after having been noble and serious in the recital of great events. Never would a poet have imagined to make his heroes so reasonable as to be unable to take any active part in the events; and while incessantly agitated by interests foreign to them, to oppose nothing but the moderation of their character to all the agitations around them. Heroes of this kind belong much more to an age of sophisms, than to one where every thing was in action. Berthelemy made Anacharsis travel, in order to present a picture of the manners and customs of Greece; Sismondi seems to have turned out Julia and Felix, merely that he might find an occasion to relate, in his way, what was passing between Chartres and Orleans, and Orleans and Chartres, while Clovis was meditating at Soissons how he might become King of France. But if the author is feeble in the romantic part of his work, as a historian he has every advantage. The picture he gives of the court of Clovis has a fine effect; the various interests which crowded around that prince are well explained, and, what is better, are put in action with much art and truth. The plunder of the town of Chartres by the barbarians; the terror of the grandees between the enemy who is advancing and their revolted slaves, who considered that enemy as their deliverer; the depopulation of the country hurried on by the absence of protecting laws, still more than by the sword of the conqueror; the despair of the laborious classes wrought into rage; the effects that are the result of it: all these descriptions are interesting; and, though the style of the author wants animation and harmony, yet, as it is always clear by the force of thought, it is read with pleasure wherever it goes along with the subject, whenever the author forgets he is a philosopher and is merely a narrator. If this work is successful, M. Sismondi will probably fulfil the engage ment he has made with the public, to delineate the picture of the private manners of some other epochs of French history in some new novels. On the 24th of this month, the anniversary of the landing of Louis XVIII. at Calais, the Royal Institute held its annual meeting of the four Academies of which it is composed It being the turn for the Academy of Sciences to preside, M. Gay-Lussac took the chair, and opened the meeting by a discourse on the advantages of the sciences. Though the subject is by no means new, the learned President was listened to with pleasure, and several passages, equally remarkable for justness of thought and elegance of expression, were much applauded. M. Sylvestre de Sacy read a report on the competition for the prize founded by the late Comte de Volney. The object of this prize is " to excite and encourage every attempt to continue the method invented by Comte Volney for transcribing the Asiatic languages into European letters regularly organized." The committee had invited the competitors to examine "what are the means of realizing the plan of the testator; within what limits the application of it should be circumscribed; what direction should be given to the work; and finally, what are the probable results to be expected from it." Four Memoirs were addressed to the Academy of Sciences; two of them, by two German authors, appeared equally worthy of the prize, which was divided between them; one is M. Schever, keeper of the royal library at Munich, and the other M. Schleiermacher, librarian at Darmstadt. M. Delombre succeeded M. de Sacy. It was his business to assign the prize founded by M. de Monthyon for the work most useful to morals; and lively applause burst forth when he proclaimed the name of Mad. Guizot, author of L'Ecolier or Raoul et Victor, a novel in four volumes 12mo. The Academy was not less gallant towards another lady, Mad. Belloe, author of the Bibliotheque de Famille, who received a medal of encouragement. After a discourse rather long, rather cold, rather dry, by M. Dupin, respecting the influence of commerce on the learning and civilization of modern nations, M. Quatremere de Quincy, of the Academy of Fine Arts, amused and instructed the audience by a dissertation full of ingenious reflections, lively anecdotes, and happy sayings. The dissertation turned on " the reciprocal mistakes of painters and poets, caused either by the ignorance of what belongs in common to their respective arts, or by the confusion of their peculiar properties." The meeting was terminated by a very fine Ode, recited by M. Raynouard, author of the tragedy of the Templiers, on the devotedness of Malesherbes, one of the defenders of the unfortunate Louis XVI. The subject of the prize founded by Volney, which will be adiudged in the meeting of the 24th of April next year, is" the composition of an alphabet fitted for the transcription of Hebrew, and all the languages derived from the same source, including the literal Ethiopian, the Persian, Turkish, Armenian, Sanscrite, and Chinese. This alphabet must have for its basis the Roman alphabet, the signs of which will be multiplied by slight accessories, without their configuration being essentially altered; each sound must be represented by a single sign, and each sign reciprocally must be exclusively employed in expressing a single sound. The author will endeavour, as much as possible, to render the new alphabet proper for transcribing at