Yet she could not contentedly remain with him long. She disliked Genevese society; she was wrapt up in that of Paris. Her parents had planted the seeds of this love of display and eager desire for the arena, where wit and all that is the salt of life is to be met in perfection, and it was but fair that her father should reap the fruits of the education he had bestowed. He felt for her, and was deeply grieved that his publication had augmented the annoyances of her position.1803.Ætat.37.When the peace of Amiens was broken, and Bonaparte and all France were occupied by the meditated descent on England, she hoped to be forgotten. She drew near Paris, and established herself at the distance of thirty miles. The first consul was told that the road to her retreat was crowded by people paying her visits. This was not true, but it alarmed his jealousy; she heard that she should receive an order to depart. Hoping to escape by leaving her home, she went from house to house of her friends, but in vain. She was at that of madame Recamier when she received the fatal order to leave France in twenty-four hours. She would not at once yield; she asked for day after day of reprieve. Junot and Joseph Bonaparte interceded with the first consul for her; she pleaded as for life; but the petty resentment of the great man could not be mollified. He has done worse deeds during his reign, but take the worst said of madame de Staël, by his chief flatterers, and still no revenge could be meaner, no act of tyranny more flagrant, than that which exiled from his capital, and the country he ruled over, a woman, whatever offence she had committed against him, who promised silence; who asked but for the society of a few friends; whose crime was that she would notcelebrate the liberticide in her writings.
Forced to go, she could not persuade herself to appear disgraced and driven away among the Genevese. She hoped, and her father hoped for her, that new scenes, and the welcome afforded her among strangers, would blunt the blow she had received, and revive her spirits. She determined to visit Germany, with the intention of seeing its great writers, studying their productions, and of afterwards presenting the French with an account of the, to them, sealed book of German literature. Joseph Bonaparte gave her letters of introduction for Berlin, and she set out. Benjamin Constant accompanied her; yet this very kindness was the source of pain, as he also was partial to a residence in Paris. "Every step of the horses," she writes, "was a pang; and, when the postilions boasted that they had driven fast, I could not help smiling at the sad service they did me. I travelled forty leagues before I recovered possession of myself. At length we stopt at Chalons, and Benjamin Constant rousing him self, through his wonderful powers of conversation, lightened, at least for a few moments, the burden that weighed me down."
Constant continued to accompany her. She was well received at Weimar and Berlin. She was at Berlin at the time of the assassination of the duke d'Enghien, and shared the horror that this unnecessary act of cruelty excited. This circumstance added to her detestation of Napoleon. Meanwhile she greatly enjoyed the kindness she found, and the vast field of knowledge opened before her.1804.Ætat.38.A fatal event put an end to her pleasure. She received tidings of the dangerous illness of her father—the intelligence of his death quickly followed. She left Germany. She returned to Coppet overwhelmed with grief. Generally speaking, there is exaggeration and traces of false sentiment in her writings. Her best work for style and simplicity of narration is her "Dix Années d'Exil;" and the best portion of this book describes her feelings during her journey from Weimar to Coppet. All whohave suffered the worst of sorrows—the death of one dearly loved—will find the echo of their inmost thoughts in that passage.
The death of Necker changed the course of her existence, as far as internal feelings operate on the exterior of life. Her father had looked on her as incorrigibly thoughtless in all worldly and pecuniary concerns; but she was no longer in the heyday of youth; experience taught her prudence; and, being thrown entirely on herself, her conscience bade her preserve the fortunes of her children. She was a good mother. Having obeyed and reverenced her father—she exacted the same towards herself from her offspring; nor did she ever regard them with the exuberant trembling tenderness she had lavished on her beloved parent. But was kind—ever ready to serve them, and eager for their well-being. Her notions on education were sensible and just: she did not give trust to extraordinary systems; she contented herself by inspiring them with piety and generous sentiments; and was perfectly open and true in her conduct. They sincerely loved, while they a little feared her.
