MEMOIRS OF THE COUNTESS DE GENLIS.

WHETHER Madame de Genlis was more or less distinguished by genius and personal accomplishments than her celebrated contemporary, Madame de Staël-whether the charges so often brought against Madame la Comtesse be true or false-and whether she was in reality the beautiful, amiable, talented, and persecuted woman she represents herself, are matters comparatively unimportant. Her Memoirs form one of the most entertaining publications that has for some time issued from the press; and it is beyond all question that she was a most extraordinary woman, placed for the greater part of her life in most extraordinary circumstances. It would be morally impossible for either a French man or woman to write a book which should not occasionally shock or disgust an English reader. Their productions are marked by such incorrigible flippancy-such a love of sweeping assertions and sudden conclusions such a perpetual recurrence of scenes and sentiments-to say nothing of their frequent derelictions of delicacy-they are so serious about trifles, and so trifling about serious things, that in truth, it is no breach of charity to say, that most French writers require French readers. From these national peculiarities the Memoirs of Madame de Genlis are not by any means free, but they are relieved by a very unusual proportion of sound sense and good feeling-qualities which differ materially from those termed in modern parlance, fine sense and beautiful feeling. We never laid down the Memoirs of this interesting and ill-starred woman, without the wish that she had received an English education, for then assuredly she would not have been allowed to figure for nine months as "Love" attired in a rose coloured dress, bearing moreover (except when at church) the insignia of the wings, bow, and quiver; nor afterwards, for a period of two years, to assume an elegant male dress;" nor would she have passed all her time in acting plays, reciting, fencing, and other green-room accomplishments. That a person so singularly educated, or rather not educated at all, should in maturer age have done many things unaccountable in the sight of rational beings, is perfectly consistent. Thus, we are not surprised when Madame, during her husband's temporary absence, is placed in the Abbey of Origny, to hear that she ran about the corridors at midnight "in strange disguises, generally attired as the devil, with horns on her head, and her face blackened;"-nor that afterwards, when presiding over her own château, she went to fetch water for bathing, astride on a great plough horse;-nor, in fact, at any of the thousand and one pranks which she details with a serious naïveté which is perfectly bewitching. But the reader is surprised to observe, as he proceeds, this untameable creature's absolute passion for knowledge her unparalleled industry-and, making the requisite allowances, her sound sense and good feeling. It is well known that she was for many years an inmate of the Palais Royal, and afterwards took the entire charge of the children of the unfortunate Duke of Orleans. Her details concerning the scholars and scholastic exercises of Belle Chasse, are often sufficiently tiresome, but oftener they are both interesting and instructive. The account of her flight and exile in company with her

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illustrious and unfortunate pupil, Mademoiselle d'Orleans, is really touching; and Madame de Genlis compels us not only to admire her versatile and vigorous talents, but to respect her moral principles. After all, the main interest of the book consists in its introducing us to many celebrated coteries, and in giving us a store of anecdotes respecting individuals whose rank secluded them from general observation. These memorabilia are so profusely scattered, that the task of selection is really difficult. We think, however, the following will amuse the reader.

Madame de Montesson was aunt to Madame de Genlis; she was a finished manoeuverer, and at length succeeded in persuading the old Duke of Orleans to marry her. Her niece gives a very minute and amusing account of the stratagems employed by the wily lady to effect her purpose. We select the following from many anecdotes of a

similar nature.

She was trying to convince the Duke of Orleans that her unfortunate sentiment deprived her of sleep and appetite, that she could no longer either eat or sleep. In his presence she was certainly rigorously abstemious-but she made amends in his absence. It is true that she never sat down to table in her own house, but though she had no regular formal meals, she partook of food five or six times a day. One evening that I was with her, whilst we were certainly not expecting the duke, Mademoiselle Legrand, her waiting-maid, entered the room with a large silver porringer, holding some roast meat prepared with wine. In a careless and unwilling manner my aunt put the porringer on her lap, and by an effort of reason began to eat the roast meat, not a third of which remained when a carriage was heard entering the court. I hastened to the window, and said that it was the Duke of Orleans. My aunt rung the bell with violence, but Mademoiselle did not hurry herself, and when she came, said that the duke was immediately behind her. My aunt thinks of nothing but of getting rid of the remains of the rotie, hastily orders it to be taken away; and then, thinking the servants would meet the duke, she calls back Mademoiselle Legrand, and sharply bids her put the fatal porringer, cover and all, under the bed. She is obeyed; but at the same moment the folding door opens wide, and the duke appears. He perceived the odour of the wine, and my aunt admitted that she had taken a small spoonful of it. Her worn-out and languid look during the visit, so inclined me to laughter, that I had great difficulty in restraining myself.

