LORD'S LECTURES BEACON LIGHTS OF HISTORY, VOLUME VII GREAT WOMEN. BY JOHN LORD, LL. D. , AUTHOR OF "THE OLD ROMAN WORLD, " "MODERN EUROPE, "ETC. , ETC. CONTENTS. HÉLOÏSE. LOVE. Love, the flower of EdenThe two Venuses of SocratesThe Venus UraniaThe memory of Héloïse cherishedHer birth and educationHer extraordinary giftsHer aspirationsPeter AbélardHis wonderful geniusHis early scholastic triumphsAbélard at ParisHis wit and flippancyHis scepticismHis successesHis love for HéloïseHis mad infatuationScandal of the intimacyDisinterestedness of HéloïseSecret marriage of Abélard and HéloïseMarriage discoveredRetirement of Héloïse and Abélard to separate conventsHis renewed laborsHis brilliant successPersecution of AbélardLetters to HéloïseHéloïse cannot conquer her loveHer high social positionHer blameless lifeLoves of Héloïse and Abélard analyzedGreatness of sentimentLast days of AbélardHis retreat to ClunyPeter the VenerableGrief of Héloïse JOAN OF ARC. HEROIC WOMEN. Heroic qualities of women in the Middle AgesExtraordinary appearance of Joan of ArcHer early daysHer visionsCritical state of France at this periodAppreciated by JoanWho resolves to come to the rescue of her king and countryDifficulties which surrounded herHer services finally acceptedHer faith in her missionHer pure and religious lifeJoan sets out for the deliverance of OrleansSucceeds in entering the cityJoan raises the siege of OrleansAdmiration of the people for herVeneration for women among the Germanic nationsJoan marches to the siege of RheimsDifficulty of the enterpriseHesitation of the kingRheims and other cities takenCoronation of CharlesMission of the Maid fulfilledSuccessive military mistakesCapture of JoanIndifference and ingratitude of the KingTrial of Joan for heresy and witchcraftCruelty of the English to herThe diabolical persecutionMartyrdom of JoanTardy justice to her memoryEffects of the martyrdom SAINT THERESA. RELIGIOUS ENTHUSIASM. Pleasures of the body the aim of PaganismAim of Christianity to elevate the soulMistakes of monastic lifeThe age of Saint TheresaHer birth and early trainingMediaeval pietyTheresa sent to a convent to be educatedHer poor healthReligious despotism of the Middle AgesTheir gloom and repulsivenessFaith and repentance divorcedCatholic theologyTheresa becomes a nunHer serious illnessHer religious experienceThe Confessions of Saint AugustineThe religious emancipation of TheresaHer canticlesHer religious rhapsodiesTheresa seeks to found a conventOpposition to herHer discouragementsHer final successReformation of the Carmelite orderConvent of St. JosephDeath of Saint TheresaWritings of Saint TheresaHer submission to authorityHer independenceCompared with Madame GuyonHer posthumous influence MADAME DE MAINTENON. THE POLITICAL WOMAN. Birth of Madame de MaintenonHer early lifeMarriage with ScarronGoverness of Montespan's childrenIntroduction to the KingHer incipient influence over himContrast of Maintenon with MontespanFriendship of the King for Madame de MaintenonMade mistress of the robes to the DauphinessPrivate marriage with Louis XIVReasons for its concealmentUnbounded power of Madame de MaintenonGrandeur of VersaillesGreat men of the courtThe King's love of pomp and ceremonySources of his powerHis great mistakesThe penalties he reapedSecret of Madame de Maintenon's influenceHer mistakesReligious intoleranceRevocation of the Edict of NantesPersecution of the ProtestantsInfluence of BossuetFoundation of the school of St. CyrInfluence of Madame de Maintenon on educationInfluence of Madame de Maintenon on moralsInfluence of Madame de Maintenon on the courtHer reign a usurpationHer greatness of character SARAH, DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH. THE WOMAN OF THE WORLD. The Duchess of Marlborough compared with Madame de MaintenonBirth and early influenceJohn ChurchillMarriage of Churchill and Sarah JenningsColonel Churchill made a peerThe Princess AnneLady ChurchillTheir friendshipCoronation of William and MaryCharacter of William IIITreason of the Earl of MarlboroughEnergy and sagacity of the QueenNaval victory of La HogueTemporary retirement of MarlboroughDeath of the Duke of GloucesterMarlborough, Captain-General. Death of William IIIAccession of AnnePower of MarlboroughLord GodolphinAscendency of Lady MarlboroughHer ambitionHer prideRenewal of war with Louis XIVMarlborough created a dukeWhigs and ToriesHarley, Earl of OxfordHis intriguesAbigail HillSupplants the Duchess of MarlboroughCoolness between the Queen and DuchessBattle of RamilliesMiss Hill marries Mr. MashamDeclining influence of the DuchessHer anger and revengePower of HarleyDisgrace of the DuchessThe Tories in powerDismissal of MarlboroughBolingbrokeSwiftHis persecution of the DuchessAddisonVoluntary exile of MarlboroughUnhappiness of the DuchessDeath of Queen AnneReturn of Marlborough to powerAttacked by paralysisDeath of MarlboroughHis vast wealthDeclining days of the DuchessHer characterHer deathReflections on her career MADAME RÉCAMIER. THE WOMAN OF SOCIETY. Queens of society first seen in ItalyProvençal poetry in its connection with chivalrous sentimentsChivalry the origin of societySociety in Paris in the 17th CenturyMarquise de RambouilletHer _salons_Mademoiselle de ScudériEarly days of Madame RécamierHer marriageHer remarkable beauty and graceHer _salons_Her popularityCourted by NapoleonLoss of propertyFriendship with Madame de StaëlIncurs the hatred of NapoleonFriendship with BallancheMadame Récamier in ItalyReturn to ParisDuke of MontmorencySeclusion of Madame RécamierHer intimate friendsFriendship with ChâteaubriandHis gifts and high social positionHis retirement from political lifeHis old age soothed by RécamierHer lovely dispositionHer beautiful old ageHer deathHer characterRemarks on societySources of its fascinations MADAME DE STAËL. WOMAN IN LITERATURE. Literature in the 18th CenturyRise of Madame de StaëlHer precocityHer powers of conversationHer love of societyHer marriageHatred of NapoleonHer banishmentHer residence in SwitzerlandTravels in GermanyHer work on literatureHer book on GermanyIts great meritsGerman philosophyVisit to ItalySismondi"Corinne"Its popularityA description of ItalyMarriage with RoccaMadame de Staël in EnglandHer honorsReturn to ParisIncense offered to herHer amazing éclatHer deathHer merits as an authorInaugurated a new style in literatureHer followersHer influenceLiterary womenTheir future HANNAH MORE. EDUCATION OF WOMAN. Progress of female educationYouth of Hannah MoreHer accomplishmentsTeaches schoolIntimacy with great menShines in societyWearied of itHer ridicule of fashionable gatherings called societyRetirement to Cowslip GreenHer patrons and friendsLabors in behalf of the poorFoundation of schoolsWorks on female educationTheir good influenceTheir leading ideasChristian educationRemoval to Barley WoodViews of societyHer distinguished visitors"Coelebs in Search of a Wife""Christian Morals"Her laboring at the age of eightyThe quiet elegance of her lifeRemoval to CliftonHappy old ageDeathExalted characterRemarks on female educationThe sphere of womanWhat is woman to do? GEORGE ELIOT. WOMAN AS NOVELIST. Notable eras of modern civilizationNineteenth Century, the age of novelistsScott, Fielding, Dickens, ThackerayBulwer; women novelistsCharlotte Brontë, Harriet Beecher Stowe, George EliotEarly life of Marian EvansAppearance, education, and acquirementsChange in religious views; German translations; Continental travelWestminster Review; literary and scientific menHer alliance with George Henry LewesHer life with himLiterary laborsFirst work of fiction, "Amos Barton, " with criticism uponher qualities as a novelist, illustrated by the story"Mr. Gilfils Love Story""Adam Bede""The Mill on the Floss""Silas Marner""Romola""Felix Holt""Middlemarch""Daniel Deronda""Theophrastus Such"General characteristics of George EliotDeath of Mr. Lewes; her marriage with Mr. CrossLofty position of George Eliot in literatureReligious views and philosophical opinionsHer failure as a teacher of moralsRegret at her abandonment of Christianity LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS VOLUME VII. Madame de Récamier_After the painting by Baron François Pascal Gérard_. Abélard Teaching in the Paraclete_After the painting by A. Steinheil_. Joan of Arc Hears the Voices_After the painting by Eugene Thirion_. The Vision of St. Therese_After the painting by Jean Brunet_. Reception of the Great Condé by Louis XIV_After the painting by J. L. Gérôme_. Ministerial Conference of Louis XIV. At the Salon of Madam de Maintenon_After the painting by John Gilbert_. John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough_After the painting by Pieter van der Werff, Pitti Palace, Florence_. Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough_After the painting by Sir Godfrey Kneller_. Mme. De Récamier_After the painting by Mlle. Morin_ Madame de Staël_After the painting by Mlle. De Godefroid, Versailles_. Garrick and His Wife_After the painting by William Hogarth_. Hannah More_After the painting by H. W. Pickersgill, A. R. A. _. BEACON LIGHTS OF HISTORY HÉLOÏSE. * * * * * A. D. 1101-1164. LOVE. When Adam and Eve were expelled from Paradise, they yet found oneflower, wherever they wandered, blooming in perpetual beauty. Thisflower represents a great certitude, without which few would behappy, --subtile, mysterious, inexplicable, --a great boon recognizedalike by poets and moralists, Pagan and Christian; yea, identified notonly with happiness, but human existence, and pertaining to the soul inits highest aspirations. Allied with the transient and the mortal, evenwith the weak and corrupt, it is yet immortal in its nature and lofty inits aims, --at once a passion, a sentiment, and an inspiration. To attempt to describe woman without this element of our complex nature, which constitutes her peculiar fascination, is like trying to act thetragedy of Hamlet without Hamlet himself, --an absurdity; a picturewithout a central figure, a novel without a heroine, a religion withouta sacrifice. My subject is not without its difficulties. The passion orsentiment I describe is degrading when perverted, as it is exalting whenpure. Yet it is not vice I would paint, but virtue; not weakness, butstrength; not the transient, but the permanent; not the mortal, but theimmortal, --all that is ennobling in the aspiring soul. "Socrates, " says Legouvé, "who caught glimpses of everything that he didnot clearly define, uttered one day to his disciples these beautifulwords: 'There are two Venuses: one celestial, called Urania, theheavenly, who presides over all pure and spiritual affections; and theother Polyhymnia, the terrestrial, who excites sensual and grossdesires. '" The history of love is the eternal struggle between these twodivinities, --the one seeking to elevate and the other to degrade. Plato, for the first time, in his beautiful hymn to the Venus Urania, displayedto men the unknown image of love, --the educator and the moralist, --sothat grateful ages have consecrated it by his name. Centuries rolledaway, and among the descendants of Teutonic barbarians a still lovelierand more ideal sentiment burst out from the lips of the Christian Dante, kindled by the adoration of his departed Beatrice. And as she coursesfrom star to star, explaining to him the mysteries, the transported poetexclaims:-- "Ah, all the tongues which the Muses have inspired could not tell thethousandth part of the beauty of the smile of Beatrice as she presentedme to the celestial group, exclaiming, 'Thou art redeemed!' O woman, inwhom lives all my hope, who hast deigned to leave for my salvation thyfootsteps on the throne of the Eternal, thou hast redeemed me fromslavery to liberty; now earth has no more dangers for me. I cherish theimage of thy purity in my bosom, that in my last hour, acceptable inthine eyes, my soul may leave my body. " Thus did Dante impersonate the worship of Venus Urania, --spiritualtenderness overcoming sensual desire. Thus faithful to the traditions ofthis great poet did the austere Michael Angelo do reverence to thevirtues of Vittoria Colonna. Thus did the lofty Corneille present in hisPauline a divine model of the love which inspires great deeds andaccompanies great virtues. Thus did Shakspeare, in his portrait ofPortia, show the blended generosity and simplicity of a woman's soul:-- "For you [my Lord Bassanio] I would be trebled twenty times myself; A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;" or, in his still more beautiful delineation of Juliet, paint anabsorbing devotion:-- "My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite. " Thus did Milton, in his transcendent epic, show how a Paradise wasregained when woman gave her generous sympathy to man, and reproducedfor all coming ages the image of Spiritual Love, --the inamorata of Danteand Petrarch, the inspired and consoling guide. But the muse of the poets, even when sanctified by Christianity, neversang such an immortal love as the Middle Ages in sober prose have handeddown in the history of Héloïse, --the struggle between the two Venuses ofSocrates, and the final victory of Urania, though not till after thetemporary triumph of Polyhymnia, --the inamorata of earth clad in thevestments of a sanctified recluse, and purified by the chastisements ofHeaven. "Saint Theresa dies longing to join her divine spouse; but SaintTheresa is only a Héloïse looking towards heaven. " Héloïse has anearthly idol; but her devotion has in it all the elements of asupernatural fervor, --the crucifixion of self in the glory of him sheadored. He was not worthy of her idolatry; but she thought that he was. Admiration for genius exalted sentiment into adoration, and imaginationinvested the object of love with qualities superhuman. Nations do not spontaneously keep alive the memory of those who havedisgraced them. It is their heroes and heroines whose praises theysing, --those only who have shone in the radiance of genius and virtue. They forget defects, if these are counterbalanced by grand services orgreat deeds, --if their sons and daughters have shed lustre on the landwhich gave them birth. But no lustre survives egotism or vice; it onlylasts when it gilds a noble life. There is no glory in the name ofJezebel, or Cleopatra, or Catherine de' Medici, brilliant andfascinating as were those queens; but there is glory in the memory ofHéloïse. There is no woman in French history of whom the nation isprouder; revered, in spite of early follies, by the most austere andvenerated saints of her beclouded age, and hallowed by the tributes ofsucceeding centuries for those sentiments which the fires of passionwere scarcely able to tarnish, for an exalted soul which eclipsed thebrightness of uncommon intellectual faculties, for a depth of sympathyand affection which have become embalmed in the heart of the world, andfor a living piety which blazes all the more conspicuously from the sinswhich she expiated by such bitter combats. She was human in herimpulses, but divine in her graces; one of those characters for whom wecannot help feeling the deepest sympathy and the profoundestadmiration, --a character that has its contradictions, like thatwarrior-bard who was after God's own heart, in spite of his crimes, because his soul thirsted for the beatitudes of heaven, and was bound inloving loyalty to his Maker, against whom he occasionally sinned byforce of mortal passions, but whom he never ignored or forgot, andagainst whom he never persistently rebelled. As a semi-warlike but religious age produced a David, with hisstrikingly double nature perpetually at war with itself and looking foraid to God, --his "sun, " his "shield, " his hope, and joy, --so an equallyunenlightened but devout age produced a Héloïse, the impersonation ofsympathy, disinterestedness, suffering, forgiveness, and resignation. Ihave already described this dark, sad, turbulent, superstitious, ignorant period of strife and suffering, yet not without its poeticcharms and religious aspirations; when the convent and the castle wereits chief external features, and when a life of meditation was as markedas a life of bodily activity, as if old age and youth were battling forsupremacy, --a very peculiar state of society, in which we see theloftiest speculations of the intellect and the highest triumphs of faithblended with puerile enterprises and misdirected physical forces. In this semi-barbaric age Héloïse was born, about the year 1101. Nobodyknew who was her father, although it was surmised that he belonged tothe illustrious family of the Montmorencies, which traced an unbrokenlineage to Pharimond, before the time of Clovis. She lived with heruncle Fulbert, an ignorant, worldly-wise old canon of the CathedralChurch of Notre Dame in Paris. He called her his niece; but whetherniece, or daughter, or adopted child, was a mystery. She was ofextraordinary beauty, though remarkable for expression rather than forregularity of feature. In intellect she was precocious and brilliant;but the qualities of a great soul shone above the radiance of her wit. She was bright, amiable, affectionate, and sympathetic, --the type of aninteresting woman. The ecclesiastic was justly proud of her, and gave toher all the education the age afforded. Although not meaning to be anun, she was educated in a neighboring convent, --for convents, even inthose times, were female seminaries, containing many inmates who neverintended to take the veil. But the convent then, as since, was a livinggrave to all who took its vows, and was hated by brilliant women whowere not religious. The convent necessarily and logically, according tothe theology of the Middle Ages, was a retreat from the world, --a cellof expiation; and yet it was the only place where a woman couldbe educated. Héloïse, it would seem, made extraordinary attainments, and spoke Latinas well as her native tongue. She won universal admiration, and in duetime, at the age of eighteen, returned to her uncle's house, on thebanks of the Seine, on the island called the Cité, where the majesticcathedral and the castle of the king towered above the rude houses ofthe people. Adjoining the church were the cloisters of the monks andthe Episcopal School, the infant university of Paris, over which theArchdeacon of Paris, William of Champeaux, presided in scholasticdignity and pride, --next to the bishop the most influential man inParis. The teachers of this school, or masters and doctors as they werecalled, and the priests of the cathedral formed the intellectualaristocracy of the city, and they were frequent visitors at the house ofFulbert the canon. His niece, as she was presumed to be, was the greatobject of attraction. There never was a time when intellectual Frenchmenhave not bowed down to cultivated women. Héloïse, though only a girl, was a queen of such society as existed in the city, albeit more admiredby men than women, --poetical, imaginative, witty, ready, frank, with asingular appreciation of intellectual excellence, dazzled by literaryfame, and looking up to those brilliant men who worshipped her. In truth, Héloïse was a prodigy. She was vastly superior to the men whosurrounded her, most of whom were pedants, or sophists, or bigots;dignitaries indeed, but men who exalted the accidental and the externalover the real and the permanent; men who were fond of quibbles andsophistries, jealous of each other and of their own reputation, dogmaticand positive as priests are apt to be, and most positive on points whicheither are of no consequence or cannot be solved. The soul of Héloïsepanted for a greater intellectual freedom and a deeper sympathy thanthese priests could give. She pined in society. She was isolated by herown superiority, --superior not merely in the radiance of the soul, butin the treasures of the mind. Nor could her companions comprehend hergreatness, even while they were fascinated by her presence. She dazzledthem by her personal beauty perhaps more than by her wit; for evenmediaeval priests could admire an expansive brow, a deep blue eye, _douxet penétrant, _ a mouth varying with unconscious sarcasms, teeth strongand regular, a neck long and flexible, and shoulders sloping andgracefully moulded, over which fell ample and golden locks; while theattitude, the complexion, the blush, the thrilling accent, and thegracious smile, languor, and passion depicted on a face both pale andanimated, seduced the imagination and commanded homage. Venus Polyhymniastood confessed in all her charms, for the time triumphant over thatVenus Urania who made the convent of the Paraclete in after times ablessed comforter to all who sought its consolations. Among the distinguished visitors at the house of her uncle the canon, attracted by her beauty and accomplishments, was a man thirty-eightyears of age, of noble birth, but by profession an ecclesiastic; whoselarge forehead, fiery eye, proud air, plain, negligent dress, andaristocratic manners, by turns affable and haughty, stamped him as anextraordinary man. The people in the streets stopped to gaze at him ashe passed, or rushed to the doors and windows for a glimpse; for he wasas famous for genius and learning as he was distinguished by manners andaspect. He was the eldest son of a Breton nobleman, who had abandonedhis inheritance and birthright for the fascinations of literature andphilosophy. His name was Peter Abélard, on the whole the most brilliantand interesting man whom the Middle Ages produced, --not so profound asAnselm, or learned as Peter Lombard, or logical as Thomas Aquinas, oracute as Albertus Magnus, but the most eloquent expounder of philosophyof whom I have read. He made the dullest subjects interesting; heclothed the dry bones of metaphysics with flesh and blood; he investedthe most abstruse speculations with life and charm; he filled the mindsof old men with envy, and of young men with admiration; he thrilledadmirers with his wit, sarcasm, and ridicule, --a sort of Galileo, mocking yet amusing, with a superlative contempt of dulness andpretension. He early devoted himself to dialectics, to all the arts ofintellectual gladiatorship, to all the sports of logical tournamentswhich were held in such value by the awakened spirits of the newcivilization. Such was Abélard's precocious ability, even as a youth, that no championcould be found to refute him in the whole of Brittany. He went fromcastle to castle, and convent to convent, a philosophicalknight-errant, seeking intellectual adventures; more intent, however, on_éclat_ and conquest than on the establishment of the dogmas which hadruled the Church since Saint Augustine. He was a born logician, asBossuet was a born priest, loving to dispute as much as the Bishop ofMeaux loved to preach; not a serious man, but a bright man, ready, keen, acute, turning fools into ridicule, and pushing acknowledged doctrinesinto absurdity; not to bring out the truth as Socrates did, or furnish asure foundation of knowledge, but to revolutionize and overturn. Hisspirit was like that of Lucien, --desiring to demolish, withoutsubstituting anything for the dogmas he had made ridiculous. Consequently he was mistrusted by the old oracles of the schools, anddetested by conservative churchmen who had intellect enough to see thetendency of his speculations. In proportion to the hatred of orthodoxecclesiastics like Anselme of Laon and Saint Bernard, was the admirationof young men and of the infant universities. Nothing embarrassed him. Hesought a reason for all things. He appealed to reason rather thanauthority, yet made the common mistake of the scholastics in supposingthat metaphysics could explain everything. He doubtless kindled a spiritof inquiry, while he sapped the foundation of Christianity andundermined faith. He was a nominalist; that is, he denied the existenceof all eternal ideas, such as Plato and the early Fathers advocated. Heis said to have even adduced the opinions of Pagan philosophers to provethe mysteries of revelation. He did not deny revelation, nor authority, nor the prevailing doctrines which the Church indorsed and defended; butthe tendency of his teachings was to undermine what had previously beenreceived by faith. He exalted reason, therefore, as higher than faith. His spirit was offensive to conservative teachers. Had he lived in ourtimes, he would have belonged to the most progressive schools of thoughtand inquiry, --probably a rationalist, denying what he could not prove byreason, and scorning all supernaturalism; a philosopher of the school ofHume, or Strauss, or Renan. And yet, after assailing everythingvenerable, and turning his old teachers into ridicule, and creating aspirit of rationalistic inquiry among the young students of divinity, who adored him, Abélard settled back on authority in his old age, perhaps alarmed and shocked at the mischief he had done in his morebrilliant years. This exceedingly interesting man, with all his vanity, conceit, andarrogance, had turned his steps to Paris, the centre of all intellectuallife in France, after he had achieved a great provincial reputation. Hewas then only twenty, a bright and daring youth, conscious of hispowers, and burning with ambition. He was not ambitious ofecclesiastical preferment, for aristocratic dunces occupied the greatsees and ruled the great monasteries. He was simply ambitious ofinfluence over students in philosophy and religion, --fond of _éclat_ andfame as a teacher. The universities were not then established; therewere no chairs for professors, nor even were there scholastic titles, like those of doctor and master; but Paris was full of students, disgusted with the provincial schools. The Cathedral School of Paris wasthe great attraction to these young men, then presided over by Williamof Champeaux, a very respectable theologian, but not a remarkable geniuslike Aquinas and Bonaventura, who did not arise until the Dominican andFranciscan orders were established to combat heresy. Abélard, beingstill a youth, attended the lectures of this old theologian, who was aRealist, not an original thinker, but enjoying a great reputation, whichhe was most anxious to preserve. The youthful prodigy at first wasgreatly admired by the veteran teacher; but Abélard soon began toquestion him and argue with him. Admiration was then succeeded byjealousy. Some sided with the venerable teacher, but more with theflippant yet brilliant youth who turned his master's teachings intoridicule, and aspired to be a teacher himself. But as teaching was underthe supervision of the school of Notre Dame, Paris was interdicted tohim; he was not allowed to combat the received doctrines which weretaught in the Cathedral School. So he retired to Melun, about thirtymiles from Paris, and set up for a teacher and lecturer on philosophy. All the influence of William of Champeaux and his friends was exerted toprevent Abélard from teaching, but in vain. His lecture-room wascrowded. The most astonishing success attended his lectures. Notcontented with the _éclat_ he received, he now meditated thediscomfiture of his old master. He removed still nearer to Paris. And sogreat was his success and fame, that it is said he compelled William torenounce his Realism and also his chair, and accept a distant bishopric. William was conquered by a mere stripling; but that stripling could haveoverthrown a Goliath of controversy, not with a sling, but with agiant's sword. Abélard having won a great dialectical victory, which brought as muchfame as military laurels on the battlefield, established himself at St. Geneviève, just outside the walls of Paris, where the Pantheon nowstands, which is still the centre of the Latin quarter, and theresidence of students. He now applied himself to the study of divinity, and attended the lectures of Anselm of Laon. This celebratedecclesiastic, though not so famous or able as Anselm of Canterbury, wastreated by Abélard with the same arrogance and flippancy as he hadbestowed on William of Champeaux. "I frequented, " said the youngmocker, "the old man's school, but soon discovered that all his powerwas in length of practice. You would have thought he was kindling afire, when instantly the whole house was filled with smoke, in which nota single spark was visible. He was a tree covered with thick foliage, which to the distant eye had charms, but on near inspection there was nofruit to be found; a fig-tree such as our Lord did curse; an oak such asLucan compared Pompey to, --_Stat magni nominis umbra_. " What a comment on the very philosophy which Abélard himself taught! Whatbetter description of the scholasticism of the Middle Ages! But originaland brilliant as was the genius of Abélard, he no more could haveanticipated the new method which Bacon taught than could Thomas Aquinas. All the various schools of the mediaeval dialecticians, Realists andNominalists alike, sought to establish old theories, not to discover newtruth. They could not go beyond their assumptions. So far as theirassumptions were true, they rendered great service by their inexorablelogic in defending them. They did not establish premises; that was nottheir concern or mission. Assuming that the sun revolved around theearth, all their astronomical speculations were worthless, even as theassumption of the old doctrine of atoms in our times has led scientiststo the wildest conclusions. The metaphysics of the Schoolmen, whetherthey were sceptical or reverential, simply sharpened the intellectualfaculties without advancing knowledge. Abélard belonged by nature to the sceptical school. He delighted innegations, and in the work of demolition. So far as he demolished orridiculed error he rendered the same service as Voltaire did: heprepared the way for a more inquiring spirit. He was also more liberalthan his opponents. His spirit was progressive, but his method wasfaulty. Like all those who have sought to undermine the old systems ofthought, he was naturally vain and conceited. He supposed he hadaccomplished more than he really had. He became bold in hisspeculations, and undertook to explain subjects beyond his grasp. Thushe professed to unfold the meaning of the prophecies of Ezekiel. He wasarrogant in his claims to genius. "It is not by long study, " said he, "that I have mastered the heights of science, but by the force of mymind. " This flippancy, accompanied by wit and eloquence, fascinatedyoung men. His auditors were charmed. "The first philosopher, " theysaid, "had become the first divine. " New pupils crowded hislecture-room, and he united lectures on philosophy with lectures ondivinity. "Theology and philosophy encircled his brow with a doublegarland. " So popular was he, that students came from Germany and Italyand England to hear his lectures. The number of his pupils, it is said, was more than five thousand; and these included the brightest intellectsof the age, among whom one was destined to be a pope (the great InnocentIII. ), nineteen to be cardinals, and one hundred to be bishops. What aproud position for a young man! What an astonishing success for thatage! And his pupils were as generous as they were enthusiastic. Theyfilled his pockets with gold; they hung upon his lips with rapture; theyextolled his genius wherever they went; they carried his picture fromcourt to court, from castle to castle, and convent to convent; theybegged for a lock of his hair, for a shred of his garment. Never wasseen before such idolatry of genius, such unbounded admiration foreloquence; for he stood apart and different from all otherlights, --pre-eminent as a teacher of philosophy. "He