The society of her children and her friends could not console her for the loss of her father and exile from the country she loved. Her first occupation was to publish the writings of Necker, accompanied by a biographical memoir, in which she pours forth, with touching earnestness, all the ardour of her filial affection. Her health sunk beneath her sorrow.1805.Ætat.39.To revive her spirits and change the scene she visited Italy. There, as everywhere, her astonishing powers of conversation gathered an admiring audience round her. She enjoyed, with all the warmth of her disposition, the delights afforded by that enchanting country; and, impelled to express on paper the overflowing of her thoughts, she embodied her enthusiasm, her pleasure, and the knowledge she gained, in her novel of "Corinne." There is a charm in that work that stamps it as coming from the hand of genius. The personages live, breathe, and speak before you.We hope or fear for, admire or censure them, as if they were our friends. She speaks of love with heartfelt knowledge of the mighty powers of passion, and of all those delicate, so to speak, fibres and evanescent tints that foster and adorn it. The faults of such a book are a very secondary consideration. The Italians will not allow that it is by any means a true representation of society in their country; and any one who has lived there can perceive that she had but a superficial knowledge of Italy and the Italians; still she gives a true picture of the surface such as she saw it. Her account of Corinne's life in England is admirable. The English, with all their pride, are less vain than the Italians, and readily acknowledge their faults. Every English person is at once astonished and delighted with the wonderful truth of her sketch of county society in England. In this novel, as in "Delphine," the heroine dies broken-hearted. Her lover proving false, she lives miserably a few years, and then closes her eyes on a world grown dark and solitary. Madame de Staël was naturally led to portray death as the result of sorrow; for when we are miserable, we are apt to dwell on such as the dearest relief; yet we do not die. The authoress also might wish to impress on men an idea of the misery which their falsehood produces. That is a story as ancient as Dido, and told by Virgil more impressively and beautifully than by any other writer. For the dignity of womanhood, it were better to teach how one, as highly gifted as Corinne, could find resignation or fortitude enough to endure a too common lot, and rise wiser and better from the trial.
Madame de Staël was exiled to forty leagues from Paris; her love of France caused her to approach so near to its capital. She established herself first at Auxerre and afterwards at Rouen. Here she terminated and brought out "Corinne." She exercised the utmost caution in her conduct, saw but few friends, and observed that silence with regard to politics which Napoleon rigorously exacted throughout his empire.Fouché, who had no love of wanton mischief, allowed her to settle herself within twelve leagues of Paris. But the publication of her novel put an end to this indulgence, and redoubled the oppression in force against her. She continued to refuse to advert to Napoleon's victories and Napoleon's power; and the great man, than whom no hero was ever less a hero in all magnanimous sentiments, ordered her to quit the country. She returned to Coppet half broken-hearted.
1807.Ætat.41.
The visits she received from her friends and illustrious foreigners somewhat relieved the tedium of her life. She was occupied by her work on Germany, and visited Vienna to gather additional materials for it. On her return, she devoted two years to its completion. She tried to make an existence for herself at Coppet, but did not succeed. Alas! for her. Goldsmith's lines on French society are but too applicable to her state of mind:—
"For praise too warmly loved, or dearly sought,Enfeebles all internal strength of thought;And the weak soul, within itself unblest,Leans for all pleasure on another's breast."
"For praise too warmly loved, or dearly sought,Enfeebles all internal strength of thought;And the weak soul, within itself unblest,Leans for all pleasure on another's breast."
She was, with all her vivacity, naturally melancholy. Thesociety of nature, as she termed it, nursed her darkest reveries, and she turned from her own thoughts as from a spring of bitterness. As existence became stagnant,ennuigenerated a thousand imaginary monsters of mind; she felt lost and miserable. Death and solitude were, in her mind, closely allied. Take away the animation of conversation; the intercommunication of ideas among the many; the struggle, the applause, the stirring interest in events; the busy crowd that gave variety to every impression; and the rest of life was, in her eyes, a fearful vigil near the grave. It is beautifully said, that God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. Sometimes, however, the exact contrary has place, and our weak and sore points are sought out to be roughly handled. Thus madame de Staël, brought up to act a foremost part on the brilliant theatre of the civilised world, was cast back on herself, and found there onlydiscontent and misery. To us sober English, indeed, her life at Coppet seems busy enough. She assembled all travellers about her; her domestic circle was large; she acted plays; she declaimed; but it would not do: Paris was interdicted, and she was cut off from happiness.
