position which seem to be endemic in the here as in other instances; and rather t Society of Geneva, has also perhaps some- the worthy financier must be contented thing of the formality, mannerism, and di-known to posterity chiefly as the fat dactic ambition of that very intellectual so- Madame de Staël. ciety. For a personal memoir of one so much distinguished in society, it is not sufficiently individual or familiar and a great deal too little feminine, for a woman's account of a woman, who never forgot her sex, or allowed it to be forgotten. The only things that indicate a female author in the work before us, are the decorous purity of her morality-the feebleness of her political speculations-and her never telling the age of her friend.

But however that may be, the educati their only child does not seem to have a gone about very prudently, by these personages; and if Mad. de Staël bu been a very extraordinary creature, bu to talent and temper, from the very beg she could scarcely have escaped bag well spoiled between them. Her mek a notion, that the best thing that o done for a child was to cram it with al of knowledge, without caring very and ther it understood or digested any pet

L

The world probably knows as much already of M. and Madame Necker as it will care ever to know: Yet we are by no means of and so the poor little girl was over opinion that too much is said of them here. and overeducated, in a very pitless They were both very good people-neither several years; till her health became of the most perfect bon ton, nor of the very ously impaired, and they were of g highest rank of understanding, but far above her run idle in the woods for s the vulgar level certainly, in relation to either. longer-where she composed pa The likenesses of them with which we are tragedies, and became exceed gy here presented are undoubtedly very favour- She was then taken up again; and st able, and even flattering; but still, we have studies with greater moderation. A no doubt that they are likenesses, and even time, too, her father was counter very cleverly executed. We hear a great deal lessons of patient application ince about the strong understanding and lofty prin- her mother, by the half-playful day ciples of Madame Necker, and of the air of in which he loved to engage her, and purity that reigned in her physiognomy: But play which he could not resist making we are candidly told also, that, with her tall lively talents in society. Fort and stiff figure, and formal manners, "il y last species of training fell most avoit de la gêne en elle, et auprès d'elle;" disposition; and she escaped being and are also permitted to learn, that after and pedantic, at some little risk of be having acquired various branches of know- forward and petulant. Still more fortum ledge by profound study, she unluckily be- the strength of her understanding came persuaded that all virtues and accom-as to exempt her almost entirely fram plishments might be learned in the same smaller disadvantage. manner; and accordingly set herself, with Nothing, however, could exempt her might and main, "to study the arts of conver- the danger and disadvantage of being a sation and of housekeeping-together with ful Prodigy; and there never perhaps the characters of individuals, and the manage-instance of one so early celebrated, ment of society-to reduce all these things celebrity went on increasing to the s to system, and to deduce from this system of her existence. We have a very liver precise rules for the regulation of her con- ture of her, at eleven years of age, duct." Of M. Necker, again, it is recorded, work before us; where she is represente in very emphatic and affectionate terms, then a stout brown girl, with fine eyes full cer that he was extraordinarily eloquent and ob- an open and affectionate manner, serving, and equally full of benevolence and curiosity, kindness, and vivacity. lathe practical wisdom: But it is candidly admit-ing-room, she took her place on a ted that his eloquence was more sonorous beside her mother's chair, where she than substantial, and consisted rather of well-forced to sit very upright, and to lock rounded periods than impressive thoughts; mure as possible: But by and by, t that he was reserved and silent in general three wise-looking oldish gentlemen. in the education of their daughter, and actu-animated and sensible conversation with society, took pleasure in thwarting his wife round wigs, came up to her, and entered ally treated the studious propensity of his as with a wit of full age; and those ingenious consort with so little respect, as to Raynal, Marmontel, Thomas, and Grin prohibit her from devoting any time to com- table she listened with delighted attenti position, and even from having a table to all that fell from those distinguished

little

might not be annoyed with the fear of dis- jects with them, without embarrassme write at!-for no better reason than that he and learned incredibly soon to discuss all turbing her when he came into her apart-affectation. Her biographer says, indeed ment! He was a great joker, too, in an inno- she was "always young, and never sc cent paternal way, in his own family; but we but it does seem to us a trait of mete

cannot find that his witticisms ever had muchishness, though here cited as a proof of Necker, in short, is a part of the established parents the gratification of Mr. Gibbar's success in other places. The worship of M. filial devotion, that, in order to insure for religion, we perceive, at Geneva; but we ciety, she proposed, about the same time, suspect that the Priest has made the God, she should marry him! and combated,