reigned, " saysLamartine, "by eloquence over the spirit of youth, by beauty over theregard of women, by love-songs which penetrated all hearts, by musicalmelodies repeated by every mouth. Let us imagine in a single man thefirst orator, the first philosopher, the first poet, the first musicianof the age, --Cicero, Plato, Petrarch, Schubert, --all united in oneliving celebrity, and we can form some idea of his attractions and fameat this period of his life. " Such was that brilliant but unsound man, with learning, fame, personalbeauty, fascinating eloquence, dialectical acumen, aristocraticmanners, and transcendent wit, who encountered at thirty-eight the mostbeautiful, gracious, accomplished, generous, and ardent woman thatadorned that time, --only eighteen, thirsting for knowledge, craving forsympathy, and intensely idolatrous of intellectual excellence. But oneresult could be anticipated from such a meeting: they becamepassionately enamored of each other. In order to secure a moreuninterrupted intercourse, Abélard sought and obtained a residence inthe house of Fulbert, under pretence of desiring to superintend theeducation of his niece. The ambitious, vain, unsuspecting priest wasdelighted to receive so great a man, whose fame filled the world. Heintrusted Héloïse to his care, with permission to use blows if they werenecessary to make her diligent and obedient! And what young woman with such a nature and under such circumstancescould resist the influence of such a teacher? I need not dwell on thefamiliar story, how mutual admiration was followed by mutual friendship, and friendship was succeeded by mutual infatuation, and the gradualabandonment of both to a mad passion, forgetful alike of fame and duty. "It became tedious, " said Abélard, "to go to my lessons. I gave mylectures with negligence. I spoke only from habit and memory. I was onlya reciter of ancient inventions; and if I chanced to compose verses, they were songs of love, not secrets of philosophy. " The absence of hismind evinced how powerfully his new passion moved his fiery andimpatient soul. "He consumed his time in writing verses to the canon'sniece; and even as Hercules in the gay court of Omphale threw down hisclub in order to hold the distaff, so Abélard laid aside his sceptre asa monarch of the schools to sing sonnets at the feet of Héloïse. " Andshe also, still more unwisely, in the mighty potency of an absorbinglove, yielded up her honor and her pride. This mutual infatuation was, it would seem, a gradual transition from the innocent pleasure ofdelightful companionship to the guilt of unrestrained desire. It was notpremeditated design, --not calculation, but insidious dalliance:-- "Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame, When love approached me under friendship's name. Guiltless I gazed; heaven listened when you sung, And truths divine came mended from your tongue. From lips like those, what precept failed to move? Too soon they taught me 't was no sin to love. " In a healthy state of society this mutual passion would have beenfollowed by the marriage ties. The parties were equal in culture andsocial position. And Abélard probably enjoyed a large income from thefees of students, and could well support the expenses of a family. Allthat was needed was the consecration of emotions, which are natural andirresistible, --a mystery perhaps but ordained, and without whichmarriage would be mere calculation and negotiation. Passion, doubtless, is blind; but in this very blindness we see the hand of the Creator, --tobaffle selfishness and pride. What would become of our world if men andwomen were left to choose their partners with the eye of uncloudedreason? Expediency would soon make a desert of earth, and there would beno paradise found for those who are unattractive or in adversecircumstances. Friendship might possibly bring people together; butfriendship exists only between equals and people of congenial tastes. Love brings together also those who are unequal. It joins the rich tothe poor, the strong to the weak, the fortunate to the unfortunate, andthus defeats the calculations which otherwise would enter intomatrimonial life. Without the blindness of passionate love the darts ofCupid would be sent in vain; and the helpless and neglected--as so manyare--would stand but little chance for that happiness which isassociated with the institution of marriage. The world would be filledwith old bachelors and old maids, and population would hopelesslydecline among virtuous people. No scandal would have resulted from the ardent loves of Abélard andHéloïse had they been united by that sacred relation which was ordainedin the garden of Eden. "If any woman, " says Legouvé, "may stand as themodel of a wife in all her glory, it is Héloïse. Passion without boundsand without alloy, enthusiasm for the genius of Abélard, jealous carefor his reputation, a vigorous intellect, learning sufficient to join inhis labors, and an unsullied name. " But those false, sophistical ideas which early entered into monasticlife, and which perverted the Christianity of the Middle Ages, presenteda powerful barrier against the instincts of nature and the ordinances ofGod. Celibacy was accounted as a supernal virtue, and the marriage of apriest was deemed a lasting disgrace. It obscured his fame, hisprospects, his position, and his influence; it consigned him to ridiculeand reproach. He was supposed to be married only to the Church, andwould be unfaithful to Heaven if he bound himself by connubial ties. Says Saint Jerome, "Take axe in hand and hew up by the roots the steriletree of marriage. God permits it, I grant; but Christ and Maryconsecrated virginity. " Alas, what could be hoped when the Churchendorsed such absurd doctrines! Hildebrand, when he denounced themarriage of priests, made war on the most sacred instincts of humannature. He may have strengthened the papal domination, but he weakenedthe restraints of home. Only a dark and beclouded age could have upheldsuch a policy. Upon the Church of the Middle Ages we lay the blame ofthese false ideas. She is in a measure responsible for the follies ofAbélard and Héloïse. They were not greater than the ideas of their age. Had Abélard been as bold in denouncing the stupid custom of the Churchin this respect as he was in fighting the monks of St. Denis or theintellectual intolerance of Bernard, he would not have fallen in therespect of good people. But he was a slave to interest andconventionality. He could not brave the sneers of priests or theopinions of society; he dared not lose caste with those who ruled theChurch; he would not give up his chances of preferment. He was unwillingeither to renounce his love, or to avow it by an honorable, open union. At last his intimacy created scandal. In the eyes of the schools and ofthe Church he had sacrificed philosophy and fame to a second Delilah. And Héloïse was even more affected by his humiliation than himself. Shemore than he was opposed to marriage, knowing that this would doom himto neglect and reproach. Abélard would perhaps have consented to an openmarriage had Héloïse been willing; but with a strange perversity sherefused. His reputation and interests were dearer to her than was herown fair name. She sacrificed herself to his fame; she blinded herselfto the greatest mistake a woman could make. The excess of her love madeher insensible to the principles of an immutable morality. Circumstancespalliated her course, but did not excuse it. The fatal consequences ofher folly pursued her into the immensity of subsequent grief; and thoughafterwards she was assured of peace and forgiveness in the depths of herrepentance, the demon of infatuated love was not easily exorcised. Shemay have been unconscious of degradation in the boundless spirit ofself-sacrifice which she was willing to make for the object of herdevotion, but she lost both dignity and fame. She entreated him who wasnow quoted as a reproach to human weakness, since the languor of passionhad weakened his power and his eloquence, to sacrifice her to his fame;"to permit her no longer to adore him as a divinity who accepts thehomage of his worshippers; to love her no longer, if this lovediminished his reputation; to reduce her even, if necessary, to thecondition of a woman despised by the world, since the glory of his lovewould more than compensate for the contempt of the universe. " "What reproaches, " said she, "should I merit from the Church and theschools of philosophy, were I to draw from them their brightest star!And shall a woman dare to take to herself that man whom Nature meant tobe the ornament and benefactor of the human race? Then reflect on thenature of matrimony, with its littleness and cares. How inconsistent itis with the dignity of a wise man! Saint Paul earnestly dissuades fromit. So do the saints. So do the philosophers of ancient times. Think awhile. What a ridiculous association, --the philosopher and thechambermaids, writing-desks and cradles, books and distaffs, pens andspindles! Intent on speculation when the truths of nature and revelationare breaking on your eye, will you hear the sudden cry of children, thelullaby of nurses, the turbulent bustling of disorderly servants? In theserious pursuits of wisdom there is no time to be lost. Believe me, aswell withdraw totally from literature as attempt to proceed in the midstof worldly avocations. Science admits no participation in the cares oflife. Remember the feats of Xanthippe. Take counsel from the example ofSocrates, who has been set up as a beacon for all coming time to warnphilosophers from the fatal rock of matrimony. " Such was the blended truth, irony, and wit with which Héloïse dissuadedAbélard from open marriage. He compromised the affair, and contentedhimself with a secret marriage. "After a night spent in prayer, " saidhe, "in one of the churches of Paris, on the following morning wereceived the nuptial blessing in the presence of the uncle of Héloïseand of a few mutual friends. We then retired without observation, thatthis union, known only to God and a few intimates, should bring neithershame nor prejudice to my renown. " A cold and selfish act, such as wemight expect in Louis XIV. And Madame de Maintenon, --yet, nevertheless, the feeble concession which pride and policy make to virtue, thetriumph of expediency over all heroic and manly qualities. LikeMaintenon, Héloïse was willing to seem what she was not, --only to beexplained on the ground that concubinage was a less evil, in the eyes ofthe Church, than marriage in a priest. But even a secret marriage was attended with great embarrassment. Thenews of it leaks out through the servants. The envious detractors ofAbélard rejoice in his weakness and his humiliation. His pride now takesoffence, and he denies the ties; and so does Héloïse. The old uncle isenraged and indignant. Abélard, justly fearing his resentment, --yea, being cruelly maltreated at his instigation, --removes his wife to theconvent where she was educated, and induces her to take the veil. Sheobeys him; she obeys him in all things; she has no will but his. Shethinks of nothing but his reputation and interest; she forgets herselfentirely, yet not without bitter anguish. She accepts the sacrifice, butit costs her infinite pangs. She is separated from her husband forever. Nor was the convent agreeable to her. It was dull, monotonous, dismal;imprisonment in a tomb, a living death, where none could know heragonies but God; where she could not even hear from him who washer life. Yet immolation in the dreary convent, where for nearly forty years shecombated the recollection of her folly, was perhaps the best thing forher. It was a cruel necessity. In the convent she was at least safe frommolestation; she had every opportunity for study and meditation; she wasfree from the temptations of the world, and removed from its scandalsand reproach. The world was crucified to her; Christ was now her spouse. To a convent also Abélard retired, overwhelmed with shame and penitence. At St. Denis he assumed the strictest habits, mortified his body withsevere austerities, and renewed with ardor his studies in philosophy andtheology. He was not without mental sufferings, but he could bury hisgrief in his ambition. It would seem that a marked change now took placein the character of Abélard. He was less vain and conceited, and soughtmore eagerly the consolations of religion. His life became too austerefor his brother monks, and they compelled him to leave this aristocraticabbey. He then resumed his lectures in the wilderness. He retreated to adesert place in Champagne, where he constructed a small oratory with hisown hands. But still students gathered around him. They, too, constructed cells, like ancient anchorites, and cultivated the fieldsfor bread. Then, as their numbers increased, they erected a vast edificeof stone and timber, which Abélard dedicated to the Holy Comforter, andcalled the Paraclete. It was here that his best days were spent. Hisrenewed labors and his intellectual boldness increased the admiration ofhis pupils. It became almost idolatry. It is said that three thousandstudents assembled at the Paraclete to hear him lecture. What admirationfor genius, when three thousand young men could give up the delights ofParis for a wilderness with Abélard! What marvellous powers offascination he must have had! This renewed success, in the midst of disgrace, created immeasurableenvy. Moreover, the sarcasms, boldness, and new views of the philosopherraised a storm of hatred. Galileo was not more offensive to the pedantsand priests of his generation than Abélard was to the Schoolmen andmonks of his day. They impeached both his piety and theology. He wasstigmatized as unsound and superficial. Yet he continued his attacks, his ridicule, and his sarcasms. In proportion to the animosities of hisfoes was the zeal of his followers, who admired his boldness andarrogance. At last a great clamor was raised against the daringtheologian. Saint Bernard, the most influential and profoundecclesiastic of the day, headed the opposition. He maintained that thefoundations of Christianity were assailed. Even Abélard could not standbefore the indignation and hostility of such a saint, --a man who kindledcrusades, who made popes, who controlled the opinions of the age. Abélard was obliged to fly, and sought an asylum amid the rocks andsands of Brittany. The Duke of this wild province gave him the abbey ofSt. Gildas; but its inmates were ignorant and disorderly, and addedinsubordination to dissoluteness. They ornamented their convent with thetrophies of the chase. They thought more of bears and wild boars andstags than they did of hymns and meditations. The new abbot, now a graveand religious man, in spite of his opposition to the leaders of theorthodox party, endeavored to reform the monks, --a hopeless task, --andthey turned against him with more ferocity than the theologians. Theyeven poisoned, it is said, the sacramental wine. He was obliged to hideamong the rocks to save his life. Nothing but aid from the neighboringbarons saved him from assassination. Thus fifteen years were passed in alternate study, glory, suffering, andshame. In his misery Abélard called on God for help, --his first greatadvance in that piety which detractors depreciated. He wrote also to afriend a history of his misfortunes. By accident this history fell intothe hands of Héloïse, then abbess of the Paraclete, which Abélard hadgiven her, and where she was greatly revered for all those virtues mostesteemed in her age. It opened her wound afresh, and she wrote a letterto her husband such as has seldom been equalled for pathos and depth ofsentiment. It is an immortal record of her grief, her unsubduedpassion, her boundless love, not without gentle reproaches for whatseemed a cold neglect and silence for fifteen long and bitter years, yetbreathing forgiveness, admiration, affection. The salutation of thatletter is remarkable: "Héloïse to her lord, to her father, to herhusband, to her brother: his servant, --yes, his daughter; hiswife, --yes, his sister. " Thus does she begin that tender and longletter, in which she describes her sufferings, her unchanged affections, her ardent wishes for his welfare, revealing in every line not merelygenius and sensibility, but a lofty and magnanimous soul. She glories inwhat constitutes the real superiority of her old lover; she describeswith simplicity what had originally charmed her, --his songs andconversation. She professes still an unbounded obedience to his will, and begs for a reply, if for nothing else that she may be stimulated toa higher life amid the asperities of her gloomy convent. Yet write, oh, write all, that I may join Grief to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine! Years still are mine, and these I need not spare, Love but demands what else were shed in prayer; No happier task these faded eyes pursue, -- To read and weep is all I now can do. Abélard replies to this touching letter coldly, but religiously, callingher his "sister in Christ, " but not attempting to draw out the earthlylove which both had sought to crush. He implores her prayers in hisbehalf. The only sign of his former love is a request to be buried inher abbey, in anticipation of a speedy and violent death. Most criticscondemn this letter as heartless; yet it is but charitable to supposethat he did not wish to trifle with a love so great, and reopen a woundso deep and sacred. All his efforts now seem to have been directed toraise her soul to heaven. But his letter does not satisfy her, and sheagain gives vent to her passionate grief in view of the separation:-- "O inclement Clemency! O unfortunate Fortune! She has so far consumedher weakness upon me that she has nothing left for others against whomshe rages. I am the most miserable of the miserable, the most unhappy ofthe unhappy!" This letter seems to have touched Abélard, and he replied to it more atlength, and with great sympathy, giving her encouragement andconsolation. He speaks of their mutual sufferings as providential; andhis letter is couched in a more Christian spirit than one wouldnaturally impute to him in view of his contests with the orthodoxleaders of the Church; and it also expresses more tenderness than can bereconciled with the selfish man he is usually represented. He writes:-- "See, dearest, how with the strong nets of his mercy God has taken usfrom the depths of a perilous sea. Observe how he has tempered mercywith justice; compare our danger with the deliverance, our disease withthe remedy. I merit death, and God gives me life. Come, and join me inproclaiming how much the Lord has done for us. Be my inseparablecompanion in an act of grace, since you have participated with me in thefault and the pardon. Take courage, my dear sister; whom the Lord lovethhe chastiseth. Sympathize with Him who suffered for your redemption. Approach in spirit His sepulchre. Be thou His spouse. " Then he closes with this prayer:-- "When it pleased Thee, O Lord, and as it pleased Thee, Thou didst joinus, and Thou didst separate us. Now, what Thou hast so mercifully begun, mercifully complete; and after separating us in this world, join ustogether eternally in heaven. " No one can read this letter without acknowledging its delicacy and itsloftiness. All his desires centred in the spiritual good of her whom theChurch would not allow him to call any longer his wife, yet to whom hehoped to be reunited in heaven. As a professed nun she could no longer, with propriety, think of him as an earthly husband. For a priest toacknowledge a nun for his wife would have been a great scandal. By allthe laws of the Church and the age they were now only brother and sisterin Christ. Nothing escaped from his pen which derogates from theaustere dignity of the priest. But Héloïse was more human and less conventional. She had not conqueredher love; once given, it could not be taken back. She accepted herdreary immolation in the convent, since she obeyed Abélard both ashusband and as a spiritual father; but she would have left the conventand rejoined him had he demanded it, for marriage was to her more sacredthan the veil. She was more emancipated from the ideas of hersuperstitious age than even the bold and rationalistic philosopher. Withall her moral and spiritual elevation, Héloïse could not conquer herlove. And, as a wedded wife, why should she conquer it? She was both nunand wife. If fault there was, it was as wife, in immuring herself in aconvent and denying the marriage. It should have been openly avowed; thedenial of it placed her in a false position, as a fallen woman. Yet, asa fallen woman, she regained her position in the eyes of the world. Shewas a lady abbess. It was impossible for a woman to enjoy a higherposition than the control of a convent. As abbess, she enjoyed thefriendship and respect of some of the saintliest and greatest charactersof the age, even of such a man as Peter the Venerable, abbot of Cluny. And it is impossible that she should have won the friendship of such aman, if she herself had not been irreproachable in her own character. The error in judging Héloïse is, that she, as nun, had no right to love. But the love existed long before she took the veil, and was consecratedby marriage, even though private. By the mediaeval and conventionalstand point, it is true, the wife was lost in the nun. That is the viewthat Abélard took, --that it was a sin to love his wife any longer. ButHéloïse felt that it was no sin to love him who was her life. Shecontinued to live in him who ruled over her, and to whose desire herwill was subject and obedient, according to that eternal law declared inthe garden of Eden. Nor could this have been otherwise so long as Abélard retained theadmiration of Héloïse, and was worthy of her devotion. We cannot tellwhat changes may have taken place in her soul had he been grovelling, ortyrannical, a slave of degrading habits, or had he treated her withcruel harshness, or ceased to sympathize with her sorrows, ortransferred his affections to another object. But whatever love he hadto give, he gave to her to the end, so far as the ideas of his age wouldpermit. His fault was in making a nun of his wife, which was in the eyesof the world a virtual repudiation; even though, from a principle ofsublime obedience and self-sacrifice, she consented to the separation. Was Josephine to blame because she loved a selfish man after she wasrepudiated? Héloïse was simply unable to conquer a powerful love. Itwas not converted into hatred, because Abélard, in her eyes, seemedstill to be worthy of it. She regarded him as a saint, forced by theideas of his age to crush a mortal love, --which she herself could notdo, because it was a sentiment, and sentiment is eternal. She wasgreater than Abélard, because her love was more permanent; in otherwords, because her soul was greater. In intellect he may have beensuperior to her, but not in the higher qualities which imply generosity, self-abnegation, and sympathy, --qualities which are usually stronger inwomen than in men. In Abélard the lower faculties--ambition, desire ofknowledge, vanity--consumed the greater. _He_ could be contented withthe gratification of these, even as men of a still lower type canrenounce intellectual pleasures for the sensual. It does not follow thatHéloïse was weaker than he because she could not live outside the worldof sentiment, but rather loftier and nobler. These higher facultiesconstituted her superiority to Abélard. It was sentiment which made herso pre-eminently great, and it was this which really endeared her toAbélard. By reason and will he ruled over her; but by the force ofsuperior sentiment she ruled over him. Sentiment, indeed, underlies everything that is great or lovely orenduring on this earth. It is the joy of festivals, the animating soulof patriotism, the bond of families, the beauty of religious, political, and social institutions. It has consecrated Thermopylae, theParthenon, the Capitol, the laurel crown, the conqueror's triumphalprocession, the epics of Homer, the eloquence of Demosthenes, the museof Virgil, the mediaeval cathedral, the town-halls of Flanders, thecolleges of Oxford and Cambridge, the struggles of the Puritans, thedeeds of Gustavus Adolphus, the Marseilles hymn, the farewell address ofWashington. There is no poetry without it, nor heroism, nor socialbanqueting. What is Christmas without the sentiments which hallow theevergreen, the anthem, the mistletoe, the family reunion? What is eventangible roast-beef and plum-pudding without a party to enjoy them; andwhat is the life of the party but the interchange of sentiments? Why isa cold sleigh-ride, or the ascent of a mountain, or a voyage across theAtlantic, or a rough journey under torrid suns to the consecratedplaces, --why are these endurable, and even pleasant? It is because thesentiments which prompt them are full of sweet and noble inspiration. The Last Supper, and Bethany, and the Sepulchre are immortal, becausethey testify eternal love. Leonidas lives in the heart of the worldbecause he sacrificed himself to patriotism. The martyrs are objects ofunfading veneration, because they died for Christianity. In the same way Héloïse is embalmed in the affections of all nationsbecause she gave up everything for an exalted sentiment which sopossessed her soul that neither scorn, nor pity, nor ascetic severities, nor gloomy isolation, nor ingratitude, nor a living death coulderadicate or weaken it, --an unbounded charity which covered with itsveil the evils she could not remove. That all-pervading andall-conquering sentiment was the admiration of ideal virtues andbeauties which her rapt and excited soul saw in her adored lover; suchas Dante saw in his departed Beatrice. It was unbounded admiration forAbélard which first called out the love of Héloïse; and his undoubtedbrilliancy and greatness were exaggerated in her loving eyes by herimagination, even as mothers see in children traits that are hidden fromall other mortal eyes. So lofty and godlike did he seem, amidst theplaudits of the schools, and his triumph over all the dignitaries thatsought to humble him; so interesting was he to her by his wit, sarcasm, and eloquence, --that she worshipped him, and deemed it the most exaltedhonor to possess exclusively his love in return, which he gave certainlyto no one else. Satisfied that he, the greatest man of the world, --as heseemed and as she was told he was, --should give to her what she gave tohim, she exulted in it as her highest glory. It was all in all to her;but not to him. See, then, how superior Héloïse was to Abélard inhumility as well as self-abnegation. She was his equal, and yet sheever gloried in his superiority. See how much greater, too, she was inlofty sentiments, since it was the majesty of his mind and soul whichshe adored. He was comparatively indifferent to her when she became nolonger an object of desire; but not so with her, since she was attractedby his real or supposed greatness of intellect, which gave permanence toher love, and loftiness also. He was her idol, since he possessed thosequalities which most powerfully excited her admiration. This then is love, when judged by a lofty standard, --worship of what ismost glorious in mind and soul. And this exalted love is most commonamong the female sex, since their passions are weaker and theirsentiments are stronger than those of most men. What a fool a man is toweaken this sympathy, or destroy this homage, or outrage thisindulgence; or withhold that tenderness, that delicate attention, thattoleration of foibles, that sweet appreciation, by which the soul ofwoman is kept alive and the lamp of her incense burning! And woe be tohim who drives this confiding idolater back upon her technicalobligations! The form that holds these certitudes of the soul may loseall its beauty by rudeness or neglect. And even if the form remains, what is a mortal body without the immortal soul which animates it? Theglory of a man or of a woman is the real presence of spiritual love, which brings peace to homes, alleviation to burdens, consolation tosufferings, rest to labors, hope to anxieties, and a sublime repose amidthe changes of the world, --that blessed flower of perennial sweetnessand beauty which Adam in his despair bore away from Eden, and whichalone almost compensated him for the loss of Paradise. It is not my object to present Abélard except in his connection with theimmortal love with which he inspired the greatest woman of the age. Andyet I cannot conclude this sketch without taking a parting glance ofthis brilliant but unfortunate man. And I confess that his closing daysstrongly touch my sympathies, and make me feel that historians have beentoo harsh in their verdicts. Historians have based their opinions on thehostilities which theological controversies produced, and on the neglectwhich Abélard seemed to show for the noble woman who obeyed and adoredhim. But he appears to have employed his leisure and tranquil days inwriting hymns to the abbess of the Paraclete, in preparing homilies, andin giving her such advice as her circumstances required. All his laterletters show the utmost tenderness and zeal for the spiritual good ofthe woman to whom he hoped to be reunited in heaven, and doing forHéloïse what Jerome did for Paula, and Fénelon for Madame Guyon. If nolonger her lover, he was at least her friend. And, moreover, at thistime he evinced a loftier religious life than he has the credit ofpossessing. He lived a life of study and meditation. But his enemies would not allow him to rest, even in generous labors. They wished to punish him and destroy his influence. So they summonedhim to an ecclesiastical council to answer for his heresies. At first heresolved to defend himself, and Bernard, his greatest enemy, evenprofessed a reluctance to contend with his superior in dialecticalcontests. But Abélard, seeing how inflamed were the passions of thetheologians against him, and how vain would be his defence, appealed atonce to the Pope; and Rome, of course, sided with his enemies. He wascondemned to perpetual silence, and his books were ordered to be burned. To this sentence it would appear that Abélard prepared to submit withmore humility than was to be expected from so bold and arrogant a man. But he knew he could not resist an authority based on generally acceptedideas any easier than Henry IV. Could have resisted Hildebrand. He madeup his mind to obey the supreme authority of the Church, but bitterlyfelt the humiliation and the wrong. Broken in spirit and in reputation, Abélard, now an old man, set out onfoot for Rome to plead his cause before the Pope. He stopped on his wayat Cluny in Burgundy, that famous monastery where Hildebrand himself hadruled, now, however, presided over by Peter the Venerable, --the mostbenignant and charitable ecclesiastical dignitary of that age. And asAbélard approached the gates of the venerable abbey, which was the prideof the age, worn out with fatigue and misfortune, he threw himself atthe feet of the lordly abbot and invoked shelter and protection. Howtouching is the pride of greatness, when brought low by penitence orgrief, like that of Theodosius at the feet of Ambrose, or Henry II. Atthe tomb of Becket! But Peter raises him up, receives him in his arms, opens to him his heart and the hospitalities of his convent, not as arepentant prodigal, but as the greatest genius of his age, brought lowby religious persecution. Peter did