1810.Ætat.44.
Having finished her "Germany," she desired to overlook its progress through the press at the permitted distance of forty leagues from Paris. She established herself near Blois, in the old château of Chammont-sur-Loire, erst inhabited by cardinal d'Amboise, Diane de Poitiers, Catherine de Medicis, and Nostradamus. A few friends gathering round her, she enjoyed the amusements and occupations she shared with them. Madame Recamier was chief among them, and very dear to her. Her plan was, as soon as her book was printed, to reach England by America, that being the only path left open to our island by Napoleon. She had submitted her work to the censor, and, having made all the alterations exacted, she felt herself safe. But the storm gathered, and broke unexpectedly. She had not praised Napoleon; she had not mentioned the success of the French armies in Germany; she had tried even to enlarge the sphere of French literature, by introducing a knowledge of and taste for the German—an attempt anti-national in the emperor's eyes. He did not hesitate to condemn such a work. The duke de Rovigo, minister of police, sent to seize on the edition, to demand the manuscript, and to order her to quit France in three days. She was proud of her book, and had every right to be so; and she gladly anticipated the applause and increased reputation that would follow it. The loss of this could be borne, but the renewed sentence of exile struck her to the heart. She was forced to obey. Her first idea was to embark for America; but her purpose in so doing was to get on board an English ship, and reach England. Her plans were disturbed by an intimation from Savary that she must embark only at the ports of France furthest from her desired goal. The minister wrote to her with flippancy, that her book was not French,and that her exile was the consequence of the course she had followed for years. The air of France evidently disagreed with her; but the French were not reduced to seek for models in the countries which she admired. Savary was still more frank when speaking on the subject. He asked why she had made no mention of the emperor or his armies? He was told that such allusions were out of place in a book that treated solely of literature. "Do you think," he replied, "that we have carried on a war in Germany for eighteen years for so well-known an author to omit all mention of us? The book shall be destroyed, and we should do well to send the writer to Vincennes."
Her plans disturbed, hope dead within her, she returned to Coppet, almost resigned to pass her life in the château; but the hour had passed away when she was allowed to enjoy the tribute of visits from foreigners of distinction, and to gather round her such friends as she best loved. A series of the most tormenting and cruel persecutions were instituted, that acting on an imagination easily disquieted, and on a temperament that needed the atmosphere of joy to feel at ease, drove her into a state of intense and uninterrupted suffering. She gave up all idea, which must always be agreeable to an author, of publishing; she scarcely dared write. All her acquaintance as well as friends were looked on with unfavourable eyes. She could not venture to ask a guest to dinner; she was so afraid of compromising the whole family of any one who came near her. The prefect of Geneva was changed as being too favourably disposed. The new magistrate urged her to eulogise Napoleon as the sure means of putting an end to all her annoyances: would she only celebrate the birth of the king of Rome? She replied that she did not know how to do so: she could only express her hopes that he would have a good nurse. The prefect took his leave, and never came near her again. Her children were forbidden to enter France. She went to Aix, in Savoy, for the benefit of the health of her youngest son; she was ordered to return; she was advised never to go further than two leaguesfrom Coppet. William Schlegel, whom she had engaged to live with her to assist in the education of her children, was ordered to quit her château. He had published a work, in which he showed a preference to the Phædra of Euripides over that of Racine; he was judged anti-Gallican; and she was told that his society was injurious to her. A thousand terrors seized her. Confined within narrow precincts, deprived of her friends, she began to fear a prison, where she would have been left to perish, miserable and forgotten. She resolved to escape—it was difficult to choose a route. She was told that she would be arrested on her way through any country under the dominion of the French. She passed her life, she says, in studying a map of Europe, to find how she could escape beyond the wide-spread poison tree of Napoleon's power. She traced a route through the Tyrol on her way to Russia and Sweden, and thence to England. A thousand difficulties presented themselves for the execution of this plan, but it was her best.