MADAME DE STAËL.

great earnestness, all the objections that were
stated to this extraordinary union.

739

tageously contrasted with Rousseau; who, still greater professions of philanthropy in his writings, uniformly indicated in his individual with the same warmth of imagination, and character the most irritable, suspicious, and selfish dispositions; and plainly showed that his affection for mankind was entirely theoretical, and had no living objects in this world. is sufficiently proved by her writings;-but it meets us under a new aspect in the Memoir Madame de Staël's devotion to her father now before us. could not forgive were those offered to him. She could not bear to think that he was ever to grow old; and, being herself blinded to his The only injuries which she temper, she resented, almost with fury, every progressive decay by her love and sanguine insinuation or casual hint as to his age or declining health. After his death, this passion took another turn. Every old man now recalled the image of her father! and she watched over the comforts of all such persons, and wept over their sufferings, with a painful intenseness of sympathy. The same deep feeling mingled with her devotions, and even tinged her strong intellect with a shade of superstition. She believed that her soul communicated with his in prayer; and that it was to his intercession that she owed all the good that afterwards befell her. Whenever she met with any piece of good fortune, she used to say, "It is my father that has obtained this for me!"

Her temper appears from the very first to
have been delightful, and her heart full of
generosity and kindness. Her love for her
father rose almost to idolatry; and though her
taste for talk and distinction carried her at
last n good deal away from him, this earliest
passion seems never to have been superseded,
or even interrupted, by any other. Up to the
age of twenty, she employed herself chiefly
with poems and plays;-but took after that to
prose. We do not mean here to say any thing
of her different works, the history and ana-
lysis of which occupies two-thirds of the No-
tive before us.
warmth of character, appeared first in her
Her fertility of thought, and
Letters on Rousseau; but her own character is
best portrayed in Delphine-Corinne showing
rather what she would have chosen to be.
During her sufferings from the Revolution, she
wrote her works on Literature and the Pas-
sions, and her more ambitious book on Ger-
many. After that, with more subdued feel-
ings-more confirmed principles-and more
practical wisdom, she gave to the world her
admirable Considerations on the French Revo-
lution; having, for many years, addicted her-
self almost exclusively to politics, under the
conviction which, in the present condition of
the world, can scarcely be considered as erro-
neous, that under "politics were comprehend-
ed morality, religion, and literature."