all in his power to console hisvisitor, and even privately interceded with the Pope, remembering onlyAbélard's greatness and his misfortunes. And the persecuted philosopher, through the kind offices of the abbot, was left in peace, and was evenreconciled with Bernard, --an impossibility without altered opinions inAbélard, or a submission to the Church which bore all the marksof piety. The few remaining days of this extraordinary man, it seems, were spentin study, penitence, and holy meditation. So beloved and revered was heby the community among whom he dwelt, that for six centuries his namewas handed down from father to son among the people of the valley andtown of Cluny. "At the extremity of a retired valley, " says Lamartine, "flanked by the walls of the convent, on the margin of extensivemeadows, closed by woods, and near to a neighboring stream, there existsan enormous lime-tree, under the shade of which Abélard in his closingdays was accustomed to sit and meditate, with his face turned towardsthe Paraclete which he had built, and where Héloïse still discharged theduties of abbess. " But even this pensive pleasure was not long permitted him. He was wornout with sorrows and misfortunes; and in a few months after he hadcrossed the hospitable threshold of Cluny he died in the arms of hisadmiring friend. "Under the instinct of a sentiment as sacred asreligion itself, Peter felt that Abélard above and Héloïse on earthdemanded of him the last consolation of a reunion in the grave. So, quietly, in the dead of night, dreading scandal, yet true to hisimpulses, without a hand to assist or an eye to witness, he exhumed thecoffin which had been buried in the abbey cemetery, and conveyed ithimself to the Paraclete, and intrusted it to Héloïse. " She received it with tears, shut herself up in the cold vault with themortal remains of him she had loved so well; while Peter, that agedsaint of consolation, pronounced the burial service with mingled tearsand sobs. And after having performed this last sad office, and given hisaffectionate benediction to the great woman to whom he was drawn by tiesof admiration and sympathy, this venerable dignitary wended his waysilently back to Cluny, and, for the greater consolation of Héloïse, penned the following remarkable letter, which may perhaps modify ourjudgment of Abélard:-- "It is no easy task, my sister, to describe in a few lines the holiness, the humility, and the self-denial which our departed brother exhibitedto us, and of which our whole collected brotherhood alike bear witness. Never have I beheld a life and deportment so thoroughly submissive. Iplaced him in an elevated rank in the community, but he appeared thelowest of all by the simplicity of his dress and his abstinence from allthe enjoyments of the senses. I speak not of luxury, for that was astranger to him; he refused everything but what was indispensable forthe sustenance of life. He read continually, prayed often, and neverspoke except when literary conversation or holy discussion compelled himto break silence. His mind and tongue seemed concentrated onphilosophical and divine instructions. Simple, straightforward, reflecting on eternal judgments, shunning all evil, he consecrated theclosing hours of an illustrious life. And when a mortal sickness seizedhim, with what fervent piety, what ardent inspiration did he make hislast confession of his sins; with what fervor did he receive thepromise of eternal life; with what confidence did he recommend his bodyand soul to the tender mercies of the Saviour!" Such was the death of Abélard, as attested by the most venerated man ofthat generation. And when we bear in mind the friendship and respect ofsuch a man as Peter, and the exalted love of such a woman as Héloïse, itis surely not strange that posterity, and the French nation especially, should embalm his memory in their traditions. Héloïse survived him twenty years, --a priestess of God, a mourner at thetomb of Abélard. And when in the solitude of the Paraclete she felt theapproach of the death she had so long invoked, she directed thesisterhood to place her body beside that of her husband in the sameleaden coffin. And there, in the silent aisles of that abbey-church, itremained for five hundred years, until it was removed by LucienBonaparte to the Museum of French Monuments in Paris, but againtransferred, a few years after, to the cemetery of Père la Chaise. Theenthusiasm of the French erected over the remains a beautiful monument;and "there still may be seen, day by day, the statues of the immortallovers, decked with flowers and coronets, perpetually renewed withinvisible hands, --the silent tribute of the heart of that consecratedsentiment which survives all change. Thus do those votive offeringsmysteriously convey admiration for the constancy and sympathy with theposthumous union of two hearts who transposed conjugal tenderness fromthe senses to the soul, who spiritualized the most ardent of humanpassions, and changed love itself into a holocaust, a martyrdom, and aholy sacrifice. " AUTHORITIES. Lamartine's Characters; Berington's Middle Ages; Michelet's History ofFrance; Life of St. Bernard; French Ecclesiastical Historians; Bayle'sCritical Dictionary; Biographic Universelle; Pope's Lines on Abélard andHéloïse; Letters of Abélard and Héloïse. JOAN OF ARC. * * * * * A. D. 1412-1431. HEROIC WOMEN. Perhaps the best known and most popular of heroines is Joan of Arc, called the Maid of Orleans. Certainly she is one of the most interestingcharacters in the history of France during the Middle Ages; hence Iselect her to illustrate heroic women. There are not many such who areknown to fame; though heroic qualities are not uncommon in the gentlersex, and a certain degree of heroism enters into the character of allthose noble and strongly marked women who have attracted attention andwho have rendered great services. It marked many of the illustriouswomen of the Bible, of Grecian and Roman antiquity, and especially thosewhom chivalry produced in mediaeval Europe; and even in our modern timesintrepidity and courage have made many a woman famous, like FlorenceNightingale. In Jewish history we point to Deborah, who delivered Israelfrom the hands of Jabin; and to Jael, who slew Sisera, the captain ofJabin's hosts; and to Judith, who cut off the head of Holofernes. Itwas heroism, which is ever allied with magnanimity, that prompted thedaughter of Jephtha to the most remarkable self-sacrifice recorded inhistory. There was a lofty heroism in Abigail, when she prevented Davidfrom shedding innocent blood. And among the Pagan nations, who does notadmire the heroism of such women as we have already noticed? Chivalry, too, produced illustrious heroines in every country of Europe. We readof a Countess of March, in the reign of Edward III. , who defended Dunbarwith uncommon courage against Montague and an English army; a Countessof Montfort shut herself up in the fortress of Hennebon, andsuccessfully defied the whole power of Charles of Blois; Jane Hatchettrepulsed in person a considerable body of Burgundian troops; Altrude, Countess of Bertinora, advanced with an army to the relief of Ancona;Bona Lombardi, with a body of troops, liberated her husband fromcaptivity; Isabella of Lorraine raised an army for the rescue of herhusband; Queen Philippa, during the absence of her husband in Scotland, stationed herself in the Castle of Bamborough and defied the threats ofDouglas, and afterwards headed an army against David, King of Scotland, and took him prisoner, and shut him up in the Tower of London. But these illustrious women of the Middle Ages who performed such featsof gallantry and courage belonged to the noble class; they wereidentified with aristocratic institutions; they lived in castles; theywere the wives and daughters of feudal princes and nobles whose businesswas war, and who were rough and turbulent warriors, and sometimes nobetter than robbers, but who had the virtues of chivalry, which was atits height during the wars of Edward III. And yet neither the proudfeudal nobles nor their courageous wives and daughters took any noticeof the plebeian people, except to oppress and grind them down. Novirtues were developed by feudalism among the people but submission, patience, and loyalty. And thus it is extraordinary that such a person should appear in thatchivalric age as Joan of Arc, who rose from the humblest class, whocould neither read nor write, --a peasant girl without friends orinfluence, living among the Vosges mountains on the borders of Champagneand Lorraine. She was born in 1412, in the little obscure village ofDomremy on the Meuse, on land belonging to the French crown. She livedin a fair and fertile valley on the line of the river, on the other sideof which were the Burgundian territories. The Lorraine of the Vosges wasa mountainous district covered with forests, which served for royalhunting parties. The village of Domremy itself was once a dependency ofthe abbey of St. Remy at Rheims. This district had suffered cruellyfrom the wars between the Burgundians and the adherents of theArmagnacs, one of the great feudal families of France in theMiddle Ages. Joan, or Jeanne, was the third daughter of one of the peasant laborersof Domremy. She was employed by her mother in spinning and sewing, whileher sisters and brothers were set to watch cattle. Her mother couldteach her neither to read nor write, but early imbued her mind with thesense of duty. Joan was naturally devout, and faultless in her morals;simple, natural, gentle, fond of attending the village church; devotingherself, when not wanted at home, to nursing the sick, --the best girl inthe village; strong, healthy, and beautiful; a spirit lowly but poetic, superstitious but humane, and fond of romantic adventures. But her pietywas one of her most marked peculiarities, and somehow or other she knewmore than we can explain of Scripture heroes and heroines. One of the legends of that age and place was that the marches ofLorraine were to give birth to a maid who was to save therealm, --founded on an old prophecy of Merlin. It seems that when onlythirteen years old Joan saw visions, and heard celestial voices biddingher to be good and to trust in God; and as virginity was supposed to bea supernal virtue, she vowed to remain a virgin, but told no one of hervow or her visions. She seems to have been a girl of extraordinary goodsense, which was as marked as her religious enthusiasm. The most remarkable thing about this young peasant girl is that sheclaimed to have had visions and heard voices which are difficult to bedistinguished from supernatural, --something like the daemon of Socrates. She affirmed that Saint Michael the Archangel appeared to her in glory, also Saint Catherine and Saint Margaret, encouraging her in virtue, andindicating to her that a great mission was before her, that she was todeliver her king and country. Such claims have not been treated withincredulity or contempt by French historians, especially Barante andMichelet, in view of the wonderful work she was instrumental inaccomplishing. At this period France was afflicted with that cruel war which had atintervals been carried on for nearly a century between the English andFrench kings, and which had arisen from the claims of Edward I to thethrone of France. The whole country was distracted, forlorn, andmiserable; it was impoverished, overrun, and drained of fighting men. The war had exhausted the resources of England as well as those ofFrance. The population of England at the close of this long series ofwars was less than it was under Henry II. Those wars were moredisastrous to the interests of both the rival kingdoms than even thoseof the Crusades, and they were marked by great changes and greatcalamities. The victories of Crécy, Poictiers, and Agincourt--which shedsuch lustre on the English nation--were followed by reverses, miseries, and defeats, which more than balanced the glories of Edward the BlackPrince and Henry V. Provinces were gained and lost, yet no decisiveresults followed either victory or defeat. The French kings, drivenhither and thither, with a decimated people, and with the loss of someof their finest provinces, still retained their sovereignty. At one time, about the year 1347, Edward III. Had seemed to haveattained the supreme object of his ambition. France lay bleeding at hisfeet; he had won the greatest victory of his age; Normandy alreadybelonged to him, Guienne was recovered, Aquitaine was ceded to him, Flanders was on his side, and the possession of Brittany seemed to openhis way to Paris. But in fourteen years these conquests were lost; theplague scourged England, and popular discontents added to theperplexities of the once fortunate monarch. Moreover, the House ofCommons had come to be a power and a check on royal ambition. The deathof the Black Prince consummated his grief and distraction, and theheroic king gave himself up in his old age to a disgraceful profligacy, and died in the arms of Alice Pierce, in the year 1377. Fifty years pass by, and Henry V. Is king of England, and renews hisclaim to the French throne. The battle of Agincourt (1415) gives toHenry V. The same _éclat_ that the victory of Crécy had bestowed onEdward III. Again the French realm is devastated by triumphantEnglishmen. The King of France is a captive; his Queen is devoted to thecause of Henry, the Duke of Burgundy is his ally, and he only needs theformal recognition of the Estates to take possession of the Frenchthrone. But in the year 1422, in the midst of his successes, he died ofa disease which baffled the skill of all his physicians, leaving hiskingdom to a child only nine years old, and the prosecution of theFrench war to his brother the Duke of Bedford, who was scarcely inferiorto himself in military genius. At this time, when Charles VI. Of France was insane, and his oldest sonLouis dead, his second son Charles declared himself King of France, asCharles VII. But only southern France acknowledged Charles, who at thistime was a boy of fifteen years. All the northern provinces, evenGuienne and Gascony, acknowledged Henry VI. , the infant son of Henry V. Of England. Charles's affairs, therefore, were in a bad way, and therewas every prospect of the complete conquest of France. Even Paris wasthe prey alternately of the Burgundians and the Armagnacs, the last ofwhom were the adherents of Charles the Dauphin, --the legitimate heir tothe throne. He held his little court at Bourges, where he lived as gailyas he could, sometimes in want of the necessaries of life. His troopswere chiefly Gascons, Lombards, and Scotch, who got no pay, and wholived by pillage. He was so hard pressed by the Duke of Bedford that hemeditated a retreat into Dauphiné. It would seem that he was given topleasures, and was unworthy of his kingdom, which he nearly lost bynegligence and folly. The Duke of Bedford, in order to drive Charles out of the centralprovinces, resolved to take Orleans, which was the key to the south, --acity on the north bank of the Loire, strongly fortified and wellprovisioned. This was in 1428. The probabilities were that this citywould fall, for it was already besieged, and was beginning tosuffer famine. In this critical period for France, Joan of Arc appeared on the stage, being then a girl of sixteen (some say eighteen) years of age. AlthoughJoan, as we have said, was uneducated, she yet clearly comprehended thecritical condition of her country, and with the same confidence thatDavid had in himself and in his God when he armed himself with a slingand a few pebbles to confront the full-armed giant of the Philistines, inspired by her heavenly visions she resolved to deliver France. Sheknew nothing of war; she had not been accustomed to equestrianexercises, like a woman of chivalry; she had no friends; she had neverseen great people; she was poor and unimportant. To the eye of worldlywisdom her resolution was perfectly absurd. It was with the greatest difficulty that Joan finally obtained aninterview with Boudricourt, the governor of Vaucouleurs; and he laughedat her, and bade her uncle take her home and chastise her for herpresumption. She returned to her humble home, but with resolutionsunabated. The voices encouraged her, and the common people believed inher. Again, in the red coarse dress of a peasant girl, she sought thegovernor, claiming that God had sent her. There was something sostrange, so persistent, so honest about her that he reported her case tothe King. Meanwhile, the Duke of Lorraine heard of her, and sent her asafe-conduct, and the people of Vaucouleurs came forward and helped her. They gave her a horse and the dress of a soldier; and the governor, yielding to her urgency, furnished her with a sword and a letter to theKing. She left without seeing her parents, --which was one of thesubsequent charges against her, --and prosecuted her journey amid greatperils and fatigues, travelling by night with her four armed attendants. After twelve days Joan reached Chinon, where the King was tarrying. Buthere new difficulties arose: she could not get an interview with theKing; it was opposed by his most influential ministers and courtiers. "Why waste precious time, " said they, "when Orleans is in the utmostperil, to give attention to a mad peasant-girl, who, if not mad, must bepossessed with a devil: a sorceress to be avoided; what can she do forFrance?" The Archbishop of Rheims, the prime-minister of Charles, especially was against her. The learned doctors of the schools deridedher claims. It would seem that her greatest enemies were in the Churchand the universities. "Not many wise, not many mighty are called. " Thedeliverers of nations in great exigencies rarely have the favor of thegreat. But the women of the court spoke warmly in Joan's favor, for herconduct was modest and irreproachable; and after two days she wasadmitted to the royal castle, the Count of Vendôme leading her to theroyal presence. Charles stood among a crowd of nobles, all richlydressed; but in her visions this pure enthusiast had seen more gloriesthan an earthly court, and she was undismayed. To the King she repeatedthe words which had thus far acted liked a charm: "I am Joan the Maid, sent by God to save France;" and she demanded troops. But the King wascautious; he sent two monks to her native village to inquire all abouther, while nobles and ecclesiastics cross-questioned her. She was, however, treated courteously, and given in charge to the King'slieutenant, whose wife was a woman of virtue and piety. Manydistinguished people visited her in the castle to which she wasassigned, on whom she made a good impression by her modesty, good sense, and sublime enthusiasm. It was long debated in the royal council whethershe should be received or rejected; but as affairs were in anexceedingly critical condition, and Orleans was on the point ofsurrender, it was concluded to listen to her voice. It must be borne in mind that the age was exceedingly superstitious, andthe statesmen of the distracted and apparently ruined country probablydecided to make use of this girl, not from any cordial belief in hermission, but from her influence on the people. She might stimulate themto renewed efforts. She was an obscure and ignorant peasant-girl, it wastrue, but God might have chosen her as an instrument. In this way veryhumble people, with great claims, have often got the ear and theapproval of the wise and powerful, as instruments of AlmightyProvidence. When Moody and Sankey first preached in London, it was theLord Chancellor and Lord Chief-Justice--who happened to be religiousmen--that, amid the cynicism of ordinary men of rank, gave them the mostencouragement, and frequently attended their meetings. And the voices which inspired the Maid of Orleans herself, --what werethese? Who can tell? Who can explain such mysteries? I would notassert, nor would I deny, that they were the voices of inspiration. Whatis inspiration? It has often been communicated to men. Who can deny thatthe daemon of Socrates was something more than a fancied voice? When didsupernatural voices first begin to utter the power of God? When will thevoices of inspiration cease to be heard on earth? In view of the factthat _she did_ accomplish her mission, the voices which inspired thisilliterate peasant to deliver France are not to be derided. Who can sitin judgment on the ways in which Providence is seen to act? May He notchoose such instruments as He pleases? Are not all His ways mysterious, never to be explained by the reason of man? Did not the occasion seem towarrant something extraordinary? Here was a great country apparently onthe verge of ruin. To the eye of reason and experience it seemed thatFrance was to be henceforth ruled, as a subjugated country, by a foreignpower. Royal armies had failed to deliver her. Loyalty had failed toarouse the people. Feudal envies and enmities had converted vassals intofoes. The Duke of Burgundy, the most powerful vassal of France, was inarms against his liege lord. The whole land was rent with divisions andtreasons. And the legitimate king, who ought to have been a power, washimself feeble, frivolous, and pleasure-seeking amid all his perils. _He_ could not save the country. Who could save it? There were no greatgenerals. Universal despair hung over the land. The people weredepressed. Military resources were insufficient. If France was to bepreserved as an independent and powerful monarchy, somethingextraordinary must happen to save it. The hope in feudal armies hadfled. In fact, only God could rescue the country in such perils andunder such forlorn circumstances. Joan of Arc believed in God, --that He could do what He pleased, that Hewas a power to be supplicated; and she prayed to Him to save France, since princes could not save the land, divided by their rivalries andjealousies and ambitions. And the conviction, after much prayer andfasting, was impressed upon her mind--no matter how, but it _was_impressed upon her--that God had chosen _her_ as His instrument, that itwas her mission to raise the siege of Orleans, and cause the youngDauphin to be crowned king at Rheims. This conviction gave her courageand faith and intrepidity. How could she, unacquainted with wars andsieges, show the necessary military skill and genius? She did notpretend to it. She claimed no other wisdom than that which wascommunicated to her by celestial voices. If she could direct a militarymovement in opposition to leaders of experience, it was only becausethis movement was what was indicated by an archangel. And so decidedand imperative was she, that royal orders were given to obey her. Onething was probable, whether a supernatural wisdom and power were givenher or not, --she yet might animate the courage of others, she mightstimulate them to heroic action, and revive their hopes; for if God waswith them, who could be against them? What she had to do was simplythis, --to persuade princes and nobles that the Lord would deliver thenation. Let the conviction be planted in the minds of a religious peoplethat God is with them, and in some way will come to their aid if theythemselves will put forth their own energies, and they will be almostsure to rally. And here was an inspired woman, as they supposed, readyto lead them on to victory, not by her military skill, but by indicatingto them the way as an interpreter of the Divine will. This was not moreextraordinary than the repeated deliverances of the Hebrew nation underreligious leaders. The signal deliverance of the French at that gloomy period from thehands of the English, by Joan of Arc, was a religious movement. The Maidis to be viewed as a religious phenomenon; she rested her whole powerand mission on the supposition that she was inspired to point out theway of deliverance. She claimed nothing for herself, was utterly withoutvanity, ambition, or pride, and had no worldly ends to gain. Hercharacter was without a flaw. She was as near perfection as any mortalever was: religious, fervent, unselfish, gentle, modest, chaste, patriotic, bent on one thing only, --to be of service to her country, without reward; and to be of service only by way of encouragement, andpointing out what seemed to her to be the direction of God. So Joan fearlessly stood before kings and nobles and generals, yet inthe modest gentleness of conscious virtue, to direct them what to do, asa sort of messenger of Heaven. What was rank or learning to her? If shewas sent by a voice that spoke to her soul, and that voice was from God, what was human greatness to her? It paled before the greatness whichcommissioned her. In the discharge of her mission all men were alike inher eyes; the distinctions of rank faded away in the mighty issues whichshe wished to bring about, even the rescue of France from foreignenemies, and which she fully believed she could effect with God's aid, and in the way that He should indicate. Whether the ruling powers fully believed in her or not, they at lastcomplied with her wishes and prayers, though not until she had beensubjected to many insults from learned priests and powerful nobles, whomshe finally won by her modest and wise replies. Said one of themmockingly: "If it be God's will that the English shall quit France, there is no need for men-at-arms. " To whom she replied: "Themen-at-arms must fight, and God shall give the victory. " She saw noother deliverance than through fighting, and fighting bravely, andheroically, as the means of success. She was commissioned, she said, tostimulate the men to fight, --not to pray, but to fight. She promised norescue by supernatural means, but only through natural forces. Francewas not to despond, but to take courage, and fight. There was noimposture about her, only zeal and good sense, to impress upon thecountry the necessity of bravery and renewed exertions. The Maid set out for the deliverance of the besieged city in a man'sattire, deeming it more modest under her circumstances, and exposing herto fewer annoyances. She was arrayed in a suit of beautiful armor, witha banner after her own device, --white, embroidered with lilies, --and asword which had been long buried behind the altar of a church. Under herinspiring influence an army of six thousand men was soon collected, commanded by the ablest and most faithful generals who remained to theKing, and accompanied by the Archbishop of Rheims, who, though he had nogreat faith in her claims, yet saw in her a fitting instrument to arousethe people from despair. Before setting out from Blois she dictated aletter to the English captains before the besieged city, which to themmust have seemed arrogant, insulting, and absurd, in which shecommanded them in God's name to return to their own country, assuringthem that they fought not merely against the French, but against Him, and hence would be defeated. The French captains had orders to obey their youthful leader, but notseeing the wisdom of her directions to march to Orleans on the northside of the Loire, they preferred to keep the river between them and theforts of the English. Not daring to disobey her, they misled her as tothe position of Orleans, and advanced by the south bank, which proved amistake, and called forth her indignation, since she did not profess tobe governed by military rules, but by divine direction. The city hadbeen defended by a series of forts and other fortifications of greatstrength, all of which had fallen into the hands of the besiegers; onlythe walls of the city remained. Joan succeeded in effecting an entrancefor herself on a white charger through one of the gates, and the peoplethronged to meet her as an angel of deliverance, with the wildestdemonstrations of joy. Her first act was to repair to the cathedral andoffer up thanks to God; her next was to summon the enemy to retire. Inthe course of a few days the French troops entered the city withsupplies. They then issued from the gates to retake the fortifications, which were well defended, cheered and encouraged by the heroic Maid, whostimulated them to daring deeds. The French were successful in theirfirst assault, which seemed a miracle to the English yeomen, who nowfelt that they were attacked by unseen forces. Then other forts wereassailed with equal success, Joan seeming like an inspired heroine, withher eyes flashing, and her charmed standard waving on to victory. Thefeats of valor which the French performed were almost incredible. Joanherself did not fight, but stimulated the heroism of her troops. Thecaptains led the assault; the Maid directed their movements. After mostof the forts were retaken, the troops wished to rest. Joan knew no rest, nor fear, nor sense of danger. She would hear of no cessation frombloody strife until all the fortifications were regained. At the assaulton the last fort she herself was wounded; but she was as insensible topain as she was to fear. As soon as her wound was dressed she hurried tothe ramparts, and encouraged the troops, who were disposed to retire. Byevening the last fort or bastile was taken, and the English retired, baffled and full of vengeance. The city was delivered. The siege wasraised. Not an Englishman survived south of the Loire. But only part of the mission of this heroic woman was fulfilled. She haddelivered Orleans and saved the southern provinces. She had now the moredifficult work to perform of crowning the King in the consecrated city, which was in the hands of the enemy, as well as the whole countrybetween Orleans and Rheims. This task seemed to the King and his courtto be absolutely impossible. So was the raising of the siege of Orleans, according to all rules of war. Although priests, nobles, and scholarshad praised the courage and intrepidity of Joan, and exhorted the nationto trust her, since God seemed to help her, yet to capture a series offortified cities which were in possession of superior forces seemed anabsurdity. Only the common people had full faith in her, for as she wassupposed to be specially aided by God, nothing seemed to them animpossibility. They looked upon her as raised up to do most wonderfulthings, --as one directly inspired. This faith in a girl of eighteenwould not have been possible but for her exalted character. Amid themost searching cross-examinations from the learned, she commandedrespect by the wisdom of her replies. Every inquiry had been made as toher rural life and character, and nothing could be said against her, butmuch in her favor; especially her absorbing piety, gentleness, deeds ofbenevolence, and utter unselfishness. There was, therefore, a great admiration and respect for this girl, leading to the kindest and most honorable treatment of her from bothprelates and nobles. But it was not a chivalric admiration; she did notbelong to a noble family, nor did she defend an institution. She wasregarded as a second Deborah, commissioned to deliver a people. Norcould a saint have done her work. Bernard could kindle a crusade by hiseloquence, but he could not have delivered Orleans; it required some onewho could excite idolatrous homage. Only a woman, in that age, waslikely to be deified by the people, --some immaculate virgin. Our remoteGerman ancestors had in their native forests a peculiar reverence forwoman. The priestesses of Germanic forests had often incited to battle. Their warnings or encouragements were regarded as voices from Heaven. Perhaps the deification and worship of the Virgin Mary--so hearty andpoetical in the Middle Ages--may have indirectly aided the mission ofthe Maid of