the same time the orthography and the pronunciation of the above-mentioned Asiatic languages." The prize is a gold medal of 1200 francs (£50.) The Memoirs addressed to the Academy must be written in French, and will not be received after the 15th of next January. The following anecdote is an additional proof, if any were wanting, how much the originality of our countrymen has amused the Parisians:-An Englishman, who had fallen into a very bad state of health, was ordered by a celebrated French physician to travel for five or six months, and to go from 15 to 20 leagues every day if his strength permitted it. At the end of six months, the patient calls on his physician, who finds him in the most flourishing state of health, and asks him where he comes from. "From Versailles," says the Englishman."From Versailles !" replies the doctor. "Why, I told you to travel at least a thousand leagues."—" I have obeyed you punctually, and have travelled over every one of them," rejoined the Englishman; "but as I like very much the restaurateurs at Paris, the French opera, and the Italian buffa, I made my arrangements accordingly. Every morning I set out in a carriage and went to Versailles, where, as soon as I arrived, I got into another and returned to Paris,—off again, and back as quick. Here is a written account of my travels, you will find that I have been going about for six months, that I have travelled above a thousand leagues, have faithfully followed your prescription, am in perfect health, and have never missed one opera or buffa!" The Musée for the exhibition of the productions of modern artists, after having been adjourned from one epoch to another during a twelvemonth, was opened on Thursday last at ten o'clock in the morning. A considerable crowd of amateurs and connoisseurs rushed immediately into the vast saloons of the Louvre, to examine, judge, criticise, praise, and admire the masterpieces of the artists, and, above all, to enjoy the satisfaction of being the first to give their opinion of them. In this rout of spectators, in this hurlyburly of divers opinions, expressed sometimes with confident ignorance, sometimes with wonderful sagacity, always with ardour, it is impossible to give that decided attention to the grand compositions which adorn this exhibition that they deserve. All real pleasures, and especially those derived from the fine arts, require a little reflection, and cannot be judged with precipitation. Almost all the information, therefore, that I can venture to give you at present concerning this exhibition, amounts merely to some topographical details concerning the saloons in which they are placed. The great difference of this exhibition and that of former years in this respect is, that the great gallery of the Louvre has been preserved entire for the ancient paintings; none of them have been displaced or taken down. Thus the public can enjoy at once the ancient and the modern riches of this temple of the fine arts; the present manner may be compared with the preceding ones; and one may judge at once what is the progress and amelioration of art in some respects, what is its inferiority and decline in others. The greatest part of these modern paintings are placed in the galleries which look on the courts of the Louvre, and in that of the Grand Colonnade. It must be confessed, however, that this new arrangement is much more favourable to the public than to the artists. The light is infinitely better in the great gallery than in those which are lighted from the courts of the Louvre. This difference, which is of such great consequence to paintings, is very striking. The gallery of the colonnade is terminated by a magnificent stair-case, which leads to the Saloon of Sculpture. This part of the exhibition is very interesting this year, not so much for the number of the productions, as for their importance, As I have already said, I cannot presume to give an opinion of things which I have only seen with a glance. But if I consult the public voice, which, however, I am far from considering as the vor dei, particularly with respect to the fine arts, the exhibition has not answered the public expectation, nor come up to the hope, which might be justly entertained from the number of celebrated painters now flourishing in France. There are but few productions of the great living masters. On the other hand, there is an abundance of paintings in the style which the French call tableaux de guerre; domestic scenes, promenades en caleche, popular caricatures, fairs, &c. and a handsome proportion of portraits of ladies and gentlemen, whom nobody knows, nor ever heard of. One particular circumstance has occurred at this exhibition, which has formed a subject of conversation all over Paris. Horace Vernet, one of the most popular painters of the day, presented no less than 32 pictures for the exhibition. The jury that was appointed to examine all the pieces that were presented, rejected two of this artist's, as calculated to excite revolutionary ideas that had better be forgotten. Piqued at this, Vernet withdrew every one of his pictures, and, it is said, means to exhibit them in his own house. A new tragedy has just been brought out at the Second Theatre Francais, entitled Attila, a subject which the great Corneille, as the French call him, pitched upon