Art. VIII.—Mémoires Inédits de Madame la Comtesse de Genlis sur le dixhuitième siècle et la Révolution Françoise, depuis 1756, jusqu'à nos jours. 10 vols. 8vo. Paris.

1825.

Before proceeding to examine this work, we wish to say a few words upon the department of literature to which it belongs; and in which the French language is far richer than that of any other nation. It is pleasant enough to step occasionally behind the curtain, and to see the operation of the moving forces, by which the great enginery of the world is kept in action; and we are enabled to do this, in a considerable degree, by the record of their own lives and characters, which men of political and literary eminence have sometimes bequeathed to us. In this way, the dark passages of history are illustrated, and valuable materials provided for those whose vocation it may be to write it hereafter; the state of society and manners at particular periods is more clearly revealed to us; and, what though less important, is certainly not less interesting, portraits of the wise and eminent are drawn, not as history paints them, in their robes of state, but in the careless and familiar garb of ordinary life. It is almost superfluous to say, how much more exact and satisfactory would be our knowledge of the state of society and manners in former times, if the business of writing memoirs had been fashionable at an early period; or how much light would have been shed upon various portions of English history, if the actors in its eventful scenes had less frequently left to others the task of recording their most remarkable achievements. We are aware, that many of the great Generals of England have been thought to resemble Cæsar more in a military, than in a literary point of view; but the real cause of this deficiency, is probably to be traced more directly to the fact, that this species of literature does not seem to be in all respects adapted to English taste. The French, on the contrary, have excelled in it, in consequence of some peculiar traits of character. Their memoirs are written with all the ease and freedom of conversation; while in England, not only no man speaks of himself, but can hardly be brought to speak of another, without resorting to all the grave dignity of historical narration. This propensity is particularly obvious in English biography, which is too often

deficient in what should constitute its principal attraction, familiar details of a personal and private nature. The life of Pitt, for example, is a solemn history of the age; and there are many other works, to which a similar objection may be made, but to which we need not here refer. It is not improbable, that some have been prevented from writing their own memoirs, by an apprehension of being liable to the charge of vanity. This was the ground, upon which the really interesting and valuable memoirs of Burnet were assailed by the merciless ridicule of Swift; nor was the accusation in that instance, wholly unfounded; but the example of Dr. Franklin may serve to show, that it is very possible for a man to write his own memoirs, without being considered unreasonably vain. A few years since, one of the distinguished officers of our revolution, in writing an account of his own adventures, thought it expedient to avoid too frequent a use of the first personal pronoun, and spoke of himself under the style of our General ;' a descriptive phrase, which though better on the whole than that of our hero,' is far less eligible than the mode adopted by Cæsar and Napoleon. In the French writers, we find no such excessive delicacy. They remind us rather of one of their countrymen, who never spoke of himself, without taking off his hat. They are firmly persuaded, that whatever relates to themselves must be interesting, and seldom fail to render it so; and their literature has in consequence been enriched with a series of memoirs, many of which are interesting, and some of permanent and real value. It may be proper, however, to remark, that some deduction must not unfrequently be made from the credit accorded to most of them, owing to the prejudices of their writers, who have been sometimes tempted, if not wholly to pervert the truth, at least to invest it with a doubtful coloring.

The Memoirs of Madame de Genlis form no exception to the remarks, which we have just offered in regard to this class of works in general. Several of the first volumes are extremely interesting; but we are bound in candor to acknowledge, that some of the last present as melancholy specimens of prosing, as the imagination can easily conceive. The ninth consists principally of a collection of anecdotes, which seem to be inserted in it simply to refresh the memory, as very many of them are taken without the alteration of a word or letter, from the preceding volumes; while the tenth and last has been reserved as a receptacle for all the fragments, with which the

world had not been previously favored. Although Madame de Genlis does not belong precisely to the first class of writers, she, nevertheless, filled for a long time a considerable space in the public eye; and her recent death, at a very advanced age, affords a fit occasion for a cursory notice of some of the leading incidents of her life, to which we shall add a few extracts from the volumes before us.