She was, from a very early period, a lover
of cities, of distinction, and of brilliant and occasionally a more whimsical aspect; and
varied discussion-cared little in general for expressed itself with a vivacity of which we
the beauties of nature or art—and languished have no idea in this phlegmatic country, and
In her happier days, this ruling passion took
and pined, in spite of herself, when confined which more resembles the childish irritability
to a narrow society. These are common of Voltaire, than the lofty enthusiasm of the
enough traits in famous authors, and people person actually concerned. We give, as a
of fashion and notoriety of all other descrip- specimen, the following anecdote from the
tions: But they were united in her with a work before us. Madame Saussure had come to
warmth of affection, a temperament of enthu- Coppet from Geneva in M. Necker's carriage;
siasm, and a sweetness of temper, with which and had been overturned in the way, but with-
we do not know that they were ever combined out receiving any injury. On mentioning the
in any other individual. So far from resem- accident to Madame de Staël on her arrival,
bling the poor, jaded, artificial creatures who she asked with great vehemence who had
live upon stimulants, and are with difficulty driven; and on being told that it was Richel,
kept alive by the constant excitements of her father's ordinary coachman, she exclaim-
novelty, flattery, and emulation, her great ed in an agony, "My God, he may one day
characteristic was an excessive movement of overturn my father!" and rung instantly with
the soul-a heart overcharged with sensibility, violence for his appearance. While he was
a frame over-informed with spirit and vitality. coming, she paced about the room in the
All her affections, says Madame Necker,-her greatest possible agitation, crying out, at every
friendship, her filial, her maternal attachment, turn, "My father, my poor father! he might
partook of the nature of Love-were accom- have been overturned !”—and turning to he
panied by its emotion, almost its passion- friend, "At your age, and with your sligh
and very frequently by the violent agitations person, the danger is nothing-but with hi
which belong to its fears and anxieties. With age and bulk! I cannot bear to think of it."
all this animation, however, and with a good The coachman now came in; and this lady,
deal of vanity-a vanity which delighted in so mild and indulgent and reasonable with all
recounting her successes in society, and made her attendants, turned to him in a sort of
her speak without reserve of her own great frenzy, and with a voice of solemnity, but
talents, influence, and celebrity-she seems choked with emotion, said, "Richel, do you
to have had no particle of envy or malice in know that I am a woman of genius?"—The
her composition. She was not in the least poor man stood in astonishment-and she
degree vindictive, jealous, or scornful; but went on, louder, "Have you not heard, I say,
uniformly kind, indulgent, compassionate, and that I am a woman of genius?" Coachy was
forgiving-or rather forgetful of injuries. In still mute. "Well then! I tell you that I am
these respects she is very justly and advan-la woman of genius-of great genius-of pro-

S

digious genius!-and I tell you more-that all the genius I have shall be exerted to secure your rotting out your days in a dungeon, if ever you overturn my father!" Even after the fit was over, she could not be made to laugh at her extravagance; but was near beginning again and said "And what had I to conjure with but my poor genius?"

escape the seductions of a mere sublime s perstition. In theology, as well as in every thing else, however, she was less dogmatie than persuasive; and, while speaking from the inward conviction of her own heart, poured out its whole warmth, as well as its convic tions, into those of others; and never seemed to feel any thing for the errors of her comHer insensibility to natural beauty is rather panions but a generous compassion, and an unaccountable, in a mind constituted like hers, affectionate desire for their removal. She and in a native of Switzerland. But, though rather testified in favour of religion, in short, born in the midst of the most magnificent than reasoned systematically in its support, scenery, she seems to have thought, like Dr. and, in the present condition of the world, Johnson, that there was no scene equal to the this was perhaps the best service that could high tide of human existence in the heart of be rendered. Placed in many respects in the a populous city. "Give me the Rue de Bae," most elevated condition to which humanity said she, when her guests were in ecstasies could aspire-possessed unquestionably of the with the Lake of Geneva and its enchanted highest powers of reasoning-emancipated, in | shores-"I would prefer living in Paris, in aa singular degree, from prejudices, and enterfourth story, with an hundred Louis a year." ing with the keenest relish into all the feelings These were her habitual sentiments-But that seemed to suffice for the happiness and she is said to have had one glimpse of the occupation of philosophers, patriots, and lovers glories of the universe, when she went first to Italy, after her father's death, and was engaged with Corinne. And in that work, it is certainly true that the indications of a deep and sincere sympathy with nature are far more conspicuous than in any of her other writings. For this enjoyment and late-developed sensibility, she always said she was indebted to her father's intercession.