"There is physical pleasure," she writes, "in resisting unjust power;" the act of resistance was animating, but when the hour of defeat came all was stagnant, fearful, and oppressive. The worst blow dealt her was when she found that any friend who visited her was involved in the same oppression. An old friend, M. de Montmorency, visited Coppet; the delight of seeing him made her blind to danger. She made a tour through Switzerland with him in spite of the advice given her not to go further than two leagues from Coppet. They afterwards returned to her château, where M. de Montmorency speedily received an order of exile. This news plunged her in agony—that her friends should be wounded through her was worse than her own misfortunes. While still suffering from this disaster, she received a letter from madame Recamier, saying that she was on her road to Aix, in Savoy, and announcing her intention of visiting Coppet in her way. Madame de Staël implored her not to come;but her generous friend could not pass so near without spending a few hours with her;—a few hours only, but they sufficed to call down banishment on her head: henceforth she was driven from her home and friends, and forced to take up her residence at Lyons in solitude and exile. All this was done to drive her to dishonour herself by praising him whose tyranny made him every day more odious, as the persecutor of herself and the oppressor of France. The prefect of Geneva was ordered to annul her, and he took pains to impress every one with the dangers that would accrue from any intercourse with her. He waylaid every stranger, and turned them aside from the path to her house; her correspondents in Paris were exiled; she felt that she ought to refrain from seeing any one. By a natural struggle of feeling she was disquieted when her friends generously sought, and still more miserable when they selfishly abandoned her.
She never saw the day return, she says, that she did not repine at being obliged to live to its end. She was married again at this time. This event, which was kept secret till after her death, is one of the most singular of her history.
In the year 1810 there came to Geneva a young Spaniard of the name of Rocca. He was an officer in the French army, and had been wounded dangerously in Spain. He inspired great interest through the reputation he enjoyed for brilliant courage and for talent. He was young and very handsome; but his wounds had reduced him to a state of great weakness and suffering; and the contrast was striking and interesting between his youth and noble physiognomy, and his extreme pallor and attenuated figure. He heard madame de Staël talk, and was seized with enthusiastic admiration. Necker said of his daughter that her conversation imparted an idea of the beautiful; and thus, though twenty years older than himself, and, except for her eyes, with no beauty of face, the young Rocca was attracted by that of her mind, and said, "I shall love her so much that at last she will marry me." These words were soon fulfilled.But she refused to acknowledge a marriage which, from disparity of age, might have excited ridicule; and in all things of that sort madame de Staël was singularly timid. She was averse also to change her name. "Mon nom est à l'Europe," she replied to Rocca, when they were in England, and he jestingly asked her to marry him. She does not in her narratives advert to this marriage; but the fear must have haunted her that Napoleon would exile Rocca from Coppet; while, on the other hand, she found it difficult to leave an infant child, the offspring of their union, uncertain when again she could rejoin it.
These terrors and doubts threw her into a nervous state of the most painful kind. Now, she thought it wrong and foolish to leave her house, where she enjoyed every bodily comfort and the society of her children,—again, the fear of prison, the terror of who next among her friends would be the tyrant's victim, distracted her. At length she resolved to depart, and ultimately to reach England; whether by Russia and Sweden, or Greece and Constantinople, was to be decided by circumstances that might occur during her progress.
Her account of her journey is full of interest. An abridgment can give little idea of its difficulties,—the petty yet stinging annoyances by which she was beset,—the delays, the terror, the disappointments. Now she feared for her daughter's health,—and then still more for the safety of M. Rocca. The order for his arrest as a French officer had been forwarded through Germany. It is true he had sent in his resignation, his wounds preventing him from active service; but, if he had been taken, there is no doubt that he would have been treated with the utmost rigour. They were often obliged to separate, and he rejoined her once or twice in moments full of peril to himself. She traversed Germany and Poland in this way; and even in Russia she was not sure of escape from Napoleon. His armies had entered that vast empire, and were close behind her.
