdetot, Countess d'.  Daughter of
Empress.  At ball, 80. Grief of at death    immortalized by Ro-lsseau, 2ao




iNDEX.                                   347
Hugo.  At Rachel reception, 37. " Les    228. Successful gambling  at Milan,
Miserables," Io5.   Speecl  to book-   230. Family alarmed about gambling,
sellers at Brussels, io6.  "Chansons    230.  Returns to Macon, 231.  Death
des Rues et des Bois," Ii9.               of Graziella, 231.  Sketches the politHumboldt the diplomatist.  Compare-    ical condition of Europe, 1812-I813,
with  his brother by Lamartine, 208.   232. Appointed mayor of Milly, 233.
Visits crater of Vesuvius with Lamar-    Has horse  shot under him  in fight
tine, 222-227.                            with Austrians, 234.  Declares himself for the King, 233. Goes to Paris,
Incognita.  Letters to, I7-135.  Identity    236.   Matriculated  in King's guard,
of vii.  Sensation caused in Paris by    237.  Presented  to  the  Prince  de
publication of letters to, vii.           Poix, 237. Visit to the galleries with
Italians.  Devotion otf, 29.                the King, 243. Another sight at the
Italy. Travels of Mdrimee in, 31. War   King, 247. In garrison, 249. Makes acin (I859), 74. King of, witticism  by,   quaintance of Madame Germain, 250.
84. Tour of by Lamartine, 203.            Bonaparte returns  from  Elba, 250.
With the Royalists again, 250. The
Japanese Embassy at Lord Palmerston's,   march to Lille, 252.  Lamartine falls
103.                                      ill, 254. Goes to Bethune, 254. OpJerome, Prince.  Funeral of, 8i.            poses emigration fiom  France, 256.
Jewsbury, Miss, 6I.                         Escapes in disguise to Paris, 257. ReJulien Stanislas. Chinese romance trans-   turns to Burgundy, 259. An encounlated by, 89.                             ter with  republican  peasants,  260.
Julius Caesar and Cleopatra, 32.            Leaves France, 261. Takes refulge in
"Julius Caesar."  Review  of by Meri-   the Swiss mountains, 262-265. Reaches
mre, II8.                                 the Chateau de Vincy, 268.  Cordial
reception, 273. Encounter with an offiLacordaire Abbd. Proposed nomination    cer fiom Berne, 274- Sight at Madame
of to French Academy, 79.                 de Stael, 277.  Calls on L'Abbe La-'La Lanterne," 129.                        fond, 280.  Crosses Lake Leman into
Lafond, L'Abbe, the Royalist.  Lamar-   Savoy, 283.  Finds refuge near Nartine interviews, 28I.                     nier, 285.  News of the battle of WaLamartine.  Twenty-five Years of my    terloo, 285   Leaves  Narnier,  290.
Life, 1I37-319. Reasons for writing, 139.   Arrival at Chambdry and end of the
A  review, 140-142.  Born at Macon    "'emigration," 290. Resumes military
(1790), 142. Grandparents, I42. Death   service and then resigns, 296.  Lamarof grandfather, 145. Division of estate,   tine describes his father and mother,
146. Removal to Milly, 147. Life at   297. Madame de Lamartine goes to
Milly, 149. First political enthusiasm,   Paris and rescues her son from the life
I58. Leaving Milly for school, 16o.   of a gambler, 300. Death of Madame
At school in Lyons, 162. Runs away.   de Lamartine and her burial, 302-319.
from school, 170. Caught, 17I.  Sent Lanmartine's " Entretiens."  Blunder in,
to Jesuit college at Belley, I73.  In-    Ii6.
structorz I79.  Meets with Chlteau- Lamartine, Madame de. Memoirs of, 297briand's works, i86. Rousseau's " Con-   3I9. Description of by Lamartine, 297.
fessions," i88.  Visits Grenoble and    Death and burial of described, 302Grand-Lemps, 189. Leaves college, 19I.   319.
Passes  the winter at Macon, 192. Lambert Charles.  Book of, demolishing
Falls in love with Mlle. P., I93. Tour to    Bible, I 6.