Orleans. The common people saw one of their own order ariseand do marvellous things, bringing kings and nobles to her cause. Howcould she thus triumph over all the inequalities of feudalism unlessdivinely commissioned? How could she work what seemed to be almostmiracles if she had not a supernatural power to assist her? Like the_regina angelorum_, she was _virgo castissima_. And if she was unlikecommon mortals, perhaps an inspired woman, what she promised would befulfilled. In consequence of such a feeling an unbounded enthusiasm wasexcited among the people. They were ready to do her bidding, whetherreasonable or unreasonable to them, for there was a sacred mysteryabout her, --a reverence that extorted obedience. Worldly-wise statesmenand prelates had not this unbounded admiration, although they doubtlessregarded her as a moral phenomenon which they could not understand. Heradvice seemed to set aside all human prudence. Nothing seemed more rashor unreasonable than to undertake the conquest of so many fortifiedcities with such feeble means. It was one thing to animate starvingtroops to a desperate effort for their deliverance; it was another toassault fortified cities held by the powerful forces which had nearlycompleted the conquest of France. The King came to meet the Maid at Tours, and would have bestowed uponher royal honors, for she had rendered a great service. But it was nothonors she wanted. She seemed to be indifferent to all personal rewards, and even praises. She wanted only one thing, --an immediate march toRheims. She even pleaded like a sensible general. She entreated Charlesto avail himself of the panic which the raising of the siege of Orleanshad produced, before the English could recover from it and bringreinforcements. But the royal council hesitated. It would imperil theKing's person to march through a country guarded by hostile troops; andeven if he could reach Rheims, it would be more difficult to take thecity than to defend Orleans. The King had no money to pay for an army. The enterprise was not only hazardous but impossible, the royalcounsellors argued. But to this earnest and impassioned woman, seeingonly one point, there was no such thing as impossibility. The thing_must_ be done. The council gave reasons; she brushed them away ascobwebs. What is impossible for God to do? Then they asked her if sheheard the voices. She answered, Yes; that she had prayed in secret, complaining of unbelief, and that the voice came to her, which said, "Daughter of God, go on, go on! I will be thy help!" Her whole faceglowed and shone like the face of an angel. The King, half persuaded, agreed to go to Rheims, but not until theEnglish had been driven from the Loire. An army was assembled under thecommand of the Duke of Alençon, with orders to do nothing without theMaid's advice. Joan went to Selles to prepare for the campaign, andrejoined the army mounted on a black charger, while a page carried herfurled banner. The first success was against Jargeau, a stronglyfortified town, where she was wounded; but she was up in a moment, andthe place was carried, and Joan and Alençon returned in triumph toOrleans. They then advanced against Baugé, another strong place, notmerely defended by the late besiegers of Orleans, but a powerful armyunder Sir John Falstaff and Talbot was advancing to relieve it. YetBaugé capitulated, the English being panic-stricken, before the citycould be relieved. Then the French and English forces encountered eachother in the open field: victory sided with the French; and Falstaffhimself fled, with the loss of three thousand men. The whole districtthen turned against the English, who retreated towards Paris; while aboundless enthusiasm animated the whole French army. Soldiers and leaders now were equally eager for the march to Rheims; yetthe King ingloriously held back, and the coronation seemed to be asdistant as ever. But Joan with unexampled persistency insisted on animmediate advance, and the King reluctantly set out for Rheims withtwelve thousand men. The first great impediment was the important cityof Troyes, which was well garrisoned. After five days were spent beforeit, and famine began to be felt in the camp, the military leaders wishedto raise the siege and return to the south. The Maid implored them topersevere, promising the capture of the city within three days. "Wewould wait six, " said the Archbishop of Rheims, the chancellor and chiefadviser of the King, "if we were certain we could take it. " Joan mountedher horse, made preparations for the assault, cheered the soldiers, working far into the night; and the next day the city surrendered, andCharles, attended by Joan and his nobles, triumphantly entered the city. The prestige of the Maid carried the day. The English soldiers darednot contend with one who seemed to be a favorite of Heaven. They hadheard of Orleans and Jargeau. Chalons followed the example of Troyes. Then Rheims, when the English learned of the surrender of Troyes andChalons, made no resistance; and in less than a month after the marchhad begun, the King entered the city, and was immediately crowned by theArchbishop, Joan standing by his side holding her sacred banner. Thiscoronation was a matter of great political importance. Charles had arival in the youthful King of England. The succession was disputed. Whoever should first be crowned in the city where the ancient kings wereconsecrated was likely to be acknowledged by the nation. The mission of Joan was now accomplished. She had done what shepromised, amid incredible difficulties. And now, kneeling before heranointed sovereign, she said, "Gracious King, now is fulfilled thepleasure of God!" And as she spoke she wept. She had given a king toFrance; and she had given France to her king. Not by might, not by powerhad she done this, but by the Spirit of the Lord. She asked no otherreward for her magnificent service than that her native village shouldbe forever exempt from taxation. Feeling that the work for which she wasraised up was done, she would willingly have retired to the seclusion ofher mountain home, but the leaders of France, seeing how much she wasadored by the people, were not disposed to part with so great aninstrument of success. And Joan, too, entered with zeal upon those military movements whichwere to drive away forever the English from the soil of France. Hercareer had thus far been one of success and boundless enthusiasm; butnow the tide turned, and her subsequent life was one of signal failure. Her only strength was in the voices which had bidden her to deliverOrleans and to crown the King. She had no genius for war. Though stillbrave and dauntless, though still preserving her innocence and herpiety, she now made mistakes. She was also thwarted in her plans. Shebecame, perhaps, self-assured and self-confident, and assumedprerogatives that only belonged to the King and his ministers, which hadthe effect of alienating them. They never secretly admired her, norfully trusted her. Charles made a truce with the great Duke of Burgundy, who was in alliance with the English. Joan vehemently denounced thetruce, and urged immediate and uncompromising action; but timidity, orpolicy, or political intrigues, defeated her counsels. The King wishedto regain Paris by negotiation; all his movements were dilatory. At lasthis forces approached the capital, and occupied St. Denis. It wasdetermined to attack the city. One corps was led by Joan; but in theattack she was wounded, and her troops, in spite of her, were forced toretreat. Notwithstanding the retreat and her wound, however, shepersevered, though now all to no purpose. The King himself retired, andthe attack became a failure. Still Joan desired to march upon Paris fora renewed attack; but the King would not hear of it, and she was sentwith troops badly equipped to besiege La Charité, where she againfailed. For four weary months she remained inactive. She grew desperate;the voices neither encouraged nor discouraged her. She was now full ofsad forebodings, yet her activity continued. She repaired to Compiègne, a city already besieged by the enemy, which she wished to relieve. In asortie she was outnumbered, and was defeated and taken prisoner by Johnof Luxemburg, a vassal of the Duke of Burgundy. The news of this capture produced great exhilaration among the Englishand Burgundians. Had a great victory been won, the effect could not havebeen greater. It broke the spell. The Maid was human, like other women;and her late successes were attributed not to her inspiration, but todemoniacal enchantments. She was looked upon as a witch or as asorceress, and was now guarded with especial care for fear of a rescue, and sent to a strong castle belonging to John of Luxemburg. In Paris, onreceipt of the news, the Duke of Bedford caused _Te Deums_ to be sungin all the churches, and the University and the Vicar of the Inquisitiondemanded of the Duke of Burgundy that she should be delivered toecclesiastical justice. The remarkable thing connected with the capture of the Maid was that solittle effort was made to rescue her. She had rendered to Charles aninestimable service, and yet he seems to have deserted her; neither henor his courtiers appeared to regret her captivity, --probably becausethey were jealous of her. Gratitude was not one of the virtues of feudalkings. What sympathy could feudal barons have with a low-born peasantgirl? They had used her; but when she could be useful no longer, theyforgot her. Out of sight she was out of mind; and if remembered at all, she was regarded as one who could no longer provoke jealousy. Jealousyis a devouring passion, especially among nobles. The generals of CharlesVII. Could not bear to have it said that the rescue of France waseffected, not by their abilities, but by the inspired enthusiasm of apeasant girl. She had scorned intrigues and baseness, and these markedall the great actors on the stage of history in that age. So they saidit was a judgment of Heaven upon her because she would not hear counsel. "No offer for her ransom, no threats of vengeance came from beyond theLoire. " But the English, who had suffered most from the loss of Orleans, were eager to get possession of her person, and were willing even topay extravagant rewards for her delivery into their hands. They hadtheir vengeance to gratify. They also wished it to appear that CharlesVII. Was aided by the Devil; that his cause was not the true one; thatHenry VI. Was the true sovereign of France. The more they could throwdiscredit and obloquy upon the Maid of Orleans, the better their causewould seem. It was not as a prisoner of war that the English wanted her, but as a victim, whose sorceries could only be punished by death. Butthey could not try her and condemn her until they could get possessionof her; and they could not get possession of her unless they bought her. The needy John of Luxemburg sold her to the English for ten thousandlivres, and the Duke of Burgundy received political favors. The agent employed by the English in this nefarious business wasCouchon, the Bishop of Beauvais, who had been driven out of his city byJoan, --an able and learned man, who aspired to the archbishopric ofRouen. He set to work to inflame the University of Paris and theInquisition against her. The Duke of Bedford did not venture to bringhis prize to Paris, but determined to try her in Rouen; and the trialwas intrusted to the Bishop of Beauvais, who conducted it after theforms of the Inquisition. It was simply a trial for heresy. Joan tried for heresy! On that ground there was never a more innocentperson tried by the Inquisition. Her whole life was notoriouslyvirtuous. She had been obedient to the Church; she had advanced nodoctrines which were not orthodox. She was too ignorant to be a heretic;she had accepted whatever her spiritual teacher had taught her; in fact, she was a Catholic saint. She lived in the ecstasies of religious faithlike a Saint Theresa. She spent her time in prayer and religiousexercises; she regularly confessed, and partook of the sacraments of theChurch. She did not even have a single sceptical doubt; she simplyaffirmed that she obeyed voices that came from God. Nothing could be more cruel than the treatment of this heroic girl, andall under the forms of ecclesiastical courts. It was the diabolicaldesign of her enemies to make it appear that she had acted under theinfluence of the Devil; that she was a heretic and a sorceress. Nothingcould be more forlorn than her condition. No efforts had been made toransom her. She was alone, and unsupported by friends, having not asingle friendly counsellor. She was carried to the castle of Rouen andput in an iron cage, and chained to its bars; she was guarded by brutalsoldiers, was mocked by those who came to see her, and finally wassummoned before her judges predetermined on her death. They went throughthe forms of trial, hoping to extort from the Maid some damagingconfessions, or to entangle her with their sophistical and artfulquestions. Nothing perhaps on our earth has ever been done morediabolically than under the forms of ecclesiastical law; nothing can bemore atrocious than the hypocrisies and acts of inquisitors. The judgesof Joan extorted from her that she had revelations, but she refused toreveal what these had been. She was asked whether she was in a state ofgrace. If she said she was not, she would be condemned as an outcastfrom divine favor; if she said she was, she would be condemned forspiritual pride. All such traps were set for this innocent girl. But sheacquitted herself wonderfully well, and showed extraordinary good sense. She warded off their cunning and puerile questions. They tried everymeans to entrap her. They asked her in what shape Saint Michael hadappeared to her; whether or no he was naked; whether he had hair;whether she understood the feelings of those who had once kissed herfeet; whether she had not cursed God in her attempt to escape atBeauvoir; whether it was for her merit that God sent His angel; whetherGod hated the English; whether her victory was founded on her banner oron herself; when had she learned to ride a horse. The judges framed seventy accusations against her, mostly frivolous, andsome unjust, --to the effect that she had received no religious training;that she had worn mandrake; that she dressed in man's attire; that shehad bewitched her banner and her ring; that she believed her apparitionswere saints and angels; that she had blasphemed; and other chargesequally absurd. Under her rigid trials she fell sick; but they restoredher, reserving her for a more cruel fate. All the accusations andreplies were sent to Paris, and the learned doctors decreed, underEnglish influence, that Joan was a heretic and a sorceress. After another series of insulting questions, she was taken to themarket-place of Rouen to receive sentence, and then returned to hergloomy prison, where they mercifully allowed her to confess and receivethe sacrament. She was then taken in a cart, under guard of eighthundred soldiers, to the place of execution; rudely dragged to thefuneral pile, fastened to a stake, and fire set to the faggots. Sheexpired, exclaiming, "Jesus, Jesus! My voices, my voices!" Thus was sacrificed one of the purest and noblest women in the wholehistory of the world, --a woman who had been instrumental in deliveringher country, but without receiving either honor or gratitude from thosefor whom she had fought and conquered. She died a martyr to the cause ofpatriotism, --not for religion, but for her country. She died amongenemies, unsupported by friends or by those whom she had so greatlybenefited, and with as few religious consolations as it was possible togive. Never was there greater cruelty and injustice inflicted on aninnocent and noble woman. The utmost ingenuity of vindictive priestsnever extorted from her a word which criminated her, though theysubjected her to inquisitorial examinations for days and weeks. Burnedas an infidel, her last words recognized the Saviour in whom shebelieved; burned as a witch, she never confessed to anything but thevoices of God. Her heroism, even at the stake, should have called outpity and admiration; but her tormentors were insensible to both. She wasburned really from vengeance, because she had turned the tide ofconquest. "The Jews, " says Michelet, "never exhibited the rage againstJesus that the English did against the Pucelle, " in whom purity, sweetness, and heroic goodness dwelt. Never was her life stained by asingle cruel act. In the midst of her torments she did not reproach hertormentors. In the midst of her victories she wept for the souls ofthose who were killed; and while she incited others to combat, sheherself did not use her sword. In man's attire she showed a woman'ssoul. Pity and gentleness were as marked as courage and self-confidence. It is one of the most insolvable questions in history why so littleeffort was made by the French to save the Maid's life. It is strangethat the University of Paris should have decided against her, after shehad rendered such transcendent services. Why should the priests of thatage have treated her as a witch, when she showed all the traits of anangel? Why should not the most unquestioning faith have preserved herfrom the charge of heresy? Alas! she was only a peasant girl, and thegreat could not bear to feel that the country had been saved by apeasant. Even chivalry, which worshipped women, did not come to Joan'said. How great must have been feudal distinctions when such a heroicwoman was left to perish! How deep the ingratitude of the King and hiscourt, to have made no effort to save her! Joan made one mistake: after the coronation of Charles VII. She shouldhave retired from the field of war, for her work was done. Such atranscendent heroism could not have sunk into obscurity. But this wasnot to be; she was to die as a martyr to her cause. After her death the English carried on war with new spirit for a time, and Henry VI. Of England was crowned in Paris, at Notre Dame. He wascrowned, however, by an English, not by a French prelate. None of thegreat French nobles even were present. The coronation was a failure. Gradually all France was won over to the side of Charles. He was acontemptible monarch, but he was the legitimate King of France. Allclasses desired peace; all parties were weary of war. The Treaty ofArras, in 1435, restored peace between Charles and Philip of Burgundy;and in the same year the Duke of Bedford died. In 1436 Charles tookpossession of Paris. In 1445 Henry VI. Married Margaret of Anjou, akinswoman of Charles VII. In 1448 Charles invaded Normandy, and expelledthe English from the duchy which for four hundred years had belonged tothe kings of England. Soon after Guienne fell. In 1453 Calais aloneremained to England, after a war of one hundred years. At last a tardy justice was done to the memory of her who had turned thetide of conquest. The King, ungrateful as he had been, now ennobled herfamily and their descendants, even in the female line, and bestowed uponthem pensions and offices. In 1452, twenty years after the martyrdom, the Pope commissioned the Archbishop of Rheims and two other prelates, aided by an inquisitor, to inquire into the trial of Joan of Arc. Theymet in Notre Dame. Messengers were sent into the country where she wasborn, to inquire into her history; and all testified--priests andpeasants--to the moral beauty of her character, to her innocent andblameless life, her heroism in battle, and her good sense in counsel. And the decision of the prelates was that her visions came from God;that the purity of her motives and the good she did to her countryjustified her in leaving her parents and wearing a man's dress. Theypronounced the trial at Rouen to have been polluted with wrong andcalumny, and freed her name from every shadow of disgrace. The people ofOrleans instituted an annual religious festival to her honor. The Dukeof Orleans gave a grant of land to her brothers, who were ennobled. Thepeople of Rouen raised a stone cross to her memory in the market-placewhere she was burned. In later times, the Duchess of Orleans, wife ofthe son and heir of Louis Philippe, modelled with her own hands anexquisite statue of Joan of Arc. But the most beautiful and impressivetribute which has ever been paid to her name and memory was a _fête_ ofthree days' continuance, in 1856, on the anniversary of the deliveranceof Orleans, when the celebrated Bishop Dupanloup pronounced one of themost eloquent eulogies ever offered to the memory of a heroine orbenefactor. That ancient city never saw so brilliant a spectacle as thatwhich took place in honor of its immortal deliverer, who was executed socruelly under the superintendence of a Christian bishop, --one of thoseiniquities in the name of justice which have so often been perpetratedon this earth. It was a powerful nation which killed her, and oneequally powerful which abandoned her. But the martyrdom of Joan of Arc is an additional confirmation of thetruth that it is only by self-sacrifice that great deliverances havebeen effected. Nothing in the moral government of God is more mysteriousthan the fate which usually falls to the lot of great benefactors. To usit seems sad and unjust; and nothing can reconcile us to the same butthe rewards of a future and higher life. And yet amid the flames therearise the voices which save nations. Joan of Arc bequeathed to hercountry, especially to the common people, some great lessons; namely, not to despair amid great national calamities; to believe in God as thetrue deliverer from impending miseries, who, however, works throughnatural causes, demanding personal heroism as well as faith. There wasgreat grandeur in that peasant girl, --in her exalted faith at Domremy, in her heroism at Orleans, in her triumph at Rheims, in her trial andmartyrdom at Rouen. But unless she had suffered, nothing would haveremained of this grandeur in the eyes of posterity. The injustice andmeanness with which she was treated have created a lasting sympathy forher in the hearts of her nation. She was great because she died for hercountry, serene and uncomplaining amid injustice, cruelty, andingratitude, --the injustice of an ecclesiastical court presided over bya learned bishop; the cruelty of the English generals and nobles; theingratitude of her own sovereign, who made no effort to redeem her. Shewas sold by one potentate to another as if she were merchandise, --as ifshe were a slave. And those graces and illuminations which under othercircumstances would have exalted her into a catholic saint, like anElizabeth of Hungary or a Catherine of Sienna, were turned against her, by diabolical executioners, as a proof of heresy and sorcery. We repeatagain, never was enacted on this earth a greater injustice. Never did amartyr perish with more triumphant trust in the God whose aid she had souniformly invoked. And it was this triumphant Christian faith as sheascended the funeral pyre which has consecrated the visions and thevoices under whose inspiration the Maid led a despairing nation tovictory and a glorious future. AUTHORITIES. Monstrelets' Chronicles; Cousinot's Chronique de la Pucelle; Histoire etDiscours du Siège, published by the city of Orleans in 1576; Sismondi'sHistoire des Français; De Barante's Histoire des Dues de Bourgogne;Michelet and Henri Martin's Histories of France; Vallet de Viriville'sHistoire de Charles VII. ; Henri Wallon; Janet Tuckey's Life of Joan ofArc, published by Putnam, 1880. SAINT THERESA. * * * * * A. D. 1515-1582. RELIGIOUS ENTHUSIASM. I have already painted in Cleopatra, to the best of my ability, thePagan woman of antiquity, revelling in the pleasures of vanity andsensuality, with a feeble moral sense, and without any distinctrecognition of God or of immortality. The genius of Paganism was simplythe deification of the Venus Polyhymnia, --the adornment and pleasure ofwhat is perishable in man. It directed all the energies of human natureto the pampering and decorating of this mortal body, not believing thatthe mind and soul which animate it, and which are the sources of all itsglory, would ever live beyond the grave. A few sages believeddifferently, --men who rose above the spirit of Paganism, but not suchmen as Alexander, or Caesar, or Antony, the foremost men of all theworld in grand ambitions and successes. Taking it for granted that thisworld is the only theatre for enjoyment, or action, or thought, mennaturally said, "Let us eat and drink and be merry, for to-morrow wedie. " And hence no higher life was essayed than that which furnishedsensual enjoyments, or incited an ambition to be strong and powerful. Ofcourse, riches were sought above everything, since these furnished themeans of gratifying those pleasures which were most valued, orstimulating that vanity whose essence is self-idolatry. With this universal rush of humanity after pleasures which centred inthe body, the soul was left dishonored and uncared for, except by a fewphilosophers. I do not now speak of the mind, for there wereintellectual pleasures derived from conversation, books, and works ofart. And some called the mind divine, in distinction from matter; somespeculated on the nature of each, and made mind and matter in perpetualantagonism, as the good and evil forces of the universe. But theprevailing opinion was that the whole man perished, or became absorbedin the elemental forces of nature, or reappeared again in new forms uponthe earth, to expiate those sins of which human nature is conscious. Tosome men were given longings after immortality, not absoluteconvictions, --men like Plato, Socrates, and Cicero. But I do not speakof these illustrious exceptions; I mean the great mass of the people, especially the rich and powerful and pleasure-seeking, --those whosesupreme delight was in banquets, palaces, or intoxicating excitements, like chariot-racings and gladiatorial shows; yea, triumphal processionsto raise the importance of the individual self, and stimulate vanityand pride. Hence Paganism put a small value, comparatively, on even intellectualenjoyments. It cultivated those arts which appealed to the senses morethan to the mind; it paid dearly for any sort of intellectual trainingwhich could be utilized, --oratory, for instance, to enable a lawyer togain a case, or a statesman to control a mob; it rewarded those poetswho could sing blended praises to Bacchus and Venus, or who could excitethe passions at the theatre. But it paid still higher prices to athletesand dancers, and almost no price at all to those who sought to stimulatea love of knowledge for its own sake, --men like Socrates, for example, who walked barefooted, and lived on fifty dollars a year, and who atlast was killed out of pure hatred for the truths he told and the mannerin which he told them, --this martyrdom occurring in the mostintellectual city of the world. In both Greece and Rome there was anintellectual training for men bent on utilitarian ends; even as we endowschools of science and technology to enable us to conquer nature, and tobecome strong and rich and comfortable; but there were no schools forwomen, whose intellects were disdained, and who were valued only asservants or animals, --either to drudge, or to please the senses. But even if there were some women in Paganism of high mentaleducation, --if women sometimes rose above their servile condition bypure intellect, and amused men by their wit and humor, --still theirsouls were little thought of. Now, it is the soul of woman--not hermind, and still less her body--which elevates her, and makes her, insome important respects, the superior of man himself. He has dominionover her by force of will, intellect, and physical power. When she hasdominion over him, it is by those qualities which come from hersoul, --her superior nature, greater than both mind and body. Paganismnever recognized the superior nature, especially in woman, --that whichmust be fed, even in this world, or there will be constant unrest anddiscontent. And inasmuch as Paganism did not feed it, women wereunhappy, especially those who had great capacities. They may have beencomfortable, but they were not contented. Hence, women made no great advance either in happiness or in power, until Christianity revealed the greatness of the soul, its perpetuallongings, its infinite capacities, and its future satisfactions. Thespiritual exercises of the soul then became the greatest source ofcomfort amid those evils which once ended in despair. With every truebeliever, the salvation of so precious a thing necessarily became theend of life, for Christianity taught that the soul might be lost. Inview of the soul's transcendent value, therefore, the pleasures of thebody became of but little account in comparison. Riches are good, poweris desirable; eating and drinking are very pleasant; praise, flattery, admiration, --all these things delight us, and under Paganism were soughtand prized. But Christianity said, "What shall a man give in exchangefor his soul?" Christianity, then, set about in earnest to rescue this soul whichPaganism had disregarded. In consequence of this, women began to rise, and shine in a new light. They gained a new charm, even moralbeauty, --yea, a new power, so that they could laugh at ancient foes, andsay triumphantly, when those foes sought to crush them, "O Grave, whereis thy victory? O Death, where is thy sting?" There is no beauty amongwomen like this moral beauty, whose seat is in the soul. It is not onlya radiance, but it is a defence: it protects women from the wrath andpassion of men. With glory irradiating every feature, it says to theboldest, Thus far shalt thou come and no farther. It is a benediction tothe poor and a welcome to the rich. It shines with such unspeakableloveliness, so rich in blessing and so refined in ecstasy, that men gazewith more than admiration, even with sentiments bordering on thatadoration which the Middle Ages felt for the mother of our Lord, andwhich they also bestowed upon departed saints. In the immortal paintingsof Raphael and Murillo we get some idea of this moral beauty, which isso hard to copy. So woman passed gradually from contempt and degradation to theveneration of men, when her soul was elevated by the power whichPaganism never knew. But Christianity in the hands of degenerate Romansand Gothic barbarians made many mistakes in its efforts to save sopriceless a thing as a human soul. Among other things, it institutedmonasteries and convents, both for men and women, in which they soughtto escape the contaminating influences which had degraded them. IfPaganism glorified the body, monasticism despised it. In the fierceprotests against the peculiar sins which had marked Paganlife, --gluttony, wine-drinking, unchastity, ostentatious vanities, andturbulent mirth, --monasticism decreed abstinence, perpetual virginity, the humblest dress, the entire disuse of ornaments, silence, andmeditation. These were supposed to disarm the demons who led into foultemptation. Moreover, monasticism encouraged whatever it thought wouldmake the soul triumphant over the body, almost independent of it. Whatever would feed the soul, it said, should be sought, and whateverwould pamper the body should be avoided. As a natural consequence of all this, piety gradually came to seek itsmost congenial home in monastic retreats, and to take on a dreamy, visionary, and introspective mood. The "saints" saw visions of bothangels and devils, and a superstitious age believed in theirrevelations. The