It was matter of joy to her when at last, after passing through Moscow, she arrived at St. Petersburg, to find the emperor Alexander full of resolution and ardour to resist the despot. He treated her with great distinction; and she proceeded on her way to her old friend Bernadotte, at that time crown prince of Sweden. She remained eight months at Stockholm. She had begun a portion of her "Dix Années d'Exil" at Coppet, it being copied as fast as written by her friends, feigned English names and old dates being substituted for the real; since under Napoleon's police regulations it was not safe to preserve a page of manuscript in which he was blamed.
From Sweden she passed over to England, where she occupied herself in publishing her "Germany." She was courted as alionin English fashionable society; and, though her style of life and conversation were very opposite to our manners, still she impressed every one with high ideas of her talents and genius. The Whig party were a little surprised at her tone in politics. They were not yet accustomed to regard Napoleon as the tyrant and oppressor, and they thought that madame de Staël had changed her principles when she warmly advocated war against the emperor. She was intimate with all the English of distinction. Her compliments seemed a littleoutréto us, and she made a few mistakes that excited smiles; still she was liked. Lord Byron was among her favourites,—his genius possessed fascination for her. There was a notion at one time that he would marry her daughter, whom he admired; but Albertine was reserved for a better fate.
All her patriotism as a Frenchwoman was painfully roused when the allies entered France; still she hailed the overthrow of Napoleon, and the restoration of the Bourbons, with delight, hoping that the latter would deserve well of their country. She was liked by Louis XVIII., who repaid her the two millions which Necker had lent the state. The return ofNapoleon from Elba filled her with terror, and she instantly left Paris for Coppet. He, who now appeared with a professed attachment to constitutional liberty, invited her to return and assist him in modelling a constitution. She replied, "He did without me or a constitution for twelve years, and has no liking for either of us." The occupation of France by the allies filled her with grief; that her "belle France" should be held in these degrading chains seemed desecration, and she retreated to Coppet not to witness the humiliating spectacle.1816.Ætat.50.She was there when lord Byron resided at Diodati in 1816. He visited her, and she gave him a good deal of advice to which he listened, and was induced to make an attempt to be reconciled to his wife. When she preached lessons of worldly wisdom, he quoted the motto to "Delphine"—"Un homme doit savoir braver l'opinion, une femme s'y soummettre." But she replied that she feared that both sexes would reap evil only from resistance.
The marriage of her daughter to the duke de Broglie, and the admirable character of this lady, formed the chief happiness of her latter life. Her children were all dutiful and affectionate. Her chief sorrow resulted from the ill health of M. Rocca, who tottered on the brink of the grave. He deserved the affection he inspired. His tenderness towards her was extreme, and his admiration never waned. His chivalrous sentiments, his wit, and his poetic imagination, varied and filled her life. His ill state of health, while it disquieted her, yet annihilated their difference of age. At one time she visited Pisa, that he might be benefited by a milder climate. He was there at the point of death: she compared herself to marshal Ney, who was then expecting at each moment to receive his sentence. Endowed by an imagination which never blunted any sorrow, but which exaggerated all, she said afterwards that she had composed a book, with the title, "The only Misfortune of Life, the Loss of a Person beloved."
Her character softened as she advanced in life, and she appreciated itsreal blessings and disasters more rationally, at the same time that she acquired greater truth and energy in her writings. This may often be observed with women. When young, they are open to such cruel attacks, every step they take in public may bring with it irreparable injury to their private affections, to their delicacy, to their dearest prospects. As years are added they gather courage; they feel the earth grow steadier under their steps; they depend less on others, and their moral worth increases. She was an affectionate and constant friend, and the sentiments of her heart replaced the appetite she formerly had for the display of talent: she placed a true value on courage and resignation, when before she had reserved her esteem for sensibility. She grew calmer, and ceased to fabricate imaginary woes for herself, happy when she escaped real ones. She grew pious. From her earliest years she had strong feelings of religion, resulting from dependence on Providence, from adoration for the Supreme Being, and hope of a future life. The Christian principles mingled more entirely with these sentiments in her latter years. As her health declined, her sleepless hours were spent in prayer, and existence lost, as it often does to those about to leave it, its gay and deceptive colours. "Life," she said, "resembles Gobelin tapestry: you do not see the canvass on the right side; but when you turn it the threads are visible. The mystery of existence is the connection between our faults and our misfortunes. I never committed an error that was not the cause of a disaster." And thus, while the idea of death was infinitely painful, the hope of another life sustained her. "My father waits for me on the other side," she said, and indulged the hope of hereafter being rejoined by her daughter.