Madame de Genlis states in her preface, that her motive for presenting these Memoirs to the world was, that she "could give a faithful picture of society now broken up and extinct; and of a century not only passed away, but absolutely effaced from the minds of the existing generation." This is true, and a very interesting portion of the Memoirs is that which describes the court manners and feelings which prevailed prior to the Revolution. We have been accustomed to consider the days of the petits soupers as the acme of brilliancy and refinement, and Madame de Genlis gives a very striking delineation of the rise, progress, decline, and fall of what was pompously designated the grand society. Her remarks are, however, too long for our present purpose, and we have taken the liberty of condensing them.

There now appeared in society a very numerous party of both sexes, who declared themselves the partisans, and depositaries of the old traditions respecting taste, etiquette, and morals themselves, which they boasted of having brought to perfection; they declared themselves supreme arbiters of all the proprieties of social life, and claimed for themselves exclusively the high sounding appellation of good company. This did not mean that it was the most numerous, but that, in the general opinion, it was the most choice and brilliant by the rank, personal estimation, ton, and manners of those who composed it. These, in parties too numerous to claim confidence, and at

the same time not sufficiently so to prevent conversation-these, in parties of fifteen or twenty individuals, were in fact united all the old French grace and politeness. All the means of pleasing and fascinating were combined with infinite skill. They felt that to distinguish themselves from low company and ordinary societies, it was necessary they should preserve the ton and manners that were the best indications of modesty, good-nature, indulgence, decency, mildness, and elevated sentiments. Thus good taste of itself taught them, that to dazzle and fascinate, it was necessary to borrow all the forms of the most amiable virtues. Politeness in these assemblies had all the ease and grace which it can desire from early habit and delicacy of mind; slander was banished from the public parties, for its keenness could not well have been combined with the charm of mildness that each person brought into the general store. Discussion never degenerated into personal dispute. Even in the private parties of the society, malignity always paid respect to the ties of blood, friendship, gratitude, and intimate acquaintance. There were rarely seen, at least at this period, any instances of shameless meanness, and this is saying a great deal. By a tacit and general convention, all enmities were suspended in society: not only those persons who were known to be notoriously hostile to each other, showed no mutual tokens of resentment, but they treated each other with all the outward tokens of regard and politeness. If all these appearances had been founded on moral feeling, we should have seen the golden age of civilization.

The following anecdote reminds us of the saying of Henry the Fourth, on receiving a memorial from his tailor relative to some points of political economy. 66 Go," said the Monarch to an attendant," and fetch hither my Chancellor to measure me for a suit of clothes, since my tailor thinks himself able to make laws."

I frequently saw M. de Fleurieu, who was afterwards minister of the navy under Louis XVI. I never knew any person of so obliging a disposition. One day in calling on me, he found me engaged in trimming with flowers a gown, which I was to wear the next day, along with my maid and a milliner's apprentice. As I was quite undecided on the arrangement of my trimming, M. de Fleurieu gave his opinion, which was followed. He then set to work, cutting and sewing as well as the best workwoman, and all this with a seriousness and simplicity which made me ready to die with laughing: he reprimanded me for my levity, saying it occasioned loss of time. I had fastened the door, and we worked with great energy from seven in the evening till one in the morning, only interrupted by a slight supper, which did not last a quarter of an hour. The gown was finished, and met with the greatest admiration the next day; every body thought it charming.

The account which Madame de Genlis gives of her introduction to Voltaire is highly entertaining, and her remarks on that philosopher are extremely judicious. We quote a portion of the narrative; the whole would occupy too much space.

When I received M. de Voltaire's flattering reply, I was seized with a kind of terror which caused me to make the most disagreeable reflections. I recollected all that I had been told of persons who went for the first time to Ferney. It was the custom, especially for young females, to be agitated, to grow pale, and even to faint on seeing M. de Voltaire; they threw themselves into his arms, stammered in their speech, wept, and showed an emotion resembling the most impassioned love. This was the etiquette of a presentation at Ferney; M. de Voltaire was so accustomed to this kind of homage, that mere politeness, even the most obliging, appeared to him either a proof of impertinence or stupidity. I am, however, naturally reserved and timid with persons whom I do not know.

At last we arrived in the court of the château, I got out of our carriage. We first entered a dark anti-chamber. M. Ott (her companion) on perceiving a picture cried out-"It is a Correggio!" We went near it, but though placed in a bad light, it was in reality an original picture by Correggio, which M. Ott was exceedingly displeased at seeing hung in such a place. On entering the drawing-room we found it empty. M. Ott, saw at the other end of the room a large painting in oil, of which the figures were half the size of life. A splendid frame, and the honour of being placed in the drawing room, seemed to announce something important. On drawing near, to our great sur

prise, we discovered a regular ale-house sign-a ridiculous picture, representing Voltaire surrounded with rays of glory like a saint, with the family of Calas at his feet, and trampling his enemies under them, Fréson, Pompignan, &c. who are expressing their humiliation by opening their mouths wide, and making the most hideous grimaces. M. Ott was indignant at the design and colouring, and at the whole composition. "How can any one think of placing such a thing in a drawing-room?" said 1. "Yes," replied M. Ott, "and leave a picture of Correggio in a dark anti-chamber! The picture was entirely the invention of a miserable Geneyese painter, who had presented it to M. de Voltaire; but it appeared to me unaccountable how the latter could have had the bad taste thus pompously to expose so wretched a production.