Madame de Genlis was born, January 21, 1746, at Champcéri, a small village of Burgundy; and on the very same day, the opening flower had nearly been unkindly crushed. The Bailli of the place called to offer his congratulations to her father upon the joyful occasion, and was proceeding to install his portly person in the chair, on which her infant ladyship was laid. Nothing but the sudden and vigorous interposition of the nurse could have averted the impending danger, and preserved more than a hundred volumes from being irretrievably blotted from the circle of French literature. If any doubt existed in regard to the early developement of her talent and beauty, her own emphatic testimony upon the subject has set the question at rest. At the age of seven, she was placed under the care of a governess of sixteen, who was at all events to instruct her in music, and in the next place to improve her mind by giving her lessons in Father Buffier's history; but the narrative of the learned father was soon laid aside, by joint agreement, for the more edifying instruction of Scuderi's romances, and the dramas of Mademoiselle Barbier. Before she was taught to write, she began to extemporise romantic stories; which, owing to her deficiency in that important requisite, are lost to the world. About the same time her mother composed a comic opera, in which the young lady was called upon to play the part of Cupid, and personated the character with so much success, and so entirely to her own satisfaction, that, notwithstanding the lapse of seventy years, she has given us a description of her dress in it, with all the professional accuracy of the Petit Courier des Dames. For some time she wore this dress habitually, but at last exchanged it for that which custom has appropriated to the other sex ; to the use of which she attributes the perfection of her gait, and the ease and freedom of her manner. During a whole year, at a period of life somewhat later, she spent regularly seven hours in each day, very often eight or nine, and occasionally from ten to twelve, in playing upon the harp; her favorite instrument, and one, upon which she appears to have performed with unusual grace and skill.

We have given these details, not with the design of casting ridicule or censure on Madame de Genlis, but in order to present some idea of what female education must have been among the higher classes in France for some years prior to the revolution. It appears to have been conducted according to the principle dogmatically asserted by one of Shakspeare's clowns, that beauty is the work of art, and that reading and writing come by nature. In fact, the condition and character of the nobility of France, when the storm at length swept over them, were not wholly unlike those of the ancient world, when it was overwhelmed by the deluge. The want of morality and virtue was poorly supplied by a gorgeous veil of exterior decorum; which, though it may have weakened in some respects the force of pernicious example, consecrated, instead of removing the evil of vice, by investing it with unnatural attractions. There was much of that dignified loyalty, that generous and lofty courtesy, that proud and chivalrous sense of honor, so splendidly portrayed by the inspired eloquence of Burke; but there was also a sad alloy of baser qualities, of open frivolity and ill-concealed vice, which checks the sympathy we naturally feel, when the exalted are brought down to the dust. Still so powerful was the influence of this society upon the imagination and the heart, that we see Madame de Genlis, amidst all her high, and doubtless sincere professions of religious zeal, stating, apparently without the least perception of their impropriety, circumstances to which a person of real delicacy would scarcely incline to allude; and we find her, also, at the period of her subsequent misfortunes, looking back to it with the same feeling, with which the exiled Hebrew remembered the Holy City, as he wandered in a strange land. It should be recollected, however, to her honor, that she had sufficient force of character to withstand and overcome that influence to such a degree, as to acquire and preserve a taste for literary pursuits, and an active industry, to which she owes all her reputation.

The beauty and talent of Madame de Genlis, together with her taste for music, which was developed in her earliest infancy, had procured for her a welcome reception in the most brilliant circles of Paris; and to these titles to success in society, was added that of a connexion with the family of Orleans. She was the niece of Madame de Montesson, who became the wife of the Duke of Orleans, by a marriage, which was denominated secret, because, though known to all the world, it was not

acknowledged at court. The intercourse between the aunt and niece does not appear to have been remarkably cordial. Both had literary pretensions. Those of the former were not supported by much taste or talent; but she made ample amends for this deficiency by the strength of her passions, which were exhibited in the most consistent and relentless hatred of her younger rival; who was on her side not slow to requite the obligation by an exposition, more triumphant than charitable, of the system of tactics by which her aunt induced the Duke of Orleans to espouse her, in opposition to his judgment and inclinations. Indeed, this litigious propensity appears to have taken deep root in the family of our author. A bitter controversy was carried on for a long time between her mother and grandmother, which was terminated only by the death of the latter.

When Madame de Genlis was about fifteen, she received the offer of the heart and rent-roll of the Baron D'Andlau, a veteran spark of sixty, whose suit was supported by the interest of her mother; but as she testified some reluctance in accepting the proposal, her mother, in order to set in a strong light the folly of her conduct, married him herself. About this time one of her letters fell accidentally into the possession of the Count de Genlis; whose admiration of the talent displayed in it, was soon transferred to its fair writer, and who espoused her for her style, as the learned ladies in Moliere embraced the pedant of the play for the love of Greek. He was an officer of reputation, and of a noble family. The immediate effect of her marriage was to extend her circle of amusements among the relatives of her husband; and she has given a lively account of one, to which, so far as we are informed, the married ladies of this country are not much addicted. One evening at ten, she went with her brother into a little village adjoining Genlis, where they amused themselves with beating against the windows of the ale-houses, and calling for spirit; taking due care to effect a retreat before the publican could reply in person to his vexatious customers. This charming jest was several times repeated in the course of the evening, and always with complete success. Happy age,' she remarks, in which pleasure is so cheaply purchased, when nothing exalts the imagination, or disturbs the heart.' A more refined satisfaction, however, was at this time afforded her, by the opportunity which she enjoyed of becoming familiarly acquainted with distinguished literary