The world is pretty generally aware of the brilliancy of her conversation in mixed company; but we were not aware that it was generally of so polemic a character, or that she herself was so very zealous a disputant, --such a determined intellectual gladiator as her cousin here represents her. Her great delight, it is said, was in eager and even vioJeut contention; and her drawing-room at Coppet is compared to the Hall of Odin, where the bravest warriors were invited every day to enjoy the tumult of the fight, and, after having cut each other in pieces, revived to renew the combat in the morning. In this trait, also, she seems to have resembled our Johnson,-though, according to all accounts, she was rather more courteous to her opponents. These fierce controversies embraced all sorts of subjects-politics, morals, literature, casuistry, metaphysics, and history. In the early part of her life, they turned oftener upon themes of pathos and passion-love and death, and heroical devotion; but she was cured of this lofty vein by the affectations of her imitators. "I tramp in the mire with wooden shoes," she said, "whenever they would force me to go with them among the clouds." In the same way, though sufficiently given to indulge, and to talk of her emotions, she was easily disgusted by the parade of sensibility which is sometimes made by persons of real feeling; observing, with admirable force and simplicity, "Que tous les sentiments naturels ont leur pudeur."

she has still testified, that without religion there is nothing stable, sublime, or satisfying! and that it alone completes and consummates all to which reason or affection can aspire.— A genius like hers, and so directed, is, as her biographer has well remarked, the only Mis sionary that can work any permanent effect on the upper classes of society in modern times;upon the vain, the learned, the scornful, and argumentative,-they "who stone the Prophets while they affect to offer incense to the Muses."

Both her marriages have been censured ;the first, as a violation of her principles-the second, of dignity and decorum. In that with M. de Staël, she was probably merely passive. It was respectable, and not absolutely unhappy; but unquestionably not such as suited her. Of that with M. Rocca, it will not perhaps be so easy to make the apology. We have no objection to a love-match at fifty:But where the age and the rank and fortune are all on the lady's side, and the bridegroom seems to have little other recommendation than a handsome person, and a great deal of admiration, it is difficult to escape ridicule,→ or something more severe than ridicule. Mad. N. S. seems to us to give a very candid and interesting account of it; and undoubtedly goes far to take off what is most revolting on the first view, by letting us know that it origi nated in a romantic attachment on the part of M. Rocca; and that he was an ardent suitor to her, before the idea of loving him had en tered into her imagination. The broken state of his health, too-the short period she sur vived their union-and the rapidity with which he followed her to the grave-all tend not only to extinguish any tendency to ridicule, but disarm all severity of censure; and lead a rather to dwell on the story as a part only of th tragical close of a life full of lofty emotions.

Like most other energetic spirits, she des pised and neglected too much the accommoda She had at all times a deep sense of religion. tion of her body-cared little about exercis Educated in the strict principles of Calvinism, and gave herself no great trouble about healt she was never seduced into any admiration With the sanguine spirit which belonged of the splendid apparatus and high pretensions her character, she affected to triumph ov of Popery; although she did not altogether I infirmity; and used to say "I might ha

MADAME DE STAËL.

741

been sickly, like any body else, had I not re- other trammels, those which had circumscribsolved to vanquish all physical weaknesses." ed the liberty of thinking in that great counBut Nature would not be defied!-and she try. The genius of Madame de Staël co-opedied, while contemplating still greater under-rated, no doubt, with the spirit of the times, takings than any she had achieved. On her and assisted its effects--but it was also acted sick-bed, none of her great or good qualities upon, and in part created, by that spirit—and abandoned her. To the last she was kind, her works are rather, perhaps, to be considerpatient, devout, and intellectual. Among other ed as the first fruits of a new order of things, things, she said-"J'ai toujours été la même that had already struck root in Europe, than -vive et triste. J'ai aimé Dieu, mon. père, as the harbinger of changes that still remain et la liberté !" She left life with regret-but to be effected.* felt no weak terrors at the approach of death and died at last in the utmost composure and tranquillity.