She perished gradually: the use of opium, from which she could not wean herself, increased her danger; nor could medicine aid her. She died in Paris on the 14th July, 1817, in her fifty-second year. Rocca survived her but a few months.
She possessed too much merit not to have many enemies during her life, and these were increased by her passion for display, and the jealous spirit with which she competed with those whom she looked on as rivals. The eagerness with which during the days of the republic she mingled in politics, and her attempts to acquire influence over Napoleon, were arms that she put into the hands of her enemies to injure her. They accused her of an intriguing meddling disposition, saying of her, that to make a revolution she would throw all her friends into the river, content with fishing them out the next day, and so showing the kindness of her heart. But her faults were more than compensated among her friends by the truth and constancy of her attachment. Her temper was equable, though her mind was often tempest-tost, clouded by dark imaginations, torn by unreal but deeply felt anxieties and sorrows. "I am now," she said, in her last days, "what I have ever been,—sad, yet vivacious." To repair wrong, to impress on the minds of princes benevolence and justice, were in her latter years the scope of, so to speak, her public life. She loved France with passion. Lord Brougham records the alarm and indignation which caused her to pant for breath, as she exclaimed, "Quoi donc, cette belle France!" when lord Dudley, half in jest half seriously, wished the Cossacks, in revenge for Moscow burnt, to nail a horse-shoe on the gates of the Tuileries.
Our memoir has extended to so great a length that we can only advert cursorily to her writings. M. Anneé, a French critic, observes of her, that her understanding had more brilliance than profundity; and yet that no writer of her epoch had left such luminous ideas on her route. Chateaubriand, while he deplores the party spirit which gave irritation to her sentiments and bitterness to her style, pronounces her to be a woman of rare merit, and who would add another name to the list of those destined to become immortal. She wrote on a vast variety of subjects, and threw light on all. Yet she gathered her knowledge, not by profoundstudy, but by rapid dipping into books and by conversation with learned men; thus her opinions are often wrongly grounded, and her learning is superficial. Still her conclusions are often admirable, granting that the ground on which she founds them is true. She has great felicity of illustration, and her style is varied and eloquent, the fault being that it sometimes abounds in words, and wants the merit of concentration and conciseness; often, too, she is satisfied with a sentiment for a reason. Her wit is not pleasantry, but it is pointed and happy. She neither understood nor liked humour; but she enjoyed repartee: many are recorded as falling from her, and they are distinguished by their point and delicacy. Her "Dix Années d'Exil" is the most simple and interesting of her works; but her "Germany," perhaps, deserves the highest rank, from its research, and the great beauty of its concluding chapters. Of her novels we have already spoken. They do not teach the most needful lesson—moral courage; but they are admirable as pictures of life and vivid representations of character, for subtle remark and vivid detail of what in youth forms our joys and sorrows. She puts much of herself in all; and thus adds to the charm and truth of her sentiments and ideas. Her "Considerations on the French Revolution" is valuable, from its affording us a personal picture of the impressions made by that epoch; but the great preponderance of praise which she gives to Necker renders it a work of prejudice. Like him, she had no strong republican sentiments. She desired an English constitution; she disliked the girondists as well as the mountain, and attempted the impossible task of reconciling the interests of the nation as established by the revolution with that of theancienne régime.Her feelings are praiseworthy, but her views are narrow.
Such is the defect of human nature that we have no right to demand perfection from any individual of the species. We may sum up by saying that, though the character and writings of madame de Staël, in somerespects, display weaknesses, and though she committed errors, her virtues and genius raise her high; and the country that gave her birth, and which she truly loved, may, with honest pride, rank her among its most illustrious names.
A.