During the whole time of dinner, M. de Voltaire was very far from being agreeable, he seemed always in a passion with his servants, incessantly crying out to them, and that too with such strength of lungs, that I often started involuntarily. As the diningroom repeated sounds very strongly, his tremendous voice reverberated in the most alarming manner. I had been told before hand of this singular foible, which it is so unusual for any one to display before strangers; and in fact, it was evident enough that it was the mere result of habit, for his servants were not surprised at it, or minded it in the least.

He was much broken down, and his old-fashioned style of dress made him look still older. He had a sepulchral tone of voice that made him look very stange, particularly as he had a custom of talking excessively loud, though he was not deaf. When neither religion nor his enemies were talked of, his conversation was simple and pleasing, without a particle of affectation, and consequently, with such wit and talent as he possessed, perfectly delightful. It seemed to me that he could not bear that any one should have different opinions from his own; and when opposed in the least degree, his manner became bitter. He had certainly lost much of the politeness and habits of society he had formerly been accustomed to, and it was quite natural that this should be the case. Since he had been residing here, people came to see him only to flatter, and to praise him to the skies; his opinions were held oracular, and all that surrounded him were his most humble worshippers.

We select a few detached anecdotes relative to celebrated characters.

Notwithstanding his prodigious fatness, the celebrated Gibbon was very gallant. One day being tête-à-tête with Madame de Cronzas, Gibbon wished to seize the favourable moment, and suddenly dropping on his knees, he declared his love in the most passionate terms. Madame de Cronzas replied in a tone likely to prevent a repetition of such a scene. Gibbon was thunderstruck, but still remained on his knees, though frequently desired to get up and resume his seat. "Sir," said Madame de Cronzas, "will you have the goodness to rise?"-" Alas, madam !" replied the unhappy lover, "I cannot !"-His size prevented him from rising without assistance; upon this, Madame de Cronzas rang the bell, saying to the servant," Lift up Mr. Gibbon."

Dining one day at Madame Necker's, the Chevalier de Chastellux happened to arrive first of the company, and so early that the mistress of the house was not in the drawing-room; in walking about he saw on the ground under Madame Necker's chair a little book, which he picked up; it was a white paper book, of which several pages were in the hand-writing of Madame Necker. It was the preparation for the very dinner to which he was invited: Madame Necker had written it the evening before, and it contained all she was to say to the most remarkable persons at table. After reading the little book, M. de Chastellux hastened to replace it under the chair. A moment afterwards a valet-de-chambre entered to say, that Madame Necker had forgotten her pocket-book in the drawing-room. It was found, and carried to Madame Necker. The dinner was delightful to M. de Chastellux, who saw that Madame Necker said word for word what she had written in her pocket-book.

The following is so exquisitely French that we cannot refrain from quoting it.

The Maréchale de Luxembourg, as I have already stated, was the oracle of fashion. One morning (it was on a Sunday) we waited only for the Prince of Conti's arrival to celebrate mass; we were all seated about a round table in the drawing-room, on which lay our prayer-books, which the maréchale amused herself by turning over. All at

once she stopped at two or three prayers, which seemed to be in the worst taste, and of which in fact the expressions were somewhat singular. She made some very bitter remarks on these prayers, upon which I suggested to her, that it was enough if they were repeated with sincere piety, and that God certainly paid no attention to what we call good or bad or taste. "Oh madam," cried the maréchale very gravely, "don't take such a notion as that into your head !".... A general burst of laughter interrupted her speech; she was not displeased, but she was still persuaded that the Supreme Judge of all that is good disdains not to judge of our habits and manners; and that, even in deeds which are equally meritorious, he always prefers those which are performed with the most grace and eloquence.

Two more volumes have recently been added to these Memoirs; but they are not by any means equal to the preceding four; they detail the return of Madame de Genlis to France-some of the letters which she addressed (by his own desire) to the Emperor Napoleon-and sundry eulogies on sundry persons respecting whom the reader cares nothing. It is sometimes true of real, as of fictitious heroines, that they cease to be interesting when they cease to be unfortunate.

There are, nevertheless, some very entertaining passages in these latter volumes, and the account of the author's interviews with her old pupils, the Duke de Chartres and Mademoiselle D'Orleans, is really interesting.