We would rather not make any summary at present of the true character and probable effects of her writings. But we must say, we are not quite satisfied with that of her biographer. It is too flattering, and too eloquent and ingenious. She is quite right in extolling the great fertility of thought which characterises the writings of her friends;and, with relation to some of these writings, she is not perhaps very far wrong in saying that, if you take any three pages in them at random, the chance is, that you meet with more new and striking thoughts than in an equal space in any other author. But we cannot at all agree with her, when, in a very imposing passage, she endeavours to show that she ought to be considered as the foundress of a new school of literature and philosophy -or at least as the first who clearly revealed to the world that a new and a grander era was now opening to their gaze.

so much emphasis, of the injustice she had to In looking back to what she has said, with be struck with the aggravation which that injustice is made to receive from the quality suffer from Napoleon, it is impossible not to of the victim, and the degree in which those sufferings are exaggerated, because they were her own. commander towards a person of her sex, character, and talents, was in the highest degree paltry, and unworthy even of a high-minded We think the hostility of that great tyrant. But we really cannot say that it seems to have had any thing very savage or ferocious in the manner of it. He did not touch, nor even menace her life, nor her liberty, nor her fortune. No daggers, nor chains, nor dungeons, nor confiscations, are among the instruments of torture of this worse than Russian despot. He banished her, indeed, first from Paris, and then from France; suppressed her publications; separated her from some of her friends; and obstructed her passage into England ;very vexatious treatment certainly, but not at, from the tone either of her complaints or lamentations. Her main grief undoubtedly quite of the sort which we should have guessed was the loss of the society and brilliant talk of Paris; and if that had been spared to her, we cannot help thinking that she would have felt less horror and detestation at the inroads of Bonaparte on the liberty and independence of mankind. She avows this indeed pretty honestly, where she says, that, if she had been aware of the privations of this sort which a certain liberal speech of M. Constant was ultimately to bring upon herself, she would have taken care that it should not have been spoken! The truth is, that, like many other celebrated persons of her country, she could not live happily without the excitements and novelties that Paris alone could supply; and that, when these were withdrawn, all the vivacity of her genius, and all the warmth of her heart, proved insufficient to protect her from the benumbing influence of ennui. Here are her own confessions on the record :—

In so far as regards France, and those countries which derive their literature from her fountains, there may be some foundation for this remark; but we cannot admit it as at all applicable to the other parts of Europe; which have always drawn their wisdom, wit, and fancy, from native sources. The truth is, that previous to her Revolution, there was no civilised country where there had been so little originality for fifty years as in France. In literature, their standards had been fixed nearly a century before: and to alter, or even to advance them, was reckoned equally impious and impossible. In politics, they were restrained, by the state of their government, from any free or bold speculations; and in metaphysics, and all the branches of the higher philosophy that depend on it, they had done nothing since the days of Pascal and Descartes. In England, however, and in Germany, the national intellect had not been thus stagnated and subdued—and a great deal of what startled the Parisians by its novelty, in the writings of Madame de Staël, had long been familiar to the thinkers of these two countries. Some of it she confessedly borrowed from those neighbouring sources; and some she undoubtedly invented over again for herself. In both departments, however, it would de la conversation? be erroneous, we think, to ascribe the greater part of this improvement to the talents of this extraordinary woman. The Revolution had thrown down, among other things, the barriers by which literary enterprise had been so long restrained in France-and broken, among

Montaigne a dit jadis: Je suis François par Paris,
et s'il pensoit ainsi,
"J'étois vulnérable par mon goût pour la société

depuis que l'on a vu réunies tant de personnes
d'esprit dans une même ville, et tant de personnes
accoutumées à se servir de cet esprit pour les plaisirs
y a trois siècles, que seroit-ce
toujours poursuivie! C'est par la terreur qu'il me
Le fantôme de l'ennui m'a

and especially to his persecution of the fair author,
is here omitted-the object of this reprint being
* A great deal of citation and remark, relating
chiefly to the character and conduct of Bonaparte,
solely to illustrate her Personal character.

cause que j'aurois été capable de plier devant la tyrannie-si l'exemple de mon père, et son sang qui coule dans mes veines, ne l'emportoient pas sur cette foiblesse."-Vol. iii. p. 8.