Abbeville, condemnation of thechevalier de la Barre at, II.84.Academy, the French, its judgmenton the "Cid," I.47. Cardinal deRichelieu's marginal observationson that critique,48. Question ofelecting Molière,141. La Fontaine,academician,167. Boileau'selection,167. The "Dictionary"of,168. Furetière's Dictionaryin competition to it,168.Academy of Sciences, the FrenchRoyal, II.25.Æschylus, I.40718.Alembert,seeD'Alembert.Amelot, M., secretary of state, II.46,47.Angennes, Mlle. Julie d', deity ofthe Hôtel Rambouillet, I.108.Duchess of Montauzier,123.263, n.Angennes, Angélique, married tothe chevalier de Grignan, I.247,248.Anne of Austria, regent during theminority of Louis XIV., I.66.She withdraws from Paris, withthe young king and Mazarin, toSt. Germain,70. The capitalblockaded by Condé,70. A shortpeace,71.Antoine, Faubourg St., battlebetween Condé and Turenne nearthe gates of the, I.81. Turennevictorious,81.Arbuthnot, Dr., character of, I.30.Argenson, M. d', anecdote relativeto, I.235.Argental, count d', II.53.100.Ariosto, I.154. Imitated by La Fontaine,165.181.Aristotle, controversy respecting,excited by Rabelais, I.31. Ramus'sAnti-Stagyrite,31.Arlechino, or Harlequin, Italianactor, I.102.Arnaud, Antony, the abbé, controversialist,I.198.267.315.339.Arnaud d'Andilli, brother of Antony,I.198.Arnaud, Angélique, abbess of PortRoyal, I.198.Arouet, M., father of Voltaire, II.4.7.9.11.Artagnan, M. d', I.223, n.Assoucy, d', musician and poet,kindly entertained during hisperegrinations by Molière and hisbrother comedians, I.104.Atmospheric air, properties of, I.191.
B.
Bacon, Francis lord, his opinion ofRabelais, I.23.Ballads, Spanish and Moorish, I.45.Balzac, poetry of, I.153.Barante, M., his "Literature of theEighteenth Century," II.14, n.Bardou, French poet, I.265.Baron, excellent comedian, I.131.132.143.Barre, chevalier de la, execution ofthe, II.84.Beauvilliers, duke de, I.335.Béjart, brothers, comedians in Molière'stroop, I.102. Facetiousnessof the younger,121.Béjart, Madeleine, actress, herbeauty, I.102.Béjart, Armande, is married byMolière, I.102. Their union infelicitous,117.131. ImploresLouis XIV. that her deceasedhusband should be buried in holyground,140. She marries M.Guérin, comedian,148.Bellay, du, archbishop of Paris,friendly to Rabelais, I.24,25.27.Ambassador from Francis I. toPaul III.,28. He receives Rabelaisin his household at Paris,33. Supposed dying message byRabelais to,39.Bellerose, Pierre le Meslier named,tragedian, I.98.Benedictine order, claims of forrespect, I.25.Benserade, court poet, I.226.Bergerac, Cyrano de, I.99.Bernier, traveller in the East, I.99.100.Bible, English, an example forlanguage, I.61.Boccaccio, his works acknowledgedto be diverting by La Fontaine, I.154.181.Boétie, Etienne de la, friendship ofMontaigne for, I.7. Latin poemby,16. Death-bed of,9.Boileau Despréaux, Nicholas, epigramon Corneille by, I.57. Hishigh estimate of Molière's genius,97.118.146. His regret for theloss of Molière's early farces,105.He criticises "Les Fourberies deScapin,"134. His advice to Molière,142. His poetry remarkablefor wit, but without humour,146. His observations on LaFontaine,160.165. In favourwith Louis XIV.,163. Is electedof the French Academy,167.His admiration of the "LettresProvinciales" of Pascal,202.His father, Giles Boileau,259.Birth of Nicholas in 1636,259.At school he commenced writingpoetry,260. Studies law, andnamed advocate,261. AttacksChapelain and Cotin,263.265.Substitutes fresh victims of hissatire in place of such as hadsurrendered at discretion,265.His friends,267. He speaks ofhis own success,268, n. His "ArtPoétique,"270. The "Lutrin,"270. Passages from,272-279.Leigh Hunt's parallel of Boileauand Pope,271, n. Boileau