Italy, 203. Becomes acquainted with  Lamoricikre. Story about, 81, 85. Death
the actor Davide, 205. Meets Hum-    of(S865), 119
boldt the diplomat, 207. Two travel- Lansdowne, Marquis of. Concert at his
lers killed by brigands, 210.  Initiated    residence, 97.
into the mysteries of gambling, 21. Ledru.  Inciting disturbance, 59.
Calls upon HI. de la Chavanne, 211. " L'Elisir d'Amore," 45.
Meets the original of "Graziella," 2I2. Leuchtenberg, Duke of. Characterized,
End of the love affair with Mlle. P.,   123.
215.  Antoniella, 217.  Instructed in  Leroy.  Pun on, 59.
gambling  by an old  croupier, 219.  " Les Miserables," Io5.
Visits Vesuvius with Humboldt, 222- Lord  B., Lord  Chancellor.   Curious
227. Descends the crater, 224. Finds   story of, 97.
(Graziella has left the tobacco factory, Louis Philippe, IoI.




348                                  rNDEX.
Louis XVIII.  Official walk  through    press, 77. At funeral of Prince je.
Louvre,  241-243.   Appearance  de-   rome, 8i.  In England and Scotland
scribed, 244.  Yields to  Bonaparte   (t86o), 83, 84. About Oriental life, 87.
without a blow, 253. Takes refuge in    Dines with Emperor and Empress, 87.
Belgium, 254.                               Dines with Prince Napoleon, 90. Ot" Love excuses all," 22.                      fends M. Walewski, 92.  At FontaineLove experiences of Lamartine, 196.           bleau (86ri), 95.  In London (i86i),
Lucien, 33.                                   97.  At Biarritz, assisting Emperor on
Lucretius.   Translated by Pongerville,    "Life ot' Cxsar," ioo.  Member of
35.                                        jury in British Exhibition (1862), 102.
Lyndhurst, Lord.  On hanging, 98.             Reads  report,  0o3.  In  the  Upper
Pyrdndes, 202. Visits M. Fould, io6.
Macon.   Birth of Lamartine at (1790),   Return to Paris with Emperor, io6.
142..                                       Experiences at Rome,  0og. In LonMadrid.  Mdrimde inspecting MSS. at,   don (I863), III; (1864), 223. In Mad52.                                         rid, (1864), 114.   Reported appointMaizod, M. de.  Lamartine visits, 262.        ment to succeed M. Mocquard, 225.
Maistre, Count de, 290.                       Opinion of Palmerston and Gladstone,
Malakoff, Duchess of, 92.                     117.  Writes article  on  Emperor's
Marcellus, Countess de, 242.                  "Life of Cesar," 1t8.  In Paris with
Married women.  Status of, 23.                Emperor, 118.  Presented to King of
Marie Antoinette.  Picture of in prison,   Portugal, Bismarck, etc., z9ig.  Excurpresentedto Empress, ioi.   Miniature    sion with  Empress at Biarritz, I21.
portrait of, 124.                           Reads romance to Empress, and sum
Marie, Grand  Duchess, daughter  of   moned to read to Grand DuLchess Marie,
Nicholas.  Invites Mdrimde to  read    123.   French Exposition (t867), 123
romance, 122.                               Failing health (S68), 127.  Dines with
Marseilles sketched, 44.  Imperial jeles    Sainte-Beuve, I28   Deciphers correat (86o), 85.                               spondence of Philip  II. and  Duke
Mathilde, Princess.  Invites Mdrimde to    d'Albe, I29.  Reads romance"' Lokis"'
see Spanish dancers, 6i. At ball, o80.      to Empress, 130. Dines with Isabella,
Maximilian.  Sltooting of, I23.               131.  Breakfasts  with  Thiers,  131.
>Idrimre.  Born 1803, in Paris; died in    Health destroyed (i870), 132.   Last
Cannes,  1870, v.  Writings of, vi.   letter written two hours before death,'Taine's study of, viii.-xiv.  Letters to    September 23, 1870, 234.
an Incognita, 17-235.  Mistaken for an  Metternicih, Princess de.  At "TannIndian, 25. Visit to Spain in 1840, 26.   hauser," 94, 95.