tion; and that nothing but a little persere is required to restore the plastic frame nature, to its natural appetite and rel the new pleasures and occupations that p yet await it, beyond the precincts of Pa London. We remember a signal tester to this effect, in one of the later pubha we think of Volney, the celebrated ink

We think this rather a curious trait, and not very easily explained. We can quite well understand how the feeble and passive spirits who have been accustomed to the stir and variety of a town life, and have had their in--who describes, in a very amusing way anity supplied by the superabundant intellect misery he suffered when he first change an and gaiety that overflows in these great re- society of Paris for that of Syria and Ign positories, should feel helpless and wretched and the recurrence of the same miserye when these extrinsic supports are withdrawn: after years of absence, he was again But why the active and energetic members to the importunate bustle and idle ch of those vast assemblages, who draw their Paris, from the tranquil taciturnity of resources from within, and enliven not only like Mussulmans!-his second access themselves, but the inert mass around them, sickness, when he left Paris for the la by the radiation of their genius, should suffer States of America, and the disc in a similar way, it certainly is not so easy to experienced, for the fourth time, when comprehend. In France, however, the people being reconciled to the free and subs of the most wit and vivacity seem to have talk of these stout republicans, he always been the most subject to ennui. The turned to the amiable trifling of his letters of Mad. du Deffand, we remember, are mous metropolis. full of complaints of it; and those of De Bussy also. It is but a humiliating view of our frail human nature, if the most exquisite arrangements for social enjoyment should be found thus inevitably to generate a distaste for what is ordinarily within our reach; and the habit of a little elegant amusement, not coming very close either to our hearts or understandings, should render all the other parts of life, with its duties, affections, and achievements, distasteful and burdensome. We are inclined, however, we confess, both to question the perfection of the arrangements and the system of amusement that led to such results; and also to doubt of the permanency of the discomfort that may arise on its first disturbance. We are persuaded, in short, that at least as much enjoyment may be obtained, with less of the extreme variety, and less of the overexcitement which belongs to the life of Paris, and is the immediate cause of the depression that follows their cessation; and also, that, in minds of any considerable strength and resource, this depression will be of no long dura

It is an affliction, certainly, to be at the of the works of such a writer-and t that she was cut off at a period when it larged experience and matured talenti likely to be exerted with the greatest and the state of the world was such as out the fairest prospect of their not being erted in vain. It is a consolation, that she has done so much;-And her will remain not only as a brillant of her own unrivalled genius, but a that sound and comprehensive vie entertained, kind affections cultivated elegant pursuits followed out, through a p which posterity may be apt to reganda of universal delirium and crimeprinciples of genuine freedom, taste, and rality, were not altogether extinct, even the reign of terror and violence-and who lived through the whole of that ag scene, was the first luminously to exp temperately and powerfully to impres great moral and political Lessons, should have taught to mankind.

(October, 1835.)

Memoirs of the Life of the Right Honourable Sir James Mackintosh. Edited by his ROBERT JAMES MACKINTOSH, Esq. 2 vols. 8vo. London: 1835.*

THERE cannot be, we think, a more delight- attraction of the Character it brings so p ful book than this: whether we consider the ingly before us-or the infinite variety of

*This was my last considerable contribution to that memory. At all events, if it was an the Edinburgh Review; and, indeed, (with the ex-priety, it was one for which I cannot now sub! ception of a slight notice of Mr. Wilberforce's Me- seek the shelter of concealment: And then t moirs,) the only thing I wrote for it, after my ad- here reprint the greater part of it: and think vancement to the place I now hold. If there was not better conclude the present collection, the e

palliation I hope may be found in the nature of the guished of my Associates in the work out of w

feelings by which I was led to it, and the tenor of what these feelings prompted me to say. I wrote

it has been gathered.

it solely out of affection to the memory of the friend this publication; but consisting almost endly A considerable part of the original is omitted I had lost; and I think I said nothing which was citations from the book reviewed, and inciden

no dictated by a desire to vindicate and to honour

marks on these citations.