eulogisesLouis XIV., and is favourablyreceived at court,278. Isnamed historiographer conjointlywith Racine,279. These poetsaccompany Louis to Ghent,280.Is liable in camp to alarms,his phlegmatic disposition,281.His conversations with madamede Maintenon and Racine,283.Desires a seat in the FrenchAcademy,167.284. Repairs tothe baths of Bourbon for health,285. His correspondence byletter of much interest,285.286. Is indignant as to Perrault's"Siècle de Louis Quatorze,"287. His Satire on Women,288. His pension,289. Histender regard for Racine,289.He loses his valued friend,290.His interview with Louis as solehistoriographer,291. His retirement,291. His amusements inold age,291. Sells his house atAuteuil,292. His piety,293.Completes an edition of his works,293. Account of several of hisworks,293.et passim.Dies ofdropsy on the chest at seventy-fiveyears of age,294. His superiorwit,294. His verses highlyfinished and regular,295. The"Lutrin" his best poem,295.Teaches Racine that easy versificationis the result of painstaking,307. He reconciles AntoineArnaud, and Racine,315. Hisenduring kindness for Racine,327. His name of Despréaux, II.21.Boisrobert, French poet, I.43.47.Bonaparte, general, his first interviewwith madame de Staël, II.322. Appointed first consul,323.Surmises as to the causes of Bonaparte'senmity,324. His interviewwith M. Necker,325. Hepermits madame de Staël to residein Paris,326. Not being laudedby her, he seizes her "Germany,"and exiles her from France,332.On his return from Elba, invitesher to assist him in forming aconstitution; her answer,340.Bonnecorse, French writer, I.265.266.Bordeaux, the father of Montaignemayor of, I.1. Michel Montaigne(the Essayist) mayor,19. Re-electionof Montaigne,19. Warfareof the Fronde against theroyal party, at,73. The prince ofCondé joyfully received by theBordelais,77. Molière patronisedby the duke d'Epernon at,102.Bose, M., letter from madame Rolandto, II.272. He visits her inprison,289.Bossuet, bishop of Meaux, witnessesthe death of the duke of Rochefoucauld,I.90. His intended marriage,334. Abandons it for thechurch,334. Appointed preceptorto the dauphin,334.336. Hisfuneral oration on Henrietta, duchessof Orléans,334, n. His "Discourssur l'Histoire Universelle,"334. He causes the misfortunesof Fénélon by his zeal against thedoctrines of quietisme,345. Noreconciliation takes place betweenBossuet and Fénélon,356.Bonhours, le père, jesuit, I.203, n.Bouillon, duke of, I.73. His deathof typhus fever,82.Bouillon, duchess of, I.70. Nieceof Mazarin, 158. She conducts LaFontaine to Paris,159.172.177.Bouillon, M., his "Joconde," I.165.Bourdaloue, le père, I.202, n.257, n.Said to surpass his instructor,Bossuet, in pulpit eloquence,334.Boursault, French dramatic author,I.265. His visit to Boileau,266.Bretons, character of this race, I.216. Their loyalty romantic andexcessive,216.Brissot, M., and the Girondists, II.273.314. He falls into disrepute,276. Their known moderation,281.283. Louvet accuses Robespierre,but is ill supported exceptby the Gironde deputies,284. Actof accusation against them,290.Execution of Brissot,291.Brittany, province of, I.214.216.Affairs of,243.Broglie, duke de, espouses Albertine,daughter of madame deStaël, II.340.Bruyère,seeLa Bruyère.Buchanan, George, applauds theearly teaching Latin to Montaigne,I.4.Budæus, referred to as to Rabelais,I.24.Burke, right hon. Edmund, his opinionof Oliver Goldsmith, I.182.Burgundy, duke of, grandson ofLouis XIV., his preceptors, I.335.359.364. His death,365. II.10.Bussy-Rabutin, Roger, count de,cousin of madame de Sévigné, I.217. Her letters to the count,217. His letters to madame deSévigné,217.219. Particulars ofhis career,218, n. His licentiousworks,221.
C.