in his latter years, but in which he completely failed. If some strokes of a vigorous pencil in the painting of a great character, a boldness of expression occasionally happy, a sort of poetical exultation not always in unison with good taste, but seducing and attractive, and certainly preferable to the languid purity and droning exactness of lines, without colour or energy; if, in short, a great number of fine verses and brilliant epic passages were sufficient to form a good tragedy, the triumph of Mr Bis, the author of Attila, would be complete, and the French theatre would be enriched with another masterpiece. But if a tragic composition, to rise above mediocrity, must have a probable action, the progress of which, skilfully combined, presents an interest always increasing; a principal character, well supported, who, in his transports, and even in his crimes, never excites contempt, nor even that horrible pity inspired by madness; a character, the effect of which is rendered more prominent by unaffected contrasts, then, indeed, we must declare that Mr Bis has remained far from the point where the palm awaits the victor. His production is very imperfect, but he has shewn a talent which gives well-founded hopes for the future; and the more so, as it has quite an original colour, and seems perfectly free from the servitude of imitation. I must confine myself to a very rapid analysis of this new Attila. This formidable chief of the Huns has marched from victory to victory, from the front of the Great Wall of China, to the banks of the Marne, near Paris; fright, devastation, and death, have everywhere marked his passage; empires have fallen before him, towns have disappeared, whole nations have been effaced from the surface of the earth, and the contemptible princes who totter on the thrones of Rome and Byzantium, have only preserved the appearance of sovereignty at the expense of their treasures and their honour. The heirs of Augustus are the tributaries of a Scythian. Attila has made an invasion into Gaul, and has sworn to destroy Lutetia and the infant empire of the Franks. It is in his camp, in his very tent, that the action of the piece is placed. Every thing seems to favour the projects of the Scourge of God. Marcomir disputes the throne of Lutetia with his brother Mesordus, and, ambition stifling in his breast all the sentiments of nature and patriotism, he goes over to Attila, as his ally and protector, or rather his master. Queen Edvege, and Genevieve, who is considered by the inhabitants of the banks of the Seine as an oracle inspired by heaven, have fallen by chance Paris. into the hands of Attila. The author makes him both superstitious and amorous. He loves Edvege and fears Genevieve. He makes love indeed a little a la Cosaque; but notwithstanding all his rodomontades, he is constantly troubled internally by the predictions of Genevieve, who has foretold his flight and his death. A troop of traitors deliver up Marcomir to Attila, who, in return, orders them all to be put to death. The Roman ambassador forms a plan to assassinate him; the conspiracy is discovered, and Attila merely dismisses the criminal from his camp, telling him he shall punish him when he has conquered Byzantium. In short, the four first acts are almost entirely filled with boasting bravados, high-flown declamations, and contradictory movements of ferocity and clemency, the whole embellished with forced tirades on the valour and glory of the Franks, and on liberty; for the finest theories, and most pompous amplifications on that topic, are adroitly placed in the mouths of Attila and Marcomir. These passages, you may be sure, throw certain spectators into extasies and convulsions of delight. At last, however, we come to a beautiful scene, the only one in the piece really pathetic and true. Attila, in supporting the pretensions of Marcomir, only designs to destroy the Franks by their own hands. The two brothers are brought together in a scene well conducted, in which the ambitious and furious Marcomir 585 rejects the frank explanations, the affectionate offers, and kind language of Mesorcus, who, irritated at length by the outrageous expressions of hatred, menace, and contempt, draws his sword-a fratricide is about to stain the race of Pharamond-Genevieve appears, and in a noble address to them, frequently sublime, but rather too long, she invokes the great shade of the founder of the French mo narchy, to reproach his children for turning against themselves the wea pons their country demands. Softened, subdued by her inspired accents, the brothers embrace, and swear to fight, conquer, or die for the common cause. complished; Attila is informed that In the mean time the fates are achis troops are flying before the enemy, he does all in his power to rouse them to courage and vengeance, but declares he will burn himself and all his treasures on a funeral pile, if fortune betrays him. Genevieve terminates the piece by the recital of the victory of Mesorcus, who appears himself to confirm the intelligence. One thing was wanting to the suc← may write a tragedy, but he cannot cess of this new play. An author make an actress, and not one of the come up to our idea of Genevieve. female performers at the Odeon could Mademoiselle Georges, though a great actress, had certainly nothing of