angels appeared to comfort and sustain the soul intemptations and trials, and the devils came to pervert and torment it. Good judgment and severe criticism were lost to the Church; and, moreover, the gloomy theology of the Middle Ages, all based on the fearsof endless physical torments, --for the wretched body was the source ofall evil, and therefore must be punished, --gave sometimes a repulsiveform to piety itself. Intellectually, that piety now excites ourcontempt, because it was so much mixed up with dreams and ecstasies andvisions and hallucinations. It produces a moral aversion also, becauseit was austere, inhuman, and sometimes cruel. Both monks and nuns, whenthey conformed to the rules of their order, were sad, solitary, dreary-looking people, although their faces shone occasionally in thelight of ecstatic visions of heaven and the angels. But whatever mistakes monasticism made, however repulsive the religiouslife of the Middle Ages, --in fact, all its social life, --still it mustbe admitted that the aim of the time was high. Men and women wereenslaved by superstitions, but they were not Pagan. Our own age is, insome respects, more Pagan than were the darkest times of mediaevalviolence and priestly despotism, since we are reviving the very thingsagainst which Christianity protested as dangerous and false, --thepomps, the banquets, the ornaments, the arts of the old Pagan world. Now, all this is preliminary to what I have to say of Saint Theresa. Wecannot do justice to this remarkable woman without considering thesentiments of her day, and those circumstances that controlled her. Wecannot properly estimate her piety--that for which she was made a saintin the Roman calendar--without being reminded of the different estimatewhich Paganism and Christianity placed upon the soul, and consequentlythe superior condition of women in our modern times. Nor must we treatlightly or sneeringly that institution which was certainly one of thesteps by which women rose in the scale both of religious and socialprogress. For several ages nuns were the only charitable women, exceptqueens and princesses, of whom we have record. But they were drawn totheir calm retreats, not merely to serve God more effectually, normerely to perform deeds of charity, but to study. As we have elsewheresaid, the convents in those days were schools no less than asylums andhospitals, and were especially valued for female education. However, inthese retreats religion especially became a passion. There was a fervorin it which in our times is unknown. It was not a matter of opinion, butof faith. In these times there may be more wisdom, but in the MiddleAges there was more zeal and more unselfishness and more intensity, --allwhich is illustrated by the sainted woman I propose to speak of. Saint Theresa was born at Avila, in Castile, in the year 1515, at theclose of the Middle Ages; but she really belonged to the Middle Ages, since all the habits, customs, and opinions of Spain at that time weremediaeval. The Reformation never gained a foothold in Spain. None of itsdoctrines penetrated that country, still less modified or changed itsreligious customs, institutions, or opinions. And hence Saint Theresavirtually belonged to the age of Bernard, and Anselm, and Elizabeth ofHungary. She was of a good family as much distinguished for virtues asfor birth. Both her father and mother were very religious and studious, reading good books, and practising the virtues which Catholicism everenjoined, --alms-giving to the poor, and kindness to the sick andinfirm, --truthful, chaste, temperate, and God-fearing. They had twelvechildren, all good, though Theresa seems to have been the favorite, fromher natural sprightliness and enthusiasm. Among the favorite books ofthe Middle Ages were the lives of saints and martyrs; and the history ofthese martyrs made so great an impression on the mind of the youthfulTheresa that she and one of her brothers meditated a flight into Africathat they might be put to death by the Moors, and thus earn the crownof martyrdom, as well as the eternal rewards in heaven which martyrdomwas supposed to secure. This scheme being defeated by their parents, they sought to be hermits in the garden which belonged to their house, playing the part of monks and nuns. At eleven, Theresa lost her mother, and took to reading romances, which, it seems, were books of knight-errantry, at the close of the chivalricperiod. These romances were innumerable, and very extravagant andabsurd, and were ridiculed by Cervantes, half-a-century afterwards, inhis immortal "Don Quixote. " Although Spain was mediaeval in its piety inthe sixteenth century, this was the period of its highest intellectualculture, especially in the drama. De Vega and Cervantes were enough ofthemselves to redeem Spain from any charges of intellectual stupidity. But for the Inquisition, and the Dominican monks, and the Jesuits, andthe demoralization which followed the conquests of Cortés and Pizarro, Spain might have rivalled Germany, France, and England in the greatnessof her literature. At this time there must have been considerablecultivation among the class to which Theresa belonged. Although she never was sullied by what are called mortal sins, it wouldappear that as a girl of fourteen Theresa was, like most other girls, fond of dress and perfumes and ornaments, elaborate hair-dressing, andof anything which would make the person attractive. Her companions alsowere gay young ladies of rank, as fond of finery as she was, whoseconversation was not particularly edifying, but whose morals were abovereproach. Theresa was sent to a convent in her native town by herfather, that she might be removed from the influence of gay companions, especially her male cousins, who could not be denied the house. At firstshe was quite unhappy, finding the convent dull, _triste_, and strict. Icannot conceive of a convent being a very pleasant place for a worldlyyoung lady, in any country or in any age of the world. Its monotony androutine and mechanical duties must ever have been irksome. The pleasingmanners and bright conversation of Theresa caused the nuns to take anunusual interest in her; and one of them in particular exercised a greatinfluence upon her, so that she was inclined at times to become a nunherself, though not of a very strict order, since she was still fond ofthe pleasures of the world. At sixteen, Theresa's poor health made it necessary for her to return toher father's house. When she recovered she spent some time with heruncle, afterwards a monk, who made her read good books, and impressedupon her the vanity of the world. In a few months she resolved to becomea nun, --out of servile fear rather than love, as she avers. The wholereligious life of the Middle Ages was based on fear, --the fear of beingtortured forever by devils and hell. So universal and powerful was thisfear that it became the leading idea of the age, from which very fewwere ever emancipated. On this idea were based the excommunications, theinterdicts, and all the spiritual weapons by which the clergy ruled theminds of the people. On this their ascendency rested; they would havehad but little power without it. It was therefore their interest toperpetuate it. And as they ruled by exciting fears, so they themselveswere objects of fear rather than of love. All this tended to make the Middle Ages gloomy, funereal, repulsive, austere. There was a time when I felt a sort of poetic interest in thesedark times, and called them ages of faith; but the older I grow, and themore I read and reflect, the more dreary do those ages seem to me. Thinkof a state of society when everything suggested wrath and vengeance, even in the character of God, and when this world was supposed to beunder the dominion of devils! Think of an education which impressed onthe minds of interesting young girls that the trifling sins which theycommitted every day, and which proceeded from the exuberance of animalspirits, justly doomed them to everlasting burnings, withoutexpiations, --a creed so cruel as to undermine the health, and make lifeitself a misery! Think of a spiritual despotism so complete thatconfessors and spiritual fathers could impose or remove theseexpiations, and thus open the door to heaven or hell! And yet this despotism was the logical result of a generally acceptedidea, instead of the idea being an outgrowth of the despotism, since theclergy, who controlled society by working on its fears, were themselvesas complete victims and slaves as the people whom they led. This ideawas that the soul would be lost unless sins were expiated, and expiatedby self-inflicted torments on the body. Paul taught a more cheerfuldoctrine of forgiveness, based on divine and infinite love, --on faithand repentance. The Middle Ages also believed in repentance, but taughtthat repentance and penance were synonymous. The asceticism of theChurch in its conflict with Paganism led to this perversion of apostolictheology. The very idea that Christianity was sent to subvert, --that is, the old Oriental idea of self-expiation, seen among the fakirs and sofisand Brahmins alike, and in a less repulsive form among thePharisees, --became once again the ruling idea of theologians. Thetheologians of the Middle Ages taught this doctrine of penance andself-expiation with peculiar zeal and sincerity; and fear rather thanlove ruled the Christian world. Hence the austerity of convent life. Itspiety centred in the perpetual crucifixion of the body, in thesuppression of desires and pleasures which are perfectly innocent. Thehighest ideal of Christian life, according to convent rules, was aliving and protracted martyrdom, and in some cases even the degradationof our common humanity. Christianity nowhere enjoins the eradication ofpassions and appetites, but the control of them. It would not mutilateand disfigure the body, for it is a sacred temple, to be made beautifuland attractive. On the other hand the Middle Ages strove to make thebody appear repulsive, and the most loathsome forms of misery anddisease to be hailed as favorite modes of penance. And as Christsuffered agonies on the cross, so the imitation of Christ was supposedto be a cheerful and ready acceptance of voluntary humiliation andbodily torments, --the more dreadful to bear, the more acceptable toDeity as a propitiation for sin. Is this statement denied? Read thebiographies of the saints of the Middle Ages. See how penance, andvoluntary suffering, and unnecessary exposure of the health, and eagerattention to the sick in loathsome and contagious diseases, and theseverest and most protracted fastings and vigils, enter into theirpiety; and how these extorted popular admiration, and received theapplause and rewards of the rulers of the Church. I never read a bookwhich left on my mind such repulsive impressions of mediaeval piety asthe Life of Catherine of Sienna, by her confessor, --himself one of thegreat ecclesiastical dignitaries of the age. I never read anything sodebasing and degrading to our humanity. One turns with disgust from thenarration of her lauded penances. So we see in the Church of the Middle Ages--the Church of SaintTheresa--two great ideas struggling for the mastery, yet both obscuredand perverted: faith in a crucified Redeemer, which gave consolation andhope; and penance, rather than repentance, which sought to impose thefetters of the ancient spiritual despotisms. In the early Church, faithand repentance went hand in hand together to conquer the world, and tointroduce joy and peace and hope among believers. In the Middle Ages, faith was divorced from repentance, and took penance instead as acompanion, --an old enemy; so that there was discord in the Christiancamp, and fears returned, and joys were clouded. Sometimes faithprevailed over penance, as in the monastery of Bec, where Anselm taughta cheerful philosophy, --or in the monastery of Clairvaux, where Bernardlived in seraphic ecstasies, his soul going out in love and joy; andthen again penance prevailed, as in those grim retreats where hardinquisitors inflicted their cruel torments. But penance, on the whole, was the ruling power, and cast over society its funereal veil ofdreariness and fear. Yet penance, enslaving as it was, still clung tothe infinite value of the soul, the grandest fact in all revelations, and hence society did not relax into Paganism. Penance would save thesoul, though surrounding it with gloom, maceration, heavy labors, bittertears, terrible anxieties. The wearied pilgrim, the isolated monk, theweeping nun, the groaning peasant, the penitent baron, were not throwninto absolute despair, since there was a possibility of appeasing divinewrath, and since they all knew that Christ had died in order to savesome, --yea, all who conformed to the direction of those spiritual guideswhich the Church and the age imposed. Such was Catholic theology when Theresa--an enthusiastic, amiable, andvirtuous girl of sixteen, but at one time giddy and worldly--wished toenter a convent for the salvation of her soul. She says she wasinfluenced _by servile fear_, and not by love. It is now my purpose toshow how this servile fear was gradually subdued by divine grace, andhow she became radiant with _love_, --in short, an emancipated woman, inall the glorious liberty of the gospel of Christ; although it was notuntil she had passed through a most melancholy experience of bondage tothe leading ideas of her Church and age. It is this emancipation whichmade her one of the great women of history, not complete and entire, butstill remarkable, especially for a Spanish woman. It was lovecasting out fear. After a mental struggle of three months, Theresa resolved to become anun. But her father objected, partly out of his great love for her, andpartly on account of her delicate and fragile body. Her health hadalways been poor: she was subject to fainting fits and burning fevers. Whether her father, at last, consented to her final retirement from theworld I do not discover from her biography; but, with his consent orwithout it, she entered the convent and assumed the religioushabit, --not without bitter pangs on leaving her home, for she didviolence to her feelings, having no strong desire for monasticseclusion, and being warmly attached to her father. Neither love to Godnor a yearning after monastic life impelled the sacrifice, as sheadmits, but a perverted conscience. She felt herself in danger ofdamnation for her sins, and wished to save her soul, and knew no otherway than to enter upon the austerities of the convent, which she enduredwith remarkable patience and submission, suffering not merely fromseverities to which she was unaccustomed, but great illness inconsequence of them. A year was passed in protracted miseries, amountingto martyrdom, from fainting fits, heart palpitations, and otherinfirmities of the body. The doctors could do nothing for her, and herfather was obliged to order her removal to a more healthful monastery, where no vows of enclosure were taken. And there she remained a year, with no relief to her sufferings forthree months. Her only recreation was books, which fortified hercourage. She sought instruction, but found no one who could instruct herso as to give repose to her struggling soul. She endeavored to draw herthoughts from herself by reading. She could not even pray without abook. She was afraid to be left alone with herself. Her situation wasmade still worse by the fact that her superiors did not understand her. When they noticed that she sought solitude, and shed tears for her sins, they fancied she had a discontented disposition, and added to herunhappiness by telling her so. But she conformed to all the rules, irksome or not, and endured every mortification, and even performed actsof devotion which were not required. She envied the patience of a poorwoman who died of the most painful ulcers, and thought it would be ablessing if she could be afflicted in the same way, in order, as shesaid, to purchase eternal good. And this strange desire was fulfilled, for a severe and painful malady afflicted her for three years. Again was she removed to some place for cure, for her case wasdesperate. And here her patience was supernal. Yet patience under bodilytorments did not give the sought-for peace. It happened that a learnedecclesiastic of noble family lived in this place, and she sought reliefin confessions to him. With a rare judgment and sense, and perhaps prideand delicacy, she disliked to confess to ignorant priests. She saidthat the half-learned did her more harm than good. The learned wereprobably more lenient to her, and more in sympathy with her, and assuredher that those sins were only venial which she had supposed were mortal. But she soon was obliged to give up this confessor, since he began toconfess to her, and to confess sins in comparison with which the sinsshe confessed were venial indeed. He not only told her of his slavery toa bad woman, but confessed a love for Theresa herself, which she ofcourse repelled, though not with the aversion she ought to have felt. Itseems that her pious talk was instrumental in effecting his deliverancefrom a base bondage. He soon after died, and piously, she declared; sothat she considered it certain that his soul was saved. Theresa remained three months in this place, in most grievoussufferings, for the remedy was worse than the disease. Again her fathertook her home, since all despaired of her recovery, her nervous systembeing utterly shattered, and her pains incessant by day and by night;the least touch was a torment. At last she sank into a state ofinsensibility from sheer exhaustion, so that she was supposed to bedying, even to be dead; and her grave was dug, and the sacrament ofextreme unction was administered. She rallied from this prostration, however, and returned to the convent, though in a state of extremeweakness, and so remained for eight months. For three years she was acripple, and could move about only on all-fours; but she was resignedto the will of God. It was then, amid the maladies of her body, that she found relief to herover-burdened soul in prayer. She no longer prayed with a book, mechanically and by rote, but mentally, with earnestness, and with theunderstanding. And she prayed directly to God Almighty, and therebycame, she says, to love Him. And with prayer came new virtues. She nowceases to speak ill of people, and persuades others to cease from alldetractions, so that absent people are safe. She speaks of God as herheavenly physician, who alone could cure her. She now desires, notsickness to show her patience, but health in order to serve God better. She begins to abominate those forms and ceremonies to which so many wereslavishly devoted, and which she regards as superstitious. But she hasdrawbacks and relapses, and is pulled back by temptations and vanities, so that she is ashamed to approach God with that familiarity whichfrequent prayer requires. Then she fears hell, which she thinks shedeserves. She has not yet reached the placidity of a pardoned soul. Perfection is very slow to be reached, and that is what the Middle Agesrequired in order to exorcise the fears of divine wrath. Not, however, until these fears are exorcised can there be the liberty of the gospelor the full triumph of love. Thus for several years Theresa passed a miserable life, since the moreshe prayed the more she realized her faults; and these she could notcorrect, because her soul was not a master, but a slave. She was drawntwo ways, in opposite directions. She made good resolutions, but failedto keep them; and then there was a deluge of tears, --the feeling thatshe was the weakest and wickedest of all creatures. For nearly twentyyears she passed through this tempestuous sea, between failings andrisings, enjoying neither the sweetness of God nor the pleasures of theworld. But she did not lose the courage of applying herself to mentalprayer. This fortified her; this was her stronghold; this united her toGod. She was persuaded if she persevered in this, whatever sin she mightcommit, or whatever temptation might be presented, that, in the end, herLord would bring her safe to the port of salvation. So she prayedwithout ceasing. She especially insisted on the importance of mentalprayer (which is, I suppose, what is called holy meditation) as a sortof treaty of friendship with her Lord. At last she feels that the Lordassists her, in His great love, and she begins to trust in Him. Shedeclares that prayer is the gate through which the Lord bestows upon herHis favors; and it is only through this that any comfort comes. Then shebegins to enjoy sermons, which once tormented her, whether good or bad, so long as God is spoken of, for she now loves Him; and she cannot heartoo much of Him she loves. She delights to see her Lord's picture, sinceit aids her to see Him inwardly, and to feel that He is always near her, which is her constant desire. About this time the "Confessions of Saint Augustine" were put intoTheresa's hands, --one of the few immortal books which are endeared tothe heart of Christians. This book was a comfort and enlightenment toher, she thinking that the Lord would forgive her, as He did thosesaints who had been great sinners, because He loved them. When shemeditated on the conversion of Saint Augustine, --how he heard the voicein the garden, --it seemed to her that the Lord equally spoke to her, andthus she was filled with gratitude and joy. After this, her history isthe enumeration of the favors which God gave her, and of the joys ofprayer, which seemed to her to be the very joys of heaven. She longsmore and more for her divine Spouse, to whom she is spiritually wedded. She pants for Him as the hart pants for the water-brook. She cannot beseparated from Him; neither death nor hell can separate her from Hislove. He is infinitely precious to her, --He is chief among ten thousand. She blesses His holy name. In her exceeding joy she cries, "O Lord of mysoul, O my eternal Good!" In her ecstasy she sings, -- "Absent from Thee, my Saviour dear! I call not life this living here. Ah, Lord I my light and living breath, Take me, oh, take me from this death And burst the bars that sever me From my true life above! Think how I die Thy face to see, And cannot live away from Thee, O my Eternal Love!" Thus she composes canticles and dries her tears, feeling that the loveof God does not consist in these, but in serving Him with fidelity anddevotion. She is filled with the graces of humility, and praises Godthat she is permitted to speak of things relating to Him. She is filledalso with strength, since it is He who strengthens her. She isperpetually refreshed, since she drinks from a divine fountain. She isin a sort of trance of delight from the enjoyment of divine blessings. Her soul is elevated to rapture. She feels that her salvation, throughgrace, is assured. She no longer has fear of devils or of hell, sincewith an everlasting love she is beloved; and her lover is Christ. Shehas broken the bondage of the Middle Ages, and she has broken it byprayer. She is an emancipated woman, and can now afford to devoteherself to practical duties. She visits the sick, she dispensescharities, she gives wise counsels; for with all her visionary piety shehas good sense in the things of the world, and is as practical as she isspiritual and transcendental. And all this in the midst of visions. I will not dwell on thesevisions, the weak point in her religious life, though they are visionsof beauty, not of devils, of celestial spirits who came to comfort her, and who filled her soul with joy and peace. "A little bird I am, Shut from the fields of air, And in my cage I sit and sing To Him who placed me there; Well pleased a prisoner to be, Because, my God, it pleases Thee. " She is bathed in the glory of her Lord, and her face shines with theradiance of heaven, with the moral beauty which the greatest of Spanishpainters represents on his canvas. And she is beloved by everybody, isuniversally venerated for her virtues as well as for her spiritualelevation. The greatest ecclesiastical dignitaries come to see her, andencourage her, and hold converse with her, for her intellectual giftswere as remarkable as her piety. Her conversation, it appears, wascharming. Her influence over the highest people was immense. Shepleased, she softened, and she elevated all who knew her. She reigned inher convent as Madame de Staël reigned in her _salon_. She was supposedto have reached perfection; and yet she never claimed perfection, butsadly felt her imperfections, and confessed them. She was very fond ofthe society of learned men, from first to last, but formed nofriendships except with those whom she believed to be faithfulservants of God. At this period Theresa meditated the foundation of a new convent of theCarmelite order, to be called St. Joseph, after the name of her patronsaint. But here she found great difficulty, as her plans were notgenerally approved by her superiors or the learned men whom sheconsulted. They were deemed impracticable, for she insisted that theconvent should not be endowed, nor be allowed to possess property. Inall the monasteries of the Middle Ages, the monks, if individually poor, might be collectively rich; and all the famous monasteries camegradually to be as well endowed as Oxford and Cambridge universitieswere. This proved, in the end, an evil, since the monks became lazy andluxurious and proud. They could afford to be idle; and with idleness andluxury came corruption. The austere lives of the founders of thesemonasteries gave them a reputation for sanctity and learning, and thisbrought them wealth. Rich people who had no near relatives were almostcertain to leave them something in their wills. And the richer themonasteries became, the greedier their rulers were. Theresa determined to set a new example. She did not institute anystricter rules; she was emancipated from austerities; but she resolvedto make her nuns dependent on the Lord rather than on rich people. Norwas she ambitious of founding a large convent. She thought that thirteenwomen together were enough. Gradually she brought the provincial of theorder over to her views, and also the celebrated friar, Peter ofAlcantara, the most eminent ecclesiastic in Spain. But the townspeopleof Avila were full of opposition. They said it was better for Theresa toremain where she was; that there was no necessity for another convent, and that it was a very foolish thing. So great was the outcry, that theprovincial finally withdrew his consent; he also deemed the revenue tobe too uncertain. Then the advice of a celebrated Dominican was sought, who took eight days to consider the matter, and was at first inclined torecommend the abandonment of the project, but on further reflection hecould see no harm in it, and encouraged it. So a small house was bought, for the nuns must have some shelter over their heads. The provincialchanged his opinion again, and now favored the enterprise. It was asmall affair, but a great thing to Theresa. Her friend the Dominicanwrote letters to Rome, and the provincial offered no further objection. Moreover, she had bright visions of celestial comforters. But the superior of her convent, not wishing the enterprise to succeed, and desiring to get her out of the way, sent Theresa to Toledo, to visitand comfort a sick lady of rank, with whom she remained six months. Here she met many eminent men, chiefly ecclesiastics of the Dominicanand Jesuit orders; and here she inspired other ladies to follow herexample, among others a noble nun of her own order, who sold all she hadand walked to Rome barefooted, in order to obtain leave to establish areligious house like that proposed by Theresa. At last there cameletters and a brief from Rome for the establishment of the convent, andTheresa was elected prioress, in the year 1562. But the opposition still continued, and the most learned and influentialwere resolved on disestablishing the house. The matter at last reachedthe ears of the King and council, and an order came requiring astatement as to how the monastery was to be founded. Everything wasdiscouraging. Theresa, as usual, took refuge in prayer, and went to theLord and said, "This house is not mine; it is established for Thee; andsince there is no one to conduct the case, do Thou undertake it. " Fromthat time she considered the matter settled. Nevertheless the oppositioncontinued, much to the astonishment of Theresa, who could not see how aprioress and twelve nuns could be injurious to the city. Finally, opposition so far ceased that it was agreed that the house should beunmolested, provided it were endowed. On this point, however, Theresawas firm, feeling that if she once began to admit revenue, the peoplewould not afterwards allow her to refuse it. So amid great oppositionshe at last took up her abode in the convent she had founded, and wantedfor nothing, since alms, all unsolicited, poured in sufficient for allnecessities; and the attention of the nuns was given to their dutieswithout anxieties or obstruction, in all the dignity ofvoluntary poverty. I look upon this reformation of the Carmelite order as very remarkable. The nuns did not go around among rich people supplicating their aid aswas generally customary, for no convent or monastery was ever richenough, in its own opinion. Still less did they say to rich people, "Yeare the lords and masters of mankind. We recognize your greatness andyour power. Deign to give us from your abundance, not that we may livecomfortably when serving the Lord, but live in luxury like you, andcompete with you in the sumptuousness of our banquets and in thecostliness of our furniture and our works of art, and be your companionsand equals in social distinctions, and be enrolled with you as leadersof society. " On the contrary they said, "We ask nothing from you. We donot wish to be rich. We prefer poverty. We would not be encumbered withuseless impediments--too much camp equipage--while marching to do battlewith the forces of the Devil. Christ is our Captain. He can take care ofhis own troops. He will not let us starve. And if we do suffer, what ofthat? He suffered for our sake, shall we not suffer for his cause?" The Convent of St. Joseph was founded in 1562, after Theresa had passedtwenty-nine years in the Convent of the Incarnation. She died, 1582, atthe age of sixty-seven, after twenty years of successful labors in theconvent she had founded; revered by everybody; the friend of some of themost eminent men in Spain, including the celebrated Borgia, ex-Duke ofCandia, and General of the Jesuits, who took the same interest inTheresa that Fénelon did in Madame Guyon. She lived to see establishedsixteen convents of nuns, all obeying her reformed rule, and most ofthem founded by her amid great difficulties and opposition. When shefounded the Carmelite Convent of Toledo she had only four ducats tobegin with. Some one objected to the smallness of the sum, when shereplied, "Theresa and this money are indeed nothing; but God and Theresaand four ducats can accomplish anything. " It was amid the fatiguesincident to the founding a convent in Burgos that she sickened and died. It was not, however, merely from her labors as a reformer and nun thatSaint Theresa won her fame, but also for her writings, which blaze withgenius, although chiefly confined to her own religious experience. Theseconsist of an account of her own life, and various letters and mystictreatises, some description of her spiritual conflicts