To  Asia  Minor, 28. Advice about Metz.  Carnage at, 234.
studying Greek, 30.  Tdle-4-tlte with  Mickiewicz.   With Chopin  and Delastrange lady, 31.  Visits to members    croix, 329.  Entranced with Chopin's
of the Academy, 39. At Avignon (1843),   music while house is on fire, 329~
43.  Elected  to Academy (1844), 46. Mignet, M.  Narrow escape ol, 57.
Address  on  the  occasion, 46.   A  Milan.  Lamartine gamnibles at, 230.
lover's quarrel, 48.  Soliciting votes for Miller, Huigh.   "Memoirs of a Scotch
Academy of Inscriptions, 49. A fruit-    Peasant," 129.
less omen, 50.  Reception at French  Milly.  Description of by Lamartine, I48.
Acadeily, 52. At Barcelona (1845), 52. Mocquard.   Reported  appointment of
At Madrid (1845), 52. On monuments,    Mdrimde as successor to, 115.
54. Serving with the National Guard, Montijo, ladame  de, 99.  Arrives at
56. Sentenced to fine and imprison-    Paris, 1o4.  Eyes operated on, ii8.
ment, 62. Assisting at a comedy, 62. Motley's'"Revolt of Netherlands," 10o7.
At bull-fight in  Madrid  (2853), 63. Montrond.  Stories of by Thiers, 99.
Comments on Goethe, 64.  About the  Murat, Princess.  Accident to,  I8.
Crystal Palace at Sydenham, 64.  In  Murray, Lord James, too.
London (i854), 65.  In Switzerland, Musset.  Compared with Catullus, 42.
66.  In Bohemia, 66.  In Vienna, 67.
In  Scotland (1856), 68.  Visits the  Napoleon  and  Josephine.  Autograph
Marquis of Breadalbane, 69.  Speech    letters of, 71.
at Literary Fund dinner, 71. At Ven- Napoleon, Prince.  Merim6e dines with,
ice (1858), 72.  At Cannes (IS-9), 73.   89.
Comments on the  Italian  war, 74. Narnier.  Lamartine finds refuge near
Summoned to meet Emperor and Em-   285.




zINDEX.                                  349
Narvaez, General. Merimee dines with, Rachel.  In  " Fr'ddgonde,"  34.  In
48.                                       "Phedre, 35. Presentation to BeranNepaulese princes in London, 60.            ger, 37.
Netherlands, His Majesty of.  M&rimee  Reboul, M. A sincere friend of Lamarwriting  verses for, 71.                  tine, 266.
Nimes.  Singular omen at, 50.             Ravignan, Pere, 46.
Noir, Victor, 132.                        Recamier, Madame, 275Renan. Life ot Jesus, III, 127. Life
Olivier, M. Policy of, I25.                 of Saint Paul, 130.
Oriental life, 86.                        Romance.  Study of discouraged, 59.
Orleans, Duc d', 247.                     Rome.  Merimde's advice about visiting,
Oxford. Mdrimde dines at, 60.               IoS.
Roquemont, Madame de, i6I, I63.
Pacha of Egypt visits Mlle.  -, 123. Rossini.  Death of, 128.
Paget, Lady Florence.  Elopes, I14-       Roulher, M.  Out-Heroding Herod, I25Palmerston.  Receives  Japanese  Em- Rousseau. J.J.  " Confessions" of, 185,
bassy, 103-  Personal appearance of   I88. Remarkable  story of by Madin I863, IIT.  In i865, ii6.              ame de Lamartine, 299.
Panizzi.  Guest of MIdrimde, 84.          Royalists and Revolutionists in conspirPansey, Heurion de. Minister of Jus-   acy in 18I3, 233.
tice, 239.                              Russell, Lord, III.
Paradol. An Academician, II6.
Paris. At midnight, 17.  Charms of life Sand, George.  Recollections and exin, 53.  Safetv of life in, 55. Riots in,   periences, 323. Discussion with Eu55, 56.  In December, x85i, 6i.  Oc-   g6ne   Delacroix  and  Chopin,  323.
cupied by allies in 1814, 234.            An attack of fever, 33I. Sketch of
Pasta, Madame, 72.                          Pierre Bonnin, 334.
Peace, The.  Following Italian war, 76.  Socrates.  Reproaches against by Aris.
Persiani, Madame, 35-                       tophanes justified, 113.
Persiginy.  Retained, 107, 108.           Society.  Tramnmels of, 25.