the innocence, the simplicity, the angelic physiognomy of the virgin shepherdess of Nantere, the patroness of Paris. A LETTER ON THE DIFFERENT STAGES OF TASTE, AS EXEMPLIFIED IN MR CHRISTOPHER NORTH, As there are many different means by which feeling is awakened by literature and art; and as the person who reads or contemplates is often contented with strong sensations, without discriminating at all as to their quality, or their grade in relation to taste, I shall address to you some remarks on this subject; and shall endeavour to shew, that it is worth while to refer these heterogeneous sensations to some test; and that certain principles of classification, as to the qualities and grades of feeling, have an existence in rerum natura. VOL. XI. different departments of literature, We speed from "page" to "page;" are not equally good; and it is worth work, belonging entirely to this or that class, and confined entirely to one sort of interest. If literature were sunk to the lowest possible state in which it could exist, it would reject, (from its means of interesting the mind,) first, all abstract truth; and then all imagination or conception except of things and concerns which are commonly before the eyes of mankind, and daily forced upon their attention; and then it would renounce all sense of the difference between beauty or deformity, and would content itself with representing only what is pleasant or painful to the individual. Having made all these renunciations, it would still have remaining the common passions of human nature, and the hopes and fears which necessarily accompany personal existence. These, in a literary work, the reader may be made intensely to feel, by a sympathy with fictitious situations; but without almost any internal discrimination of feeling as to better or worse. I could even suppose the lowest kind of feeling or interest to be produced by a painting, not as a work of art, but as a means of exciting sympathy; for example, a representation of a shipwreck, where men were using various expedients to save their lives. The characteristic of this Stage of Taste, is, that its interest is only in the personal sensation of the moment, and in that which brings pleasure or pain to the individual, but has no relation to any thing general, or to permanent and abstract truth. This is the case with all the common and unenlightened passions. There can scarcely be any literary work which will not, in some parts, rise above these; but it is of importance to discriminate what is peculiarly appropriate to this lowest stage of feeling. The novel of Caleb Williams, for instance, has a great power of interesting the reader, for the most part, but scarcely rises beyond the personal sensations of the moment, and that darkness as to taste which is in the passions of individuals. The class of feelings which belongs to the lowest stage, may be called "natural;" but they do not expand or revolve themselves into the affecting recognition of common humanity. The attention of the reader is fastened down to the concerns of individuals. Nature has sometimes been deified, and called "holy," in the common native affections of mankind. But the private. passions of individuals have never obtained this honour, in poetry; for it is always obvious that they are limited, and have a certain tendency for one, and against another. However, in poetry they obtain a certain kind of admiration, when exaggerated into greatness, as that of inconquerable pride and endurance, in Milton's de vils. The passionate love of glory among mankind also obtains a sort of exaltation and lustre in poetry. It is clear, however, that the love of glory does not belong to the internal recognition of common nature. It only catches the feelings of mankind as individuals, and makes them proudly sympathize with achievements done, as it were by proxy, for behoof of their self-conceit. Therefore we never hear such things called "holy nature." The performer is identified as closely as possible with the selflove of each individual spectator, and is called "un grand homme,” or “a being of uncommon powers." The spectator glories in his feelings; but a satirist might say, there is a meanness in any individual wishing to sympathize with, (and borrow vainly upon) what he could not do himself. However, there is yet something lower than vain-glorious sympathy with the powers of distinguished individuals. This is when the multitude are seized with an inclination to have the enjoy ments of self-love equalized as much as possible, and diffused among mankind; and when for this purpose they become desirous of falsifying or leveling distinctions, or melting them down into a sort of dirty twilight, in the uncertainty of which all men may equally enjoy the pleasures of self-esteem unreproved. În Oliver Cromwell's time, when the mob entered into their round-headed combination to raise the price of lowness, the new conveniences discovered were called those of "each man worshipping in his own way;" and the nature of this sort of worship was not much suspected or understood, even by those who were most intensely engaged in it. The curious private gropings and obscure glimmerings going on in each mind apart from the rest, were also advantageous. It was thus that no man needed to remain long subject to any painful belief as |