and ecstasies, others giving accounts of her religious labors in the founding ofreformed orders and convents; while the most famous is a rapt portrayalof the progress of the soul to the highest heaven. Her own Memoirsremind one of the "Confessions of Saint Augustine, " and of the"Imitation of Christ, " by Thomas à Kempis. People do not read such booksin these times to any extent, at least in this country, but they haveever been highly valued on the continent of Europe. The biographers ofSaint Theresa have been numerous, some of them very distinguished, likeRibera, Yepez, and Sainte Marie. Bossuet, while he condemned MadameGuyon for the same mystical piety which marked Saint Theresa, stillbowed down to the authority of the writings of the saint, while Fleuryquotes them with the decrees of the Council of Trent. But Saint Theresa ever was submissive to the authority of the Pope andof her spiritual directors. She would not have been canonized by GregoryXV. Had she not been. So long as priests and nuns have been submissiveto the authority of the Church, the Church has been lenient to theiropinions. Until the Reformation, there was great practical freedom ofopinion in the Catholic Church. Nor was the Church of the sixteenthcentury able to see the logical tendency of the mysticism of SaintTheresa, since it was not coupled with rebellion against spiritualdespotism. It was not until the logical and dogmatic intellect ofBossuet discerned the spiritual independence of the Jansenists andQuietists, that persecution began against them. Had Saint Theresa liveda century later, she would probably have shared the fate of MadameGuyon, whom she resembled more closely than any other woman that I haveread of, --in her social position, in her practical intellect, despitethe visions of a dreamy piety, in her passionate love of the Saviour, inher method of prayer, in her spiritual conflicts, in the benevolencewhich marked all her relations with the world, in the divine charitywhich breathed through all her words, and in the triumph of love overall the fears inspired by a gloomy theology and a superstitiouspriesthood. Both of these eminent women were poets of no ordinary merit;both enjoyed the friendship of the most eminent men of their age; bothcraved the society of the learned; both were of high birth and beautifulin their youth, and fitted to adorn society by their brilliant talk aswell as graceful manners; both were amiable and sought to please, andloved distinction and appreciation; both were Catholics, yet permeatedwith the spirit of Protestantism, so far as religion is made a matterbetween God and the individual soul, and marked by internal communionwith the Deity rather than by outward acts of prescribed forms; both hadconfessors, and yet both maintained the freedom of their minds andsouls, and knew of no binding authority but that divine voice whichappealed to their conscience and heart, and that divine word which iswritten in the Scriptures. After the love of God had subdued theirhearts, we read but little of penances, or self-expiations, or forms ofworship, or church ceremonies, or priestly rigors, or any of theslaveries and formalities which bound ordinary people. Their piety wasmystical, sometimes visionary, and not always intelligible, but deep, sincere, and lofty. Of the two women, I think Saint Theresa was the moreremarkable, and had the most originality. Madame Guyon seems to haveborrowed much from her, especially in her methods of prayer. The influence of Saint Theresa's life and writings has been eminent andmarked, not only in the Catholic but in the Protestant Church. If notdirect, it has been indirect. She had that active, ardent nature whichsets at defiance a formal piety, and became an example to noble women ina more enlightened, if less poetic, age. She was the precursor of aMadame de Chantal, of a Francis de Sales, of a Mère Angelique. Thelearned and saintly Port Royalists, in many respects, were herdisciples. We even see a resemblance to her spiritual exercises in the"Thoughts" of Pascal. We see her mystical love of the Saviour in thepoetry of Cowper and Watts and Wesley. The same sentiments she utteredappear even in the devotional works of Jeremy Taylor and JonathanEdwards. The Protestant theology of the last century was in harmony withhers in its essential features. In the "Pilgrim's Progress" of Bunyan wehave no more graphic pictures of the sense of sin, the justice of itspunishment, and the power by which it is broken, than are to be found inthe writings of this saintly woman. In no Protestant hymnals do we finda warmer desire for a spiritual union with the Author of our salvation;in none do we see the aspiring soul seeking to climb to the regions ofeternal love more than in her exultant melodies. "For uncreated charms I burn, Oppressed by slavish fears no more; For _One_ in whom I may discern, E'en when He frowns, a sweetness I adore. " That remarkable work of Fénelon in which he defends Madame Guyon, called"Maxims of the Saints, " would equally apply to Saint Theresa, in fact toall those who have been distinguished for an inward life, from SaintAugustine to Richard Baxter, --for unselfish love, resignation to thedivine will, self-renunciation, meditation too deep for words, and unionwith Christ, as represented by the figure of the bride and bridegroom. This is Christianity, as it has appeared in all ages, both amongCatholic and Protestant saints. It may seem to some visionary, to othersunreasonable, and to others again repulsive. But this has been the lifeand joy of those whom the Church has honored and commended. It hasraised them above the despair of Paganism and the superstitions of theMiddle Ages. It is the love which casteth out fear, producing in theharassed soul repose and rest amid the doubts and disappointments oflife. It is not inspired by duty; it does not rest on philanthropy; itis not the religion of humanity. It is a gift bestowed by the Father ofLights, and will be, to remotest ages, the most precious boon which Hebestows on those who seek His guidance. AUTHORITIES. Vie de Sainte Thérèse, écrite par elle-même; Lettres de Sainte Thérèse;Les Ouvrages de Sainte Thérèse; Biographie Universelle; Fraser'sMagazine, lxv. 59; Butler's Lives of the Saints; Digby's Ages of Faith;the Catholic Histories of the Church, especially Fleury's "Maxims of theSaints. " Lives of Saint Theresa by Ribera, Yepez, and Sainte Marie. MADAME DE MAINTENON. * * * * * A. D. 1635-1719. THE POLITICAL WOMAN. I present Madame de Maintenon as one of those great women who haveexerted a powerful influence on the political destinies of a nation, since she was the life of the French monarchy for more than thirty yearsduring the reign of Louis XIV. In the earlier part of her career she wasa queen of society; but her social triumphs pale before the lustre ofthat power which she exercised as the wife of the greatest monarch ofthe age, --so far as splendor and magnificence can make a monarch great. No woman in modern times ever rose so high from a humble position, withthe exception of Catherine I, wife of Peter the Great. She was not borna duchess, like some of those brilliant women who shed glory around theabsolute throne of the proudest monarch of his century, but rose to hermagnificent position by pure merit, --her graces, her virtues, and herabilities having won the respect and admiration of the overlauded butsagacious King of France. And yet she was well born, so far as blood isconcerned, since the Protestant family of D'Aubigné--to which shebelonged--was one of the oldest in the kingdom. Her father, however, wasa man of reckless extravagance and infamous habits, and committedfollies and crimes which caused him to be imprisoned in Bordeaux. Whilein prison he compromised the character of the daughter of his jailer, and by her means escaped to America. He returned, and was againarrested. His wife followed him to his cell; and it was in this cellthat the subject of this lecture was born (1635). Subsequently hermiserable father obtained his release, sailed with his family toMartinique, and died there in extreme poverty. His wife, heart-broken, returned to France, and got her living by her needle, until she too, worn out by poverty and misfortune, died, leaving her daughter tostrive, as she had striven, with a cold and heartless world. This daughter became at first a humble dependent on one of her richrelatives; and "the future wife of Louis XIV. Could be seen on a morningassisting the coachmen to groom the horses, or following a flock ofturkeys, with her breakfast in a basket. " But she was beautiful andbright, and panted, like most ambitious girls, for an entrance into whatis called "society. " Society at that time in France was brilliant, intellectual, and wicked. "There was the blending of calculatinginterest and religious asceticism, " when women of the world, afterhaving exhausted its pleasures, retired to cloisters, and "sacrificedtheir natural affections to family pride. " It was an age of intellectualidlers, when men and women, having nothing to do, spent their time in_salons_, and learned the art of conversation, which was followed by theart of letter-writing. To reach the _salons_ of semi-literary and semi-fashionable people, where rank and wealth were balanced by wit, became the desire of theyoung Mademoiselle d'Aubigné. Her entrance into society was effected ina curious way. At that time there lived in Paris (about the year 1650) aman whose house was the centre of gay and literary people, --those whodid not like the stiffness of the court or the pedantries of the Hôtelde Rambouillet. His name was Scarron, --a popular and ribald poet, acomic dramatist, a buffoon, a sort of Rabelais, whose inexhaustible witwas the admiration of the city. He belonged to a good family, andoriginally was a man of means. His uncle had been a bishop and hisfather a member of the Parliament of Paris. But he had wasted hissubstance in riotous living, and was reduced to a small pension from theGovernment. His profession was originally that of a priest, and hecontinued through life to wear the ecclesiastical garb. He was full ofmaladies and miseries, and his only relief was in society. In spite ofhis poverty he contrived to give suppers--they would now be calleddinners--which were exceedingly attractive. To his house came the notedcharacters of the day, --Mademoiselle de Scudéry the novelist, Marignythe songwriter, Hénault the translator of Lucretius, De Grammont the petof the court, Chatillon, the duchesses de la Salière and De Sévigné, even Ninon de L'Enclos; all bright and fashionable people, whose wit andraillery were the admiration of the city. It so happened that to a reception of the Abbé Scarron was brought oneday the young lady destined to play so important a part in the historyof her country. But her dress was too short, which so mortified her inthe splendid circle to which she was introduced that she burst intotears, and Scarron was obliged to exert all his tact to comfort her. Yetshe made a good impression, since she was beautiful and witty; and aletter which she wrote to a friend soon after, which letter Scarronhappened to see, was so remarkable, that the crippled dramatistdetermined to make her his wife, --she only sixteen, he forty-two; soinfirm that he could not walk, and so poor that the guests frequentlyfurnished the dishes for the common entertainments. And with all thesephysical defects (for his body was bent nearly double), andnotwithstanding that he was one of the coarsest and profanest men ofthat ungodly age, she accepted him. What price will not an aspiringwoman pay for social position!--for even a marriage with Scarron was toher a step in the ladder of social elevation. Did she love this bloated and crippled sensualist, or was she carriedaway by admiration of his brilliant conversation, or was she actuated bya far-reaching policy? I look upon her as a born female Jesuit, believing in the principle that the end justifies the means. Nor is suchJesuitism incompatible with pleasing manners, amiability of temper, andgreat intellectual radiance; it equally marked, I can fancy, Jezebel, Cleopatra, and Catherine de Médicis. Moreover, in France it has longbeen the custom for poor girls to seek eligible matches withoutreference to love. It does not seem that this hideous marriage provoked scandal. In fact, it made the fortune of Mademoiselle d'Aubigné. She now presided atentertainments which were the gossip of the city, and to which stupiddukes aspired in vain; for Scarron would never have a dull man at histable, not even if he were loaded with diamonds and could trace hispedigree to the paladins of Charlemagne. But by presiding at partiesmade up of the _élite_ of the fashionable and cultivated society ofParis, this ambitious woman became acquainted with those who hadinfluence at court; so that when her husband died, and she was cut offfrom his life-pension and reduced to poverty, she was recommended toMadame de Montespan, the King's mistress, as the governess of herchildren. It was a judicious appointment. Madame Scarron was thenthirty-four, in the pride of womanly grace and dignity, with rareintellectual gifts and accomplishments. There is no education moreeffective than that acquired by constant intercourse with learned andwitty people. Even the dinner-table is no bad school for one naturallybright and amiable. There is more to be learned from conversation thanfrom books. The living voice is a great educator. Madame Scarron, on the death of her husband, was already a queen ofsociety. As the governess of Montespan's children, --which was a greatposition, since it introduced her to the notice of the King himself, thefountain of all honor and promotion, --her habits of life were somewhatchanged. Life became more sombre by the irksome duties of educatingunruly children, and the forced retirement to which she was necessarilysubjected. She could have lived without this preferment, since thepension of her husband was restored to her, and could have made her_salon_ the resort of the best society. But she had deeper designs. Notto be the queen of a fashionable circle did she now aspire, but to bethe leader of a court. But this aim she was obliged to hide. It could only be compassed bytranscendent tact, prudence, patience, and good sense, all of whichqualities she possessed in an eminent degree. It was necessary to gainthe confidence of an imperious and jealous mistress--which was only tobe done by the most humble assiduities--before she could undermine herin the affections of the King. She had also to gain his respect andadmiration without allowing any improper intimacy. She had to disarmjealousy and win confidence; to be as humble in address as she waselegant in manners, and win a selfish man from pleasure by the richnessof her conversation and the severity of her own morals. Little by little she began to exercise a great influence over the mindof the King when he was becoming wearied of the railleries of hisexacting favorite, and when some of the delusions of life were beginningto be dispelled. He then found great solace and enjoyment in the societyof Madame Scarron, whom he enriched, enabling her to purchase the estateof Maintenon and to assume its name. She soothed his temper, softenedhis resentments, and directed his attention to a new field of thoughtand reflection. She was just the opposite of Montespan in almosteverything. The former won by the solid attainments of the mind; thelatter by her sensual charms. The one talked on literature, art, andreligious subjects; the other on fêtes, balls, reviews, and the gloriesof the court and its innumerable scandals. Maintenon reminded the Kingof his duties without sermonizing or moralizing, but with the insidiousflattery of a devout worshipper of his genius and power; Montespandirected his mind to pleasures which had lost their charm. Maintenon wasalways amiable and sympathetic; Montespan provoked the King by herresentments, her imperious exactions, her ungovernable fits of temper, her haughty sarcasm. Maintenon was calm, modest, self-possessed, judicious, wise; Montespan was passionate, extravagant, unreasonable. Maintenon always appealed to the higher nature of the King; Montespan tothe lower. The one was a sincere friend, dissuading from folly; theother an exacting lover, demanding perpetually new favors, to the injuryof the kingdom and the subversion of the King's dignity of character. The former ruled through the reason; the latter through the passions. Maintenon was irreproachable in her morals, preserved her self-respect, and tolerated no improper advances, having no great temptations tosubdue, steadily adhering to that policy which she knew would in timemake her society indispensable; Montespan was content to be simplymistress, with no forecast of the future, and with but little regard tothe interests or honor of her lord. Maintenon became more attractiveevery day from the variety of her intellectual gifts and her unweariedefforts to please and instruct; Montespan, although a bright woman, amidst the glories of a dazzling court, at last wearied, disgusted andrepelled. And yet the woman who gradually supplanted Madame de Montespanby superior radiance of mind and soul openly remained her friend, through all her waning influence, and pretended to come to her rescue. The friendship of the King for Madame de Maintenon began as early as1672; and during the twelve years she was the governess of Montespan'schildren she remained discreet and dignified. "I dismiss him, " said she, "always despairing, never repulsed. " What a transcendent actress! Whatastonishing tact! What shrewdness blended with self-control! Sheconformed herself to his tastes and notions. At the supper-tables of herpalsied husband she had been gay, unstilted, and simple; but with theKing she became formal, prudish, ceremonious, fond of etiquette, andpharisaical in her religious life. She discreetly ruled her royal loverin the name of virtue and piety. In 1675 the King created her Marquisede Maintenon. On the disgrace of Madame de Montespan, when the King was forty-six, Madame de Maintenon still remained at court, having a conspicuous officein the royal household as mistress of the robes to the Dauphiness, sothat her nearness to the King created no scandal. She was now a statelywoman, with sparkling black eyes, a fine complexion, beautiful teeth, and exceedingly graceful manners. The King could not now live withouther, for he needed a counsellor whom he could trust. It must be borne inmind that the great Colbert, on whose shoulders had been laid theburdens of the monarchy, had recently died. On the death of the Queen(1685), Louis made Madame de Maintenon his wife, she being about fiftyand he forty-seven. This private and secret marriage was never openly divulged during thelife of the King, although generally surmised. This placed Madame deMaintenon--for she went by this title--in a false position. To say theleast, it was humiliating amid all the splendors to which she wasraised; for if she were a lawful wife, she was not a queen. Some, perhaps, supposed she was in the position of those favorites whose fate, again and again, has been to fall. One thing is certain, --the King would have made her his mistress yearsbefore; but to this she would never consent. She was too politic, tooambitious, too discreet, to make that immense mistake. Yet after thedismissal of Montespan she seemed to be such, until she had withtranscendent art and tact attained her end. It is a flaw in hercharacter that she was willing so long to be aspersed; showing thatpower was dearer to her than reputation. Bossuet, when consulted by theKing as to his intended marriage, approved of it only on the ground thatit was better to make a foolish marriage than violate the seventhcommandment. La Chaise, the Jesuit confessor, who travelled in a coachand six, recommended it, because Madame de Maintenon was his tool. ButLouvois felt the impropriety as well as Fénelon, and advised the Kingnot thus to commit himself. The Dauphin was furious. The Archbishop ofParis simply did his duty in performing the ceremony. Doubtless reasons of State imperatively demanded that the marriageshould not openly be proclaimed, and still more that the widow ofScarron should not be made the Queen of France. Louis was too much of apolitician, and too proud a man, to make this concession. Had he raisedhis unacknowledged wife to the throne, it would have resulted inpolitical complications which would have embarrassed his wholesubsequent reign. He dared not do this. He could not thus scandalize allEurope, and defy all the precedents of France. And no one knew thisbetter than Madame de Maintenon herself. She appeared to be satisfied ifshe could henceforth live in virtuous relations. Her religious scruplesare to be respected. It is wonderful that she gained as much as she didin that proud, cynical, and worldly court, and from the proudest monarchin the world. But Louis was not happy without her, --a proof of hisrespect and love. At the age of forty-seven he needed the counsels of awife amid his increasing embarrassments. He was already wearied, sickened, and disgusted: he now wanted repose, friendship, and fidelity. He certainly was guilty of no error in marrying one of the most giftedwomen of his kingdom, --perhaps the most accomplished woman of the age, interesting and even beautiful at fifty. She was then in the perfectionof mental and moral fascinations. He made no other sacrifice than of hispride. His fidelity to his wife, and his constant devotion to her untilhe died, proved the sincerity and depth of his attachment; and hermarvellous influence over him was on the whole good, with the exceptionof her religious intolerance. As the wife of Louis XIV. The power of Madame de Maintenon became almostunbounded. Her ambition was gratified, and her end was accomplished. Shewas the dispenser of court favors, the arbiter of fortunes, the realruler of the land. Her reign was political as well as social. She sat inthe cabinet of the King, and gave her opinions on State matters whenevershe was asked. Her counsels were so wise that they generally prevailed. No woman before or after her ever exerted so great an influence on thefortunes of a kingdom as did the widow of the poet Scarron. The courtwhich she adorned and ruled was not so brilliant as it had been underMadame de Montespan, but was still magnificent. She made it moredecorous, though, probably more dull. She was opposed to all foolish, expenditures. She discouraged the endless fêtes and balls andmasquerades which made her predecessor so popular. But still Versaillesglittered with unparalleled wonders: the fountains played; grandequipages crowded the park; the courtiers blazed in jewels and velvetsand satins; the salons were filled with all who were illustrious inFrance; princes, nobles, ambassadors, generals, statesmen, and ministersrivalled one another in the gorgeousness of their dresses; women of rankand beauty displayed their graces in the Salon de Venus. The articles of luxury and taste that were collected in the countlessrooms of that vast palace almost exceeded belief. And all these blazingrooms were filled, even to the attic, with aristocratic servitors, whopoured out perpetual incense to the object of their united idolatry, whosat on almost an Olympian throne. Never was a monarch served by suchidolaters. "Bossuet and Fénelon taught his children; Bourdaloue andMassillon adorned his chapel; La Chaise and Le Tellier directed hisconscience; Boileau and Molière sharpened his wit; La Rochefoucauldcultivated his taste; La Fontaine wrote his epigrams; Racine chronicledhis wars; De Turenne commanded his armies; Fouquet and Colbert arrangedhis finances; Molé and D'Aguesseau pronounced his judgments; Louvoislaid out his campaigns; Vauban fortified his citadels; Riquet dug hiscanals; Mansard constructed his palaces; Poussin decorated his chambers;Le Brun painted his ceilings; Le Notre laid out his grounds; Girardonsculptured his fountains; Montespan arranged his fêtes; while LaVallière, La Fayette, and Sévigné--all queens of beauty--displayed theirgraces in the Salon de Venus. " What an array of great men and brilliantwomen to reflect the splendors of an absolute throne! Never was theresuch an _éclat_ about a court; it was one of the wonders of the age. And Louis never lost his taste for this outward grandeur. He wasceremonious and exacting to the end. He never lost the sense of his ownomnipotence. In his latter days he was sad and dejected, but neverexhibited his weakness among his worshippers. He was always dignifiedand self-possessed. He loved pomp as much as Michael Angelo loved art. Even in his bitterest reverses he still maintained the air of the "GrandMonarque. " Says Henri Martin:-- "Etiquette, without accepting the extravagant restraints which the courtof France endured, and which French genius would not support, assumed anunknown extension, proportioned to the increase of royal splendor. Itwas adapted to serve the monarchy at the expense of the aristocracy, and tended to make functions prevail over birth. The great dukes andpeers were multiplied in order to reduce their importance, and the Kinggave the marshals precedence over them. The court was a scientific andcomplicated machine which Louis guided with sovereign skill. At allhours, in all places, in the most trifling circumstances of life, he wasalways king. His affability never contradicted itself; he expressedinterest and kindliness to all; he showed himself indulgent to errorsthat could not be repaired; his majesty was tempered by a gravefamiliarity; and he wholly refrained from those pointed and ironicalspeeches which so cruelly wound when falling from the lips of a man thatnone can answer. He taught all, by his example, the most exquisitecourtesy to women. Manners acquired unequalled elegance. The fêtesexceeded everything which romance had dreamed, in which the fairysplendors that wearied the eye were blended with the noblest pleasuresof the intellect. But whether appearing in mythological ballets, orriding in tournaments in the armor of the heroes of antiquity, orpresiding at plays and banquets in his ordinary apparel with his thickflowing hair, his loose surtout blazing with gold and silver, and hisprofusion of ribbons and plumes, always his air and port had somethingunique, --always he was the first among all. His whole life was like awork of art; and the rôle was admirably played, because he played itconscientiously. " The King was not only sacred, but he was supposed to have differentblood in his veins from other men. His person was inviolable. Hereigned, it was universally supposed, by divine right. He was a divinelycommissioned personage, like Saul and David. He did not reign because hewas able or powerful or wealthy, because he was a statesman or ageneral, but because he had a right to reign which no one disputed. Thisadoration of royalty was not only universal, but it was deeply seated inthe minds of men, and marked strongly all the courtiers and generals andbishops and poets who surrounded the throne of Louis, --Bossuet andFénelon, as well as Colbert and Louvois; Racine and Molière, as well asCondé and Turenne. Especially the nobility of the realm looked up to theking as the source and centre of their own honors and privileges. Eventhe people were proud to recognize in him a sort of divinity, and allpersons stood awe-struck in the presence of royalty. All this reverencewas based on ideas which have ever moved the world, --such as sustainedpopes in the Middle Ages, and emperors in ancient Borne, and patriarchalrule among early Oriental peoples. Religion, as well as law andpatriotism, invested monarchs with this sacred and inalienableauthority, never greater than when Louis XIV. Began to reign. But with all his grandeur Louis XIV. Did not know how to avail himselfof the advantages which fortune and accident placed in his way. He wassimply magnificent, like Xerxes, --like a man who had entered into avast inheritance which he did not know what to do with. He had noprofound views of statesmanship, like Augustus or Tiberius. He had noconception of what the true greatness of a country consisted in. Hencehis vast treasures were spent in useless wars, silly pomps, andinglorious pleasures. His grand court became the scene of cabals andrivalries, scandals and follies. His wars, from which he expected glory, ended only in shame; his great generals passed away without any to taketheir place; his people, instead of being enriched by a development ofnational resources, became poor and discontented; while his persecutionsdecimated his subjects and sowed the seeds of future calamities. Eventhe learned men who shed lustre around his throne prostituted theirtalents to nurse his egotism, and did but little to elevate the nationalcharacter. Neither Pascal with his intense hostility to spiritualdespotism, nor Racine with the severe taste which marked the classicauthors of Greece and Rome, nor Fénelon with his patriotic enthusiasmand clear perception of the moral strength of empires, dared to givefull scope to his genius, but all were obliged to veil their sentimentsin vague panegyrics of ancient heroes. At the close of the seventeenthcentury the great intellectual lights had disappeared under thewithering influences of despotism, --as in ancient Rome under theemperors all manly independence had fled, --and literature went throughan eclipse. That absorbing egotism which made Louis XIV. Jealous of thefame of Condé and Luxembourg, or fearful of the talents of Louvois andColbert, or suspicious of the influence of Racine and Fénelon, also ledhim to degrade his nobility by menial offices, and institute in hiscourt a burdensome formality. In spite of his great abilities, no monarch ever reaped a severerpenalty for his misgovernment than did Louis. Like Solomon, he livedlong enough to see the bursting of all the bubbles which had floatedbefore his intoxicated brain. All his delusions were dispelled; he wasoppressed with superstitious fears; he was weary of the very pleasuresof which he once was fondest; he saw before him a gulf of nationaldisasters; he was obliged to melt up the medallions which commemoratedhis victories, to furnish bread for starving soldiers; he lost theprovinces he had seized; he saw the successive defeat of all hismarshals and the annihilation of his veteran armies; he was deprived ofhis children and grandchildren by the most dreadful malady known to thatgeneration; a feeble infant was the heir of his dominions; he sawnothing before him but national disgrace; he found no counsellors whomhe could trust, no friends to whom he could pour out his sorrows; theinfirmities of age oppressed his body; the agonies of remorse disturbedhis soul; the fear of hell became the foundation of his religion, for hemust have felt that he had a fearful reckoning with the King of kings. Such was the man to whom the best days of Madame de Maintenon weredevoted; and she shared his confidence to the last. She did all shecould to alleviate his sorrows, for a more miserable man than Louis XIV. During the last twenty years of his life never was seated on a throne. Well might his wife exclaim, "Save those who occupy the highest places, I know of none more unhappy than those who envy them. " This great womanattempted to make her husband a religious man, and succeeded so far as arigid regard to formalities and technical observances can make a manreligious. It may be asked how this