Pesth.  Men and women in same baths, Saint-Germain.  Famous cook at, 57.
68.                                     Stael, Madame de.  Lamartine gets a
Peter the Great.  Deceived by his wife,   glimpse at, 275.
114.                                    Strauss.  Life of Jesus, 36.
Philip II.  Letters of, 129.              Suicide saved, 2I.
Philippe, M. Contest of pupil with, 167.  Swift, Jonathan.  Maxim quoted, 27.
Picardy and  Provence.  Natives com- Sydenham  Crystal Palace, 64.
pared, 55.                              Sainte-Beuvea:d Renan, 127.  Merim6e
Pierreclos, Count de, 15I, 154, 235, 25T.   dines with Sainte-lIeuve, a28.
Poix, Prince de.  Lamartine presented  Sandeau interrogative, 73.
to, 237.                                Scribe, 49.
Pongerville.  Approaching death of, 35.   Sebastopol.  Reported capture of, 67.
Pope's Encyclical (I865), xI5.            Serrano General. 48.
Portugal.  King of dead, ioo.  King  Sharp, Sutton. Death of, 40.
and Queen of at Biarritz, iI8.          Shellev, Lady.  Stories of, 70o.
Ponsard's play, " Le Lion Amoureux,"  Siamese Ambassadors. Reception of, 96,
I 20.                                   Smugglers, King of in Pyrenees, I21.
Pouschkine's Works, go.  Article on,
I26.                                    Taine's Study  of Merim6e, viii.-xiv.
Powder, red and gold. Use of byladies,   English literature, 113.
32.                                     Tardi,  Giunto.    Lamnartine's French
Prescott.  Criticism on, 74.                teacher, 209.
Prince Imperial.  Gives dinner party, Talleyrand.  Apothegm of, 28.
ioo. Charming child, 104. Remark  "Tannhauser," 93.
on  picture  of Marie Antoinette in lThermopvl e.  Blade of grass from, 26.
prison, ioi.  On Louis Philippe, IoI. Thiers and Hugo at Rachel reception, 37.
Cared for by King of the Smugglers, Thiers. Musket ball strikes house of, 58.
121.                                      Nineteenth  volulne, 99.  Twentieth
Proudhon.  Inciting disturbance, 59.        volume, Io6.  Frightened, I25  MdriPrussian war.  Outbreak of (1870), I33.    mde breakfasts with, 131.
Prussia, Queen of, 154.                   Thouvenel dismissed, I c7.
Pupier, Pension, I64.' Tom Jones," 20.




350                               INDEX.
Tourguenieff's " Fathers and Sons," io8.   189. Virieu joins Iamartilne at Naples,
"Trigtram Shandy," 22. On newly-born   211. Virieu joins royalists at Paris, 236.
babes, 99.
Troplong. Presentation of Madame -'s  Wagner and " Tannhauser," 93.
darling to, 109.                      Walewski.  Offended, 92. The tottering
Turkish affairs (i86o), 89,               excellency, o11.
Warsaw. Meeting at (i860) a failure, 88.
U. S. Minister. Wife of, at Madrid, Waterloo.  News of battle of reaches
story about, 63.                        Lanmartine at Narnier, 285.
Wedding-day speculations, 23.
Venice sketched, 72.' Wilhelm Meister," 64.
Vesuvius.  Descent of crater by Lam- Wild man found by Edmond Ab;Lat, 77.
artine, 224.                          Women. Love of by Romans, Germans,
Viardot. At the Italiens, 39.             etc., 4I. At Avignon, 43. At Toulon,
Vignet, Louis de. Friend of Lamartine,   44. In Germany, 55  In London, 6o0.
182. Welcomes Lamartine to Belley,   In Switzerland, 66. In Bohemia, 66.
29I.                                    In Pesth, 68. In Edinburgh, 69. In
Villemain.  Brochure by, 78.              Viennna, 72. In Madrid, 78.  CosVincy, Chateau of. Lamartine welcomed   tunmes of at ball at H6tel d'Albe, 80.
to, 269.                                Questions about those in harems, 87.
Vintage at M illy described, 155.         At Marquis of Lansdowne's concert,
Virieu, Aymon.  Friend of Lamartine,   97.  Athenian women, II2. In the:8L. Lamartine visits Madame Virieu,   East, IT2.