formal and proper woman was enabled to exertupon the King so great an influence; for she was the real ruler of theland. No woman ever ruled with more absolute sway, from Queen Esther toMadame de Pompadour, than did the widow of the profane and crippledScarron. It cannot be doubted that she exerted this influence by meremoral and intellectual force, --the power of physical beauty retreatingbefore the superior radiance of wisdom and virtue. La Vallière hadwearied and Montespan had disgusted even a sensual king, with all theirremarkable attractions; but Maintenon, by her prudence, her tact, herwisdom, and her friendship, retained the empire she had won, --thusteaching the immortal lesson that nothing but respect constitutes a surefoundation for love, or can hold the heart of a selfish man amid thechanges of life. Whatever the promises made emphatic by passion, whatever the presents or favors given as tokens of everlasting ties, whatever the raptures consecrating the endearments of a plighted troth, whatever the admiration called out by the scintillations of genius, whatever the gratitude arising from benefits bestowed in sympathy, allwill vanish in the heart of a man unless confirmed by qualities whichextort esteem, --the most impressive truth that can be presented to themind of woman; her encouragement if good, her sentence to misery if bad, so far as her hopes centre around an earthly idol. Now, Madame de Maintenon, whatever her defects, her pharisaism, hercunning, her ambition, and her narrow religious intolerance, was still, it would seem, always respected, not only by the King himself, --a greatdiscerner of character, --but by the court which she controlled, and evenby that gay circle of wits who met around the supper-tables of her firsthusband. The breath of scandal never tarnished her reputation; she wasadmired by priests as well as by nobles. From this fact, which is wellattested, we infer that she acted with transcendent discretion as thegoverness of the Duke of Maine, even when brought into the mostintimate relations with the King; and that when reigning at the courtafter the death of the Queen, she must have been supposed to have aright to all the attentions which she received from Louis XIV. And whatis very remarkable about this woman is, that she should so easily havesupplanted Madame de Montespan in the full blaze of her dazzling beauty, when the King was in the maturity of his power and in all the pride ofexternal circumstance, --she, born a Protestant, converted to Catholicismin her youth under protest, poor, dependent, a governess, the widow of avulgar buffoon, and with antecedents which must have stung to the quickso proud a man as was Louis XIV. With his severe taste, his experience, his discernment, with all the cynical and hostile influences of a proudand worldly court, and after a long and searching intimacy, it is hardto believe that he could have loved and honored her to his death if shehad not been worthy of his esteem. And when we remember that for nearlyforty years she escaped the scandals which made those times unique ininfamy, we are forced to concede that on the whole she must have been agood woman. To retain such unbounded power for over thirty years is avery remarkable thing to do. Madame de Maintenon, however, though wise and virtuous, made many gravemistakes, as she had many defects of character. Great as she was, shehas to answer for political crimes into which, from her narrow religiousprejudices, she led the King. The most noticeable feature in the influence which Madame de Maintenonexercised on the King was in inciting a spirit of religious intolerance. And this appeared even long before Madame de Montespan had lost herascendency. For ten years before the revocation of the Edict of Nantesthere had been continual persecution of the Protestants in France, onthe ground that they were heretics, though not rebels. And the samepersecuting spirit was displayed in reference to the Jansenists, whowere Catholics, and whose only sin was intellectual boldness. Anybodywho thought differently from the monarch incurred the royal displeasure. Intellectual freedom and honesty were the real reasons of the disgraceof Racine and Fénelon. For the King was a bigot in religion as well as adespot on a throne. He fancied that he was very pious. He was regular inall his religious duties. He was an earnest and conscientious adherentto all the doctrines of the Catholic Church. In his judgment, adeparture from those doctrines should be severely punished. He was assincere as Torquemada, or Alva, or Saint Dominic. His wife encouragedthis bigotry, and even stimulated his resentments toward those whodiffered from him. At last, in 1685, the fatal blow was struck which decimated thesubjects of an irresponsible king. The glorious edict which Henry IV. Had granted, and which even Richelieu and Mazarin had respected, wasrepealed. There was no political necessity for the crime. It sprang fromunalloyed religious intolerance; and it was as suicidal as it wasuncalled for and cruel. It was an immense political blunder, which noenlightened monarch would ever have committed, and which none but a coldand narrow woman would ever have encouraged. There was no excuse orpalliation for this abominable persecution any more than there was forthe burning of John Huss. It had not even as much to justify it as hadthe slaughter of St. Bartholomew, for the Huguenots were politicallyhostile and dangerous. It was an act of wanton cruelty incited byreligious bigotry. I wonder how a woman so kind-hearted, so intelligent, and so politic as Madame de Maintenon doubtless was, could haveencouraged the King to a measure which undermined his popularity, whichcut the sinews of natural strength, and raised up implacable enemies inevery Protestant country. I can palliate her detestable bigotry only onthe ground that she was the slave of an order of men who have everproved themselves to be the inveterate foes of human freedom, and whomarked their footsteps, wherever they went, by a trail of blood. Louiswas equally their blinded tool. The Order--the "Society of Jesus"--wascreated to extirpate heresy, and in this instance it was carried out tothe bitter end. The persecution of the Protestants under Louis XIV. Wasthe most cruel and successful of all known persecutions in ancient ormodern times. It annihilated the Protestants, so far as there were anyleft openly to defend their cause. It drove out of France from twohundred thousand to four hundred thousand of her best people, andexecuted or confined to the galleys as many more, They died like sheepled to the slaughter; they died not with arms, but Bibles, in theirhands. I have already presented some details of that ingloriouspersecution in my lecture on Louis XIV. , and will not repeat what Ithere said. It was deemed by Madame de Maintenon a means of grace to theKing, --for in her way she always sought his conversion. And when thebloody edict went forth for the slaughter of the best people in theland, she wrote that "the King was now beginning to think seriously ofhis salvation. If God preserve him, there will be no longer but onereligion in the kingdom. " This foul stain on her character did notproceed from cruelty of disposition, but from mistaken zeal. What acontrast her conduct was to the policy of Elizabeth! Yet she was noworse than Le Tellier, La Chaise, and other fanatics. Religiousintolerance was one of the features of the age and of the RomanCatholic Church. But religious bigotry is eternally odious to enlightened reason. Nomatter how interesting a man or woman may be in most respects, ifstained with cruel intolerance in religious opinions, he or she will berepulsive. It left an indelible stain on the character of the mostbrilliant and gifted woman of her times, and makes us forget her manyvirtues. With all her excellences, she goes down in history as a coldand intolerant woman whom we cannot love. We cannot forget that in agreat degree through her influence the Edict of Nantes was repealed. The persecution of the Protestants, however, partially reveals thenarrow intolerance of Madame de Maintenon. She sided but with thosewhose influence was directed to the support of the recognized dogmas ofthe Church in their connection with the absolute rule of kings. Theinterests of Catholic institutions have ever been identical withabsolutism. Bossuet, the ablest theologian and churchman which theCatholic Church produced in the seventeenth century, gave the wholeforce of his vast intellect to uphold an unlimited royal authority. Hesaw in the bold philosophical speculations of Descartes, Malebranche, Spinoza, Leibnitz, and Locke an insidious undermining of the doctrinesof the Church, an intellectual freedom whose logical result would befatal alike to Church and State. His eagle eye penetrated to the core ofevery system of human thought. He saw the logical and necessary resultsof every theory which Pantheists, or Rationalists, or Quietists, orJansenists advanced. Whatever did not support the dogmas of mediaevaland patriotic theologians, such as the Papal Church indorsed, wasregarded by him with suspicion and aversion. Every theory or speculationwhich tended to emancipate the mind, or weaken the authority of theChurch, or undermine an absolute throne, was treated by him withdogmatic intolerance and persistent hatred. He made war alike on thephilosophers, the Jansenists, and the Quietists, whether they remainedin the ranks of the Church or not. It was the dangerous consequences ofthese speculations pushed to their logical result which he feared anddetested, and which no other eye than his was able to perceive. Bossuet communicated his spirit to Madame de Maintenon and to the King, who were both under his influence as to the treatment of religious orphilosophical questions. Louis and his wife were both devout supportersof orthodoxy, --that is, the received doctrines of the Church, --partlyfrom conservative tendencies, and partly from the connection ofestablished religious institutions with absolutism in government. Whatever was established, was supported because it was established. Theywould suffer no innovation, not even in philosophy. Anything progressivewas abhorred as much as anything destructive. When Fénelon said, "Ilove my family better than myself, my country better than my family, andthe human race better than my country, " he gave utterance to a sentimentwhich was revolutionary in its tendency. When he declared in his"Télémaque" what were the duties of kings, --that they reigned for thebenefit of their subjects rather than for themselves, --he undermined thethrone which he openly supported. It was the liberal spirit whichanimated Fénelon, as well as the innovations to which his opinionslogically led, which arrayed against him the king who admired him, thewoman who had supported him, and the bishop who was jealous of him. Although he charmed everybody with whom he associated by the angelicsweetness of his disposition, his refined courtesies of manner, and hissparkling but inoffensive wit, --a born courtier as well as philosopher, the most interesting and accomplished man of his generation, --still, neither Bossuet nor Madame de Maintenon nor the King could tolerate histeachings, so pregnant were they with innovations; and he was exiled tohis bishopric. Madame de Maintenon, who once delighted in Fénelon, learned to detest him as much as Bossuet did, when the logical tendencyof his writings was seen. She would rivet the chains of slavery on thehuman intellect as well as on the devotees of Rome or the courtiers ofthe King, while Fénelon would have emancipated the race itself in thefervor and sincerity of his boundless love. This hostility to Fénelon was not caused entirely by the politicalimprovements he would have introduced, but because his all-embracingtoleration sought to protect the sentimental pantheism which MadameGuyon inculcated in her maxims of disinterested love and voluntarypassivity of the soul towards God, in opposition to that rationalisticpantheism which Spinoza defended, and into which he had inexorablypushed with unexampled logic the deductions of Malebranche. The men whofinally overturned the fabric of despotism which Richelieu constructedwere the philosophers. The clear but narrow intellect of the King andhis wife instinctively saw in them the natural enemies of the throne;and hence they were frowned upon, if not openly persecuted. We are forced therefore to admit that the intolerance of Madame deMaintenon, repulsive as it was, arose in part, like the intolerance ofBossuet, from zeal to uphold the institutions and opinions on which theChurch and the throne were equally based. The Jesuits would call such awoman a nursing mother of the Church, a protector of the cause oforthodoxy, the watchful guardian of the royal interests and those of allestablished institutions. Any ultra-conservatism, logically carried out, would land any person on the ground where she stood. But while Madame de Maintenon was a foe to everything like heresy, oropposition to the Catholic Church, or true intellectual freedom, she wasthe friend of education. She was the founder of the celebrated School ofSt. Cyr, where three hundred young ladies, daughters of impoverishednobles, were educated gratuitously. She ever took the greatest interestin this school, and devoted to it all the time her numerous engagementswould permit. She visited it every day, and was really its president anddirector. There was never a better school for aristocratic girls in aCatholic country. She directed their studies and superintended theirmanners, and brought to bear on their culture her own vast experience. If Bossuet was a born priest, she was a born teacher. It was for theamusement of the girls that Racine was induced by her to write one ofhis best dramas, --"Queen Esther, " a sort of religious tragedy in theseverest taste, which was performed by the girls in the presence of themost distinguished people of the court. Madame de Maintenon exerted her vast influence in favor of morality andlearning. She rewarded genius and scholarship. She was the patron ofthose distinguished men who rendered important services to France, whether statesmen, divines, generals, or scholars. She sought to bringto the royal notice eminent merit in every department of life within theranks of orthodoxy. A poet, or painter, or orator, who gave remarkablepromise, was sure of her kindness; and there were many such. For theworld is full at all times of remarkable young men and women, but thereare very few remarkable men at the age of fifty. And her influence on the court was equally good. She discouragedlevities, gossip, and dissipation. If the palace was not so gay asduring the reign of Madame de Montespan, it was more decorous and moreintellectual. It became fashionable to go to church, and to praise goodsermons and read books of casuistry. "Tartuffe grew pale beforeEscobar. " Bossuet and Bourdaloue were equal oracles with Molière andRacine. Great preachers were all the fashion. The court became verydecorous, if it was hypocritical. The King interested himself intheological discussions, and became as austere as formerly he was gayand merry. He regretted his wars and his palace-building; for both werediscouraged by Madame de Maintenon, who perceived that they impoverishedthe nation. She undertook the mighty task of reforming the court itself, as well as the morals of the King; and she partially succeeded. Theproud Nebuchadnezzar whom she served was at last made to confess thatthere was a God to whom he was personally responsible; and he wasencouraged to bear with dignity those sad reverses which humiliated hispride, and drank without complaint the dregs of that bitter cup whichretributive justice held out in mercy before he died. It was his wifewho revealed the deceitfulness, the hypocrisy, the treachery, and theheartlessness of that generation of vipers which he had trusted andenriched. She was more than the guardian of his interests; she was hisfaithful friend, who dissuaded him from follies. So that outwardly LouisXIV. Became a religious man, and could perhaps have preached a sermon onthe vanity of a worldly life, --that whatever is born in vanity must endin vanity. It is greatly to the credit of Madame de Maintenon that she wasinterested in whatever tended to improve the morals of the people or todevelop the intellect. She was one of those strong-minded women who areimpressible by grand sentiments. She would have admired Madame de Staëlor Madame Roland, --not their opinions, but their characters. Politicswas perhaps the most interesting subject to her, as it has ever been tovery cultivated women in France; and it was with the details of cabinetsand military enterprises that she was most familiar. It was thispolitical knowledge which made her so wise a counsellor and so necessarya companion to the King. But her reign was nevertheless a usurpation. She triumphed in consequence of the weakness of her husband more than byher own strength; and the nation never forgave her. She outraged thehonor of the King, and detracted from the dignity of the royal station. Louis XIV. Certainly had the moral right to marry her, as a nobleman mayespouse a servant-girl; but it was a _faux-pas_ which the proudidolaters of rank could not excuse. And for this usurpation Madame de Maintenon paid no inconsiderable apenalty. She was insulted by the royal family to the day of her death. The Dauphin would not visit her, even when the King led him to the doorof her apartments. The courtiers mocked her behind her back. Her rivalsthrust upon her their envenomed libels. Even Racine once so far forgothimself as to allude in her presence to the miserable farces of the poetScarron, --an unpremeditated and careless insult which she never forgotor forgave. Moreover, in all her grandeur she was doomed to the mostexhaustive formalities and duties; for the King exacted her constantservices, which wearied and disgusted her. She was born for freedom, butwas really a slave, although she wore gilded fetters. She was not whatone would call an unhappy or disappointed woman, since she attained theend to which she had aspired. But she could not escape humiliations. Shewas in a false position. Her reputation was aspersed. She was only awife whose marriage was concealed; she was not a queen. All she gained, she extorted. In rising to the exalted height of ruling the court ofFrance she yet abdicated her throne as an untrammelled queen of society, and became the slave of a pompous, ceremonious, self-conscious, egotistical, selfish, peevish, self-indulgent, tyrannical, exacting, priest-ridden, worn-out, disenchanted old voluptuary. And when he diedshe was treated as a usurper rather than a wife, and was obliged toleave the palace, where she would have been insulted, and take up herquarters in the convent she had founded. The King did not leave her byhis will a large fortune, so that she was obliged to curtail hercharities. Madame de Maintenon lived to be eighty-four, and retained herintellectual faculties to the last, retiring to the Abbey of St. Cyr onthe death of the King in 1715, and surviving him but four years. She wasbeloved and honored by those who knew her intimately. She was the idolof the girls of St. Cyr, who worshipped the ground on which she trod. Yet she made no mark in history after the death of Louis XIV. All hergreatness was but the reflection of his glory. Her life, successful asit was, is but a confirmation of the folly of seeking a position whichis not legitimate. No position is truly desirable which is a false one, which can be retained only by art, and which subjects one to humiliationand mortifications. I have great admiration for the many excellentqualities of this extraordinary and gifted woman, although I know thatshe is not a favorite with historians. She is not endeared to the heartof the nation she indirectly ruled. She is positively disliked by alarge class, not merely for her narrow religious intolerance, but evenfor the arts by which she gained so great an influence. Yet, liked ordisliked, it would be difficult to find in French history a greater ormore successful woman. AUTHORITIES. Henri Martin's History of France; Biographic Universelle; Miss Pardoe'sHistory of the Court of Louis XIV. ; Lacretelle's History of France; St. Simon's Mémoires; Voltaire's Siècle de Louis XIV. ; Guizot's History ofFrance; Early Days of Madame de Maintenon, Eclectic Magazine, xxxii. 67;Life and Character of Madame de Maintenon, Quarterly Review, xcvi. 394;Fortnightly Review, xxv. 607; Temple Bar, Iv. 243; Fraser, xxxix. 231;Mémoires of Louis XIV. , Quarterly Review, xix. 46; James's Life andTimes of Louis XIV. ; James's Life of Madame de Maintenon; SecretCorrespondence of Madame de Maintenon; Taine on the Ancien Régime;Browning's History of the Huguenots, Edinburgh Review, xcix. 454;Butler's Lives of Fénelon and Bossuet; Abbé Ledieu's Mémoire de Bossuet;Bentley, Memoirs de Madame de Montespan, xlviii. 309; De Bausset's Lifeof Fénelon. SARAH, DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH. * * * * * A. D. 1660-1744. THE WOMAN OF THE WORLD. In the career of Madame de Maintenon we have seen in a woman aninordinate ambition to rise in the world and control public affairs. Inthe history of the Duchess of Marlborough, we see the same ambition, thesame love of power, the same unscrupulous adaptation of means to an end. Yet the aim and ends of these two remarkable political women weredifferent. The Frenchwoman had in view the reform of a wicked court, theinterests of education, the extirpation of heresy, the elevation of menof genius, the social and religious improvement of a great nation, asshe viewed it, through a man who bore absolute sway. The Englishwomanconnived at political corruptions, was indifferent to learning andgenius, and exerted her great influence, not for the good of hercountry, but to advance the fortunes of her family. Madame de Maintenon, if narrow and intolerant, was unselfish, charitable, religious, andpatriotic; the Duchess of Marlborough was selfish, grasping, avaricious, and worldly in all her aspirations. Both wereambitious, --the one to benefit the country which she virtually ruled, and the other to accumulate honors and riches by cabals and intrigues inthe court of a weak woman whom she served and despised. Madame deMaintenon, in a greater position, as the wife of the most powerfulmonarch in Christendom, was gentle, amiable, condescending, andkind-hearted; the Duchess of Marlborough was haughty, insolent, andacrimonious. Both were beautiful, bright, witty, and intellectual; butthe Frenchwoman was immeasurably more cultivated, and was impressible bygrand sentiments. And yet the Duchess of Marlborough was a great woman. She was the mostprominent figure in the Court of Queen Anne, and had a vast influence onthe politics of her day. Her name is associated with great statesmen andgenerals. She occupied the highest social position of any woman inEngland after that of the royal family. She had the ear and theconfidence of the Queen. The greatest offices were virtually at herdisposal. Around her we may cluster the leading characters and events ofthe age of Queen Anne. Sarah Jennings, the future Duchess of Marlborough, was born in 1660. Shebelonged to a good though not a noble family, which for many generationspossessed a good estate in Hertfordshire. Her grandfather, Sir JohnJennings, was a zealous adherent to the royal cause before theRevolution, and received the Order of the Bath, in company with hispatron, Charles I. , then Prince of Wales. When Sarah was twelve years ofage, she found a kind friend in the Duchess of York, Mary BeatriceEleanora, Princess of Modena (an adopted daughter of Louis XIV. ), whomarried James, brother of Charles II. The young girl was thus introducedto the dangerous circle which surrounded the Duke of York, and shepassed her time, not in profitable studies, but in amusements andrevels. She lived in the ducal household as a playmate of the PrincessAnne, and was a beautiful, bright, and witty young lady, though not welleducated. In the year 1673 she became acquainted with John Churchill, acolonel of the army and a gentleman of the bedchamber to the Duke ofYork, --the latter a post of honor, but of small emolument. He was atthat time twenty-three years of age, a fine-looking and gallant soldier, who had already distinguished himself at the siege of Tangier. He hadalso fought under the banners of Marshal Turenne in the Low Countries, by whom he was called the "handsome Englishman. " At the siege ofMaestricht he further advanced his fortunes, succeeding the famous Earlof Peterborough in the command of the English troops, then in alliancewith Louis XIV. He was not a man of intellectual culture, nor was hedeeply read. It is said that even his spelling was bad; but his letterswere clear and forcible. He made up his deficiency in education byirresistibly pleasing manners, remarkable energy, and a coolness ofjudgment that was seldom known to err. His acquaintance with the beautiful Sarah Jennings soon ripened intolove; but he was too poor to marry. Nor had she a fortune. They howeverbecame engaged to each other, and the betrothal continued three years. It was not till 1678 that the marriage took place. The colonel wasdomestic in his tastes and amiable in his temper, and his home washappy. He was always fond of his wife, although her temper was quick andher habits exacting. She was proud, irascible, and overbearing, while hewas meek and gentle. In other respects they were equally matched, sinceboth were greedy, ambitious, and worldly. A great stain, too, rested onhis character; for he had been scandalously intimate with BarbaraVilliers, mistress of Charles II. , who gave him £5000, with which hebought an annuity of £500 a year, --thus enabling him to marryMiss Jennings. In 1685 Charles II. Died, and was succeeded by his brother the Duke ofYork, as James II. The new King rewarded his favorite, ColonelChurchill, with a Scotch peerage and the command of a regiment ofguards, James's two daughters, the princesses Mary and Anne, now becamegreat personages. But from mutual jealousy they did not live togethervery harmoniously. Mary, the elder daughter, was much the superior ofher sister, and her marriage with William of Orange wasparticularly happy. The Princess Anne was weak and far from being interesting. But she wasinordinately attached to Lady Churchill, who held a high post of honorand emolument in her household. It does not appear that the attachmentwas mutual between these two ladies, but the forms of it were kept up byLady Churchill, who had ambitious ends to gain. She gradually acquiredan absolute ascendency over the mind of the Princess, who could not livehappily without her companionship and services. Lady Churchill was atthis time remarkably striking in her appearance, with a clearcomplexion, regular features, majestic figure, and beautiful hair, whichwas dressed without powder. She also had great power of conversation, was frank, outspoken, and amusing, but without much tact. The Princesswrote to her sometimes four times a day, always in the strain ofhumility, and seemed utterly dependent upon her. Anne was averse toreading, spending her time at cards and frivolous pleasures. She wasfond of etiquette, and exacting in trifles. She was praised for herpiety, which would appear however to have been formal and technical. She was placid, phlegmatic, and had no conversational gifts. She playedtolerably on the guitar, loved the chase, and rode with the hounds untildisabled by the gout, which was brought about by the pleasures of thetable. In 1683 she married Prince George of Denmark, and by him hadthirteen children, not one of whom survived her; most of them died ininfancy. As the daughter of James II. , she was of course a Tory in herpolitical opinions. Lady Churchill was also at that time a moderate Tory, and fanned theprejudices of her mistress. But in order to secure a still greaterintimacy and freedom than was consistent with their difference in rank, the two ladies assumed the names of Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman. In thecorrespondence between them the character of the Princess appears to thegreater advantage, since she was at least sincere in her admiration andfriendship. She assumes no superiority in any respect; in herintellectual dependence she is even humble. Anne was seemingly disinterested in her friendship with Lady Churchill, having nothing to gain but services, for which she liberally compensatedher. But the society of a weak woman could not have had much fascinationfor so independent and self-sustained a person as was the proud peeress. It eventually became irksome to her. But there was no outward flaw inthe friendship until Anne ascended the throne in 1702, --not even forseveral years after. The accession of William and Mary in 1689 changed the position of Anne, to whom the nation now looked as a probable future queen. She was atthat time severely censured for her desertion of her father James, andher conduct seemed both heartless and frivolous. But she was virtuallyin the hands of an unscrupulous woman and the great ministersof State. On the flight of the King, James II. , the PrincessAnne retired to Chatsworth, --the magnificent seat of the Earl ofDevonshire, --accompanied by Lady Churchill, her inseparable companion. Two days before the coronation of William and Mary, Lord Churchill wascreated Earl of Marlborough, and was sworn a member of the Privy Counciland a lord of the bedchamber. This elevation was owing to his militarytalents, which no one appreciated better than the King, who howevernever personally liked Marlborough, and still less his ambitious wife. He was no stranger to their boundless cupidity, though he pretended notto see it. He was politic, not being in a position to dispense with theservices of the ablest military general of his realm. William III. Was a remarkably wise and clearheaded prince, and saw thedangers which menaced him, --the hostility of Louis XIV. , the rebels inIreland, and the disaffection among the Jacobite nobility in England, who secretly favored the exiled monarch. So he rewarded and elevated aman whom he both admired and despised. William had many sterlingvirtues; he was sincere and patriotic and public-spirited; he was astanch Protestant of the Calvinistic school, and very attentive to hisreligious duties. But with all his virtues and services to the Englishnation, he was not a favorite. His reserve, coldness, and cynicism werein striking contrast with the affability of the Stuarts. He had noimagination and no graces; he disgusted the English nobles by drinkingHolland gin, and by his brusque manners. But nothing escaped his eagleeye. On the field of battle he was as ardent and fiery as he was dulland phlegmatic at Hampton Court, his favorite residence. He was capableof warm friendships, uninteresting as he seemed to the English nobles;but he was intimate only with his Dutch favorites, like Bentinck andKeppel, whom he elevated to English peerages. He spent only a few monthsin England each year of the thirteen of his reign, being absorbed in warmost of the time with Louis XIV. And the Irish rebels. William found that his English throne was anything but a bed of roses. The Tories, in the tumults and dangers attending the flight of JamesII. , had promoted his elevation; but they were secretly hostile, andwhen dangers had passed, broke out in factious opposition. Thehigh-church clergy disliked a Calvinistic king in sympathy withDissenters. The Irish gave great trouble under Tyrconnel and old MarshalSchomberg, the latter of whom was killed at the battle of the Boyne. Alarge party was always in opposition to the unceasing war with LouisXIV. , whom William hated with implacable animosity. The Earl of Marlborough, on the accession of William, was a moderateTory, and was soon suspected of not being true to his sovereign. Histreason might have resulted in the return of the Stuarts but for theenergy and sagacity of Queen Mary, in whose hands the supreme executivepower was placed by William when absent from the kingdom. She summonedat once the Parliament, prevented the defection of the navy, andferreted out the hostile intrigues, in which the lord-treasurerGodolphin was also implicated. But for the fortunate naval victory of LaHogue over the French fleet, which established the naval supremacy ofEngland, the throne of William and the Protestant succession would havebeen seriously endangered; for William was unfortunate in his Flemishcampaigns. When the King was apprised of the treasonable intrigues which endangeredhis throne, he magnanimously pardoned Godolphin and the Duke ofShrewsbury, but sent Marlborough to the Tower, although he soon afterreleased him, when it was found that several of the letters whichcompromised him had been forged. For some time Marlborough lived incomparative retirement, while his wife devoted herself to politics andher duties about the person of the Princess Anne, who was treated verycoldly by her sister the Queen, and was even deprived of her guards. Butthe bickerings and quarrels of the royal sisters were suddenly ended bythe death of Mary from the small-pox, which then fearfully raged inLondon. The grief of the King was sincere and excessive, as well as thatof the nation, and his affliction softened his character and mitigatedhis asperity against Marlborough, Shortly after the death of his queen, William made Marlborough governor of the Duke of Gloucester, then (1698)a very promising prince, in the tenth year of his age. This prince, onlysurviving son of Anne, had a feeble body, and was unwisely crammed byBishop Burnet, his preceptor, and overworked by Marlborough, who taughthim military tactics. Neither his body nor his mind could stand thestrain made upon him, and he was carried off at the age of eleven bya fever. The untimely death of the Prince was a great disappointment to thenation, and cast a gloom over the remaining years of the reign ofWilliam, who from this time declined in health and spirits. One of hislast acts was to appoint the Earl of Marlborough general of the troopsin Flanders, knowing that he was the only man who could successfullyoppose the marshals of France. Only five days before his death the Kingsent a recommendation to Parliament for the union of Scotland andEngland, and the last act of Parliament to which he gave his consent wasthat which fixed the succession in the House of Hanover. At the age offifty-one, while planning the campaign which was to make Marlboroughimmortal, William received his death-stroke, which was accidental. Hewas riding in the park of Hampton Court, when his horse stumbled and hewas thrown, dislocating his collar-bone. The bone was set, and mighthave united but for the imprudence of the King, who insisted on going toKensington on important business. Fever set in, and in a few days thisnoble and heroic king died (March 8, 1702), --the greatest of the Englishkings since the Wars of the Roses, to whom the English nation owed thepeaceful settlement of the kingdom in times of treason and rebellion. The Princess Anne, at the age of thirty-seven, quietly ascended thethrone, and all eyes were at once turned to Marlborough, on whom theweight of public affairs rested. He was now fifty-three, active, wise, well poised, experienced, and generally popular in spite of his ambitionand treason. He had, as we have already remarked, been a moderate Tory, but as he was the advocate of war measures, he now became one of theleaders of the Whig party. Indeed, he was at this time the foremost manin England, on account of his great talents as a statesman anddiplomatist as well as general, and for the ascendency of his wife overthe mind of the Queen. Next to him in power was the lord-treasurer Godolphin, to whom he wasbound by ties of friendship, family alliance, and political principles. Like Marlborough, Godolphin had in early life been attached to theservice of the House of Stuart. He had been page to Charles II. , andlord chamberlain to Mary of Modena. The Princess Anne, when a younglady, became attached to this amiable and witty man, and would havemarried him if reasons of State had not prevented. After the Revolutionof 1688 his merits were so conspicuous that he was retained in theservice of William and Mary, and raised to the peerage. In soundjudgment, extraordinary sagacity, untiring industry, and unimpeachedintegrity, he resembled Lord Burleigh in the reign of Elizabeth, and, like him, rendered great public services. Grave, economical, cautious, upright, courteous in manners, he was just the man for the stormy timesin which he lived. He had his faults, being fond of play (the passion ofthat age) and of women. Says Swift, who libelled him, as he did everyprominent man of the Whig party, "He could scratch out a song in praiseof his mistress with a pencil on a card, or overflow with tears like awoman when he had an object to gain. " But the real ruler of the land, on the accession of Anne, was thefavored wife of Marlborough. If ever a subject stood on the verypinnacle of greatness, it was she. All the foreign ambassadors flatteredher and paid court to her. The greatest nobles solicited or bought ofher the lucrative offices in the gift of the Crown. She was thedispenser of court favors, as Mesdames de Maintenon and Pompadour werein France. She was the admiration of gifted circles, in which shereigned as a queen of society. Poets sang her praises and extolled herbeauty; statesmen craved her influence. Nothing took place at court towhich she was not privy. She was the mainspring of all political cabalsand intrigues; even the Queen treated her with deference, as well asloaded her with gifts, and Godolphin consulted her on affairs of State. The military fame of her husband gave her unbounded _éclat_. NoEnglishwoman ever had such an exalted social position; she reigned in_salons_ as well as in the closet of the Queen. And she succeeded inmarrying her daughters to the proudest peers. Her eldest daughter, Henrietta, was the wife of an earl and prime minister. Her seconddaughter, Anne, married Lord Charles Spencer, the only son of the Earlof Sunderland, one of the leaders of the Whig party and secretary ofstate. Her third daughter became the wife of the Earl, afterwards Duke, of Bridgewater; and the fourth and youngest daughter had for her husbandthe celebrated Duke of Montague, grand-master of the Order of the Bath. Thus did Sarah Jennings rise. Her daughters were married to great noblesand statesmen, her husband was the most famous general of his age, andshe herself was the favorite and confidential friend and adviser of theQueen. Upon her were showered riches and honor. She had both influenceand power, --influence from her talents, and power from her position. Andwhen she became duchess, --after the great victory of Blenheim, --and aprincess of the German Empire, she had nothing more to aspire to in theway of fortune or favor or rank. She was the first woman of the land, next to the Queen, whom she ruled while nominally serving her. There are very few people in this world, whether men or women, whoremain unchanged under the influence of boundless prosperity. So rareare the exceptions, that the rule is established. Wealth, honor, andpower will produce luxury, pride, and selfishness. How few can hope tobe superior to Solomon, Mohammed, Constantine, Theodosius, Louis XIV. , Madame de Maintenon, Queen Elizabeth, Maria Theresa, or Napoleon, inthat sublime self-control which looks down on the temptations of earthwith the placid indifference of a Marcus Aurelius! Even prosperouspeople in comparatively humble life generally become arrogant andopinionated, and like to have things in their own way. Now, Lady Marlborough was both proud by nature and the force ofcircumstances. She became an incarnation of arrogance, which she couldnot conceal, and which she never sought to control. When she became thecentral figure in the Court and in the State, flattered and sought afterwherever she went, before whom the greatest nobles burned their incense, and whom the people almost worshipped in a country which has everidolized rank and power, she assumed airs and gave vent to expressionsthat wounded her friend the Queen. Anne bore her friend's intolerablepride, blended with disdain, for a long time after her accession. Buther own character also began to change. Sovereigns do not like dictationfrom subjects, however powerful. And when securely seated on her throne, Anne began to avow opinions which she had once found it politic toconceal. She soon became as jealous of her prerogative as her uncleCharles and her father James had been of theirs. She was at heart aTory, --as was natural, --and attached to the interests of her banishedrelatives. She looked upon the Whigs as hostile to what she held dear. She began to dislike ministers who had been in high favor with the lateKing, especially Lord Chancellor Somers and Charles Montague, Earl ofHalifax, --since these powerful nobles, allied with Godolphin andMarlborough, ruled England. Thus the political opinions of the Queencame gradually to be at variance with those advanced by her favorite, whose daughters were married to great Whig nobles, and whose husband wasbent on continuing the war against Louis XIV. And the exiled Stuarts. But, as we have said, Anne for a long time suppressed her feelings ofincipient alienation, produced by the politics and haughty demeanor ofher favorite, and still wrote to her as her beloved Mrs. Freeman, andsigned her letters, as usual, as her humble Morley. Her treatment of theCountess continued the same as ever, full of affection and confidence. She could not break with a friend who had so long been indispensable toher; nor had she strength of character to reveal her true feelings. Meanwhile a renewed war was declared against Louis XIV. On account ofhis determination to place his grandson on the throne of Spain. TheTories were bitterly opposed to this war of the Spanish succession, asunnecessary, expensive, and ruinous to the development of nationalindustry. They were also jealous of Marlborough, whose power they fearedwould be augmented by the war, as the commander-in-chief of the unitedDutch and English forces. And the result was indeed what they feared. His military successes were so great in this war that on his return toEngland he was created a duke, and soon after received unusual grantsfrom Parliament, controlled by the Whigs, which made him the richest manin England as well as the most powerful politically. Yet even up to thistime the relations between his wife and the Queen were apparently mostfriendly. But soon after this the haughty favorite became imprudent inthe expressions she used before her royal mistress; she began to wearyof the drudgeries of her office as mistress of the robes, and turnedover her duties partially to a waiting-woman, who was destinedultimately to supplant her in the royal favor. The Queen was wounded tothe quick by some things that the Duchess said and did, which she wassupposed not to hear or see; for the Duchess was now occasionallycareless as well as insolent. The Queen was forced to perceive that theDuchess disdained her feeble intellect and some of her personal habits, and was, moreover, hostile to her political opinions; and she began tolong for an independence she had never truly enjoyed. But the Duchess, intoxicated with power and success, did not see the ground on which shestood; yet if she continued to rule her mistress, it was by fear ratherthan love. About this period (1706) the struggles and hostilities of the Whigs andTories were at their height. We have in these times but a feebleconception of the bitterness of the strife of these two great parties inthe beginning of the eighteenth century. It divided families, and filledthe land with slanders and intrigues. The leaders of both parties wereequally aristocratic and equally opposed to reform; both held the peoplein sovereign contempt. The struggle between them was simply a strugglefor place and emolument. The only real difference in their principleswas that one party was secretly in favor of the exiled family and wasopposed to the French war, and the other was more jealously Protestant, and was in favor of the continuance of the war. The Tories accusedMarlborough of needlessly prolonging the war in order to advance hispersonal interests, --from which charge it would be difficult toacquit him. One of the most prominent leaders of the Tories was Harley, afterwardsEarl of Oxford, who belonged to a Puritan family in Hertfordshire, andwas originally a Whig. He entered Parliament in the early part of thereign of William. Macaulay, who could see no good in the Tories, in hisviolent political prejudices maintained that Harley was not a man ofgreat breadth of intellect, and exerted an influence in Parliamentdisproportionate to his abilities. But he was a most insidious andeffective enemy. He was sagacious enough to perceive the growinginfluence of men of letters, and became their patron and friend. Headvanced the fortunes of Pope, Arbuthnot, and Prior. He purchased theservices of Swift, the greatest master of satire blended with bitterinvective that England had known. Harley was not eloquent in speech; buthe was industrious, learned, exact, and was always listened to withrespect. Nor had he any scandalous vices. He could not be corrupted bymoney, and his private life was decorous. He abhorred both gambling anddrunkenness, --the fashionable vices of that age. He was a refined, social, and cultivated man. This statesman perceived that it was imperatively necessary for thesuccess of his party to undermine the overpowering influence of theDuchess of Marlborough with the Queen. He detested her arrogance, disdain, and grasping ambition. Moreover, he had the firm convictionthat England should engage only in maritime war. He hated the Dutch andmoneyed men, and Dissenters of every sect, although originally one ofthem. And when he had obtained the leadership of his party in the Houseof Commons, he brought to bear the whole force of his intellect againstboth the Duke and Duchess. It was by his intrigues that the intimaterelations between the Duchess and the Queen were broken up, and that theDuke became unpopular. The great instrument by which he effected the disgrace of the imperiousDuchess was a woman who was equally his cousin and the cousin of theDuchess, and for whom the all-powerful favorite had procured the officeof chamber-woman and dresser, --in other words, a position which in aninferior rank is called that of lady's-maid; for the Duchess was weariedof constant attendance on the Queen, and to this woman some of her oldduties were delegated. The name of this woman was Abigail Hill. She hadbeen in very modest circumstances, but was a person of extraordinarytact, prudence, and discretion, though very humble in heraddress, --qualities the reverse of those which marked her greatrelative. Nor did the proud Duchess comprehend Miss Hill's character anddesigns any more than the all-powerful Madame de Montespan comprehendedthose of the widow Scarron when she made her the governess of herchildren. But Harley understood her, and their principles and aims werein harmony. Abigail Hill was a bigoted Tory, and her supreme desire wasto ingratiate herself in the favor of her royal mistress, especiallywhen she was tired of the neglect or annoyed by the railleries of herexacting favorite. By degrees the humble lady's-maid obtained the sameascendency over the Queen that had been exercised by the mistress of therobes, --in the one case secured by humility, assiduous attention, andconstant flatteries; in the other, obtained by talent and brilliantfascinations. Abigail was ruled by Harley; Sarah was ruled by no one buther husband, who understood her caprices and resentments, and seldomdirectly opposed her. Moreover, she was a strong-minded woman, who couldlisten to reason after her fits of passion had passed away. The first thing of note which occurred, showing to the Duchess that herinfluence was undermined, was the refusal of the Queen to allow LordCowper, the lord chancellor, to fill up the various livings belonging tothe Crown, in spite of the urgent solicitations of the Duchess. Thisnaturally produced a coolness between Mrs. Freeman and Mrs. Morley. Harley was now the confidential adviser of the Queen, and counselled her"to go alone, "--that is, to throw off the shackles which she had toolong ignominiously worn; and Anne at once appointed high-churchdivines--Tories of course--to the two vacant bishoprics. Theunder-stream of faction was flowing unseen, but deep and strong, whichthe infatuated Duchess did not suspect. The great victory of Ramillies (1706) gave so much _éclat_ toMarlborough that the outbreak between his wife and the Queen was delayedfor a time. That victory gave a new lease of power to the Whigs. Harleyand St. John, the secret enemies of the Duke, welcomed him with theirusual smiles and flatteries, and even voted for the erection ofBlenheim, one of the most expensive palaces ever built in England. Meanwhile Harley pursued his intrigues to effect the downfall of theDuchess. Miss Hill, unknown to her great relative and patroness, marriedMr. Masham, equerry to Prince George, who was shortly after made abrigadier-general and peer. Nothing could surpass the indignation of theDuchess when she heard of this secret marriage. That it should beconcealed from her while it was known to the Queen, showed conclusivelythat her power over Anne was gone. And, still further, she perceivedthat she was supplanted by a relative whom she had raised fromobscurity. She now comprehended the great influence of Harley at court, and also the declining favor of her husband. It was a bitter reflectionto the proud Duchess that the alienation of the Queen was the result ofher own folly and pride rather than of royal capriciousness. She nowpaid no inconsiderable penalty for the neglect of her mistress and thegratification of her pride. Pride has ever been the chief cause of thedownfall of royal favorites. It ruined Louvois, Wolsey, and ThomasCromwell; it broke the chain which bound Louis XIV. To the imperiousMontespan. It ever goes before destruction. The Duchess of Marlboroughforgot that her friend Mrs. Morley was also her sovereign the Queen. Shemight have retained the Queen's favor to the end, in spite of politicalopinions; but she presumed too far on the ascendency which she hadenjoyed for nearly thirty years. There is no height from which one maynot fall; and it takes more ability to retain a proud position than togain it. There are very few persons who are beyond the reach of envy anddetraction; and the loftier the position one occupies, the more subtle, numerous, and desperate are one's secret enemies. The Duchess was not, however, immediately "disgraced, "--as theexpression is in reference to great people who lose favor at court. Shestill retained her offices and her apartments in the royal palace; shestill had access to the Queen; she was still addressed as "my dear Mrs. Freeman. " But Mrs. Masham had supplanted her; and Harley, through theinfluence of the new favorite, ruled at court. The disaffection whichhad long existed between the secretary of state and the lord treasurerdeepened into absolute aversion. It became the aim of both ministers toruin each other. The Queen now secretly sided with the Tories, althoughshe had not the courage to quarrel openly with her powerful ministers, or with her former favorite. Nor was "the great breach" made public. But the angry and disappointed Duchess gave vent to her wrath andvengeance in letters to her husband and in speech to Godolphin. Sheentreated them to avenge her quarrel. She employed spies about theQueen. She brought to bear her whole influence on the leaders of theWhigs. She prepared herself for an open conflict with her sovereign; forshe saw clearly that the old relations of friendship and confidencebetween them would never return. A broken friendship is a broken jar; itmay be mended, but never restored, --its glory has departed. And this isone of the bitterest experiences of life, on whomsoever the fault may belaid. The fault in this instance was on the side of the Duchess, and noton that of her patron. The arrogance and dictation of the favorite hadbecome intolerable; it was as hard to bear as the insolence of apetted servant. The Duke of Marlborough and Lord Godolphin took up the quarrel withzeal. They were both at the summit of power, and both were leaders oftheir party. The victories of the former had made him the most famousman in Europe and the greatest subject in England. They declined toserve their sovereign any longer, unless Harley were dismissed fromoffice; and the able secretary of state was obliged to resign. But Anne could not forget that she was forced to part with herconfidential minister, and continued to be ruled by his counsels. Shehad secret nocturnal meetings in the palace with both Harley and Mrs. Masham, to the chagrin of the ministers. The court became the scene ofintrigues and cabals. Not only was Harley dismissed, but also Henry St. John, afterwards the famous Lord Bolingbroke, the intimate friend andpatron of Pope. He was secretary of war, and was a man of great ability, of more genius even than Harley. He was an infidel in his religiousopinions, and profligate in his private life. Like Harley, he was bornof Puritan parents, and, like him, repudiated his early principles. Hewas the most eloquent orator in the House of Commons, which he enteredin 1700 as a Whig. At that time he was much admired by Marlborough, whoused his influence to secure his entrance into the cabinet. His mostremarkable qualities were political sagacity, and penetration into themotives and dispositions of men. He gradually went over to the Tories, and his alliance with Harley was strengthened by personal friendship aswell as political sympathies. He was the most interesting man of his agein society, --witty, bright, and courtly. In conversational powers he wassurpassed only by Swift. Meanwhile the breach between the Queen and the Duchess graduallywidened. And as the former grew cold in her treatment of her old friend, she at the same time annoyed her ministers by the appointment of Torybishops to the vacant sees. She went so far as to encroach on theprerogatives of the general of her armies, by making militaryappointments without his consent. This interference Marlboroughproperly resented. But his influence was now on the wane, as the nationwearied of a war which, as it seemed to the Tories, he needlesslyprolonged. Moreover, the Duke of Somerset, piqued by the refusal of thegeneral to give a regiment to his son, withdrew his support from theGovernment. The Duke of Shrewsbury and other discontented noblemen leftthe Whig party. The unwise prosecution of Dr. Sacheverell for aseditious libel united the whole Tory party in a fierce opposition tothe Government, which was becoming every day more unpopular. Harley wasindefatigable in intrigues. "He fasted with religious zealots andfeasted with convivial friends. " He promised everything to everybody, but kept his own counsels. In such a state of affairs, with the growing alienation of the Queen, itbecame necessary for the proud Duchess to resign her offices; but beforedoing this she made one final effort to regain what she had lost. Shebesought the Queen for a private interview, which was refused. Againimportuned, her Majesty sullenly granted the interview, but refused toexplain anything, and even abruptly left the room, and was so rude thatthe Duchess burst into a flood of tears which she could notrestrain, --not tears of grief, but tears of wrath and shame. Thus was finally ended the memorable friendship between Mrs. Morley andMrs. Freeman, which had continued for twenty-seven years. The Queen andDuchess never met again. Soon after, in 1710, followed the dismissal ofLord Godolphin, as lord treasurer, who was succeeded by Harley, createdEarl of Oxford. Sunderland, too, was dismissed, and his post ofsecretary of state was given to St. John, created Viscount Bolingbroke. Lord Cowper resigned the seals, and Sir Simon Harcourt, an avowedadherent of the Pretender, became lord chancellor. The Earl ofRochester, the bitterest of all the Tories, was appointed president ofthe council. The Duke of Marlborough, however, was not dismissed fromhis high command until 1711. One reason for his dismissal was that hewas suspected of aiming to make himself supreme. On his return from thebattle of Malplaquet, he had coolly demanded to be made captain-generalfor life. Such a haughty demand would have been regarded as dangerous ina great crisis; it was absurd when public dangers had passed away. EvenLord Cowper. His friend the chancellor, shrunk from it with amazement. Such a demand would have been deemed arrogant in Wallenstein, amid thesuccesses of Gustavus Adolphus. No insignificant cause of the triumph of the Tory party at this time wasthe patronage which the Tory leaders extended to men of letters, and thebitter political tracts which these literary men wrote and for whichthey were paid. In that age the speeches of members of Parliament werenot reported or published, and hence had but little influence on publicopinion. Even ministers resorted to political tracts to sustain theirpower, or to undermine that of their opponents; and these were moreefficient than speeches in the House of Commons. Bolingbroke was themost eloquent orator of his day; but no orators arose in Anne's reignequal to Pitt and Fox in the reign of George III. Hence the politicalleaders availed themselves of the writings of men of letters, with whomthey freely associated. And this intercourse was deemed a greatcondescension on the part of nobles and cabinet ministers. In that agegreat men were not those who were famous for genius, but those who wereexalted in social position. Still, genius was held in high honor bythose who controlled public affairs, whenever it could be madesubservient to their interests. Foremost among the men of genius who lent their pen to the service ofnobles and statesmen was Jonathan Swift, --clergyman, poet, and satirist. But he was more famous for his satire than for his sermons or hispoetry. Everybody winced under his terrible assaults. He was both fearedand hated, especially by the "great;" hence they flattered him andcourted his society. He became the intimate friend and companion ofOxford and Bolingbroke. He dined with the prime minister every Sunday, and in fact as often as he pleased. He rarely dined at home, and almostlived in the houses of the highest nobles, who welcomed him not only forthe aid he gave them by his writings, but for his wit and agreeablediscourse. At one time he was the most influential man in England, although poor and without office or preferment. He possessed two orthree livings in Ireland, which together brought him about £500, onwhich he lived, --generally in London, at least when his friends were inpower. They could not spare him, and he was intrusted with the mostimportant secrets of state. His insolence was superb. He affectedequality with dukes and earls; he "condescended" to accept theirbanquets. The first time that Bolingbroke invited him to dine, his replywas that "if the Queen gave his lordship a dukedom and the Garter andthe Treasury also, he would regard them no more than he would a groat. "This assumed independence was the habit of his life. He indignantlyreturned £100 to Harley, which the minister had sent him as a gift: hedid not work for money, but for influence and a promised bishopric. Butthe Queen--a pious woman of the conventional school--would never hear ofhis elevation to the bench of bishops, in consequence of the "Tale of aTub, " in which he had ridiculed everything sacred and profane. He wasthe bitterest satirist that England has produced. The most his powerfulfriends could do for him was to give him the deanery of St. Patrick's inDublin, worth about £800 a year. Swift was first brought to notice by Sir William Temple, in the reign ofWilliam and Mary, he being Sir William's secretary. At first he was aWhig, and a friend of Addison; but, neglected by Marlborough andGodolphin, --who cared but little for literary genius, --he became a Tory. In 1710 he became associated with Harley, St. John, Atterbury, andPrior, in the defence of the Tory party; but he never relinquished hisfriendship with Addison, for whom he had profound respect andadmiration. Swift's life was worldly, but moral. He was remarkablytemperate in eating and drinking, and parsimonious in his habits. One ofhis most bitter complaints in his letters to Stella--to whom he wroteevery day--was of the expense of coach-hire in his visits to nobles andstatesmen. It would seem that he creditably discharged his clericalduties. He attended the daily service in the cathedral, and preachedwhen his turn came. He was charitable to the poor, and was a friend toIreland, to whose people he rendered great services from his influencewith the Government. He was beloved greatly by the Irish nation, inspite of his asperity, parsimony, and bad temper. He is generallyregarded by critics as a selfish and heartless man; and his treatment ofthe two women whose affections he had gained was certainly inexplicableand detestable. His old age was miserable and sad. He died insane, having survived his friends and his influence. But his writings havelived. His "Gulliver's Travels" is still one of the most famous andpopular books in our language, in spite of its revolting and vulgardetails. Swift, like Addison, was a great master of style, --clear, forcible, and natural; and in vigor he surpassed any writer of his age. It was the misfortune of the Duchess of Marlborough to have this wittyand malignant satirist for an enemy. He exposed her peculiarities, andlaid bare her character with fearless effrontery. It was thus that heattacked the most powerful woman in England: "A lady of my acquaintanceappropriated £26 a year out of her allowance for certain uses which thelady received, or was to pay to the lady or her order when called for. But after eight years it appeared upon the strictest calculation thatthe woman had paid but £4, and sunk £22 for her own pocket. It is butsupposing £26 instead of £26, 000, and by that you may judge what thepretensions of modern merit are when it happens to be its ownpaymaster. " Who could stand before such insinuations? The Duchessafterwards attempted to defend herself against the charge of peculationas the keeper of the privy purse; but no one believed her. She wasnotoriously avaricious and unscrupulous. Swift spared no personage inthe party of the Whigs, when by so doing he could please the leaders ofthe Tories. And he wrote in an age when libels were scandalous andsavage, --libels which would now subject their authors to punishment. Theacrimony of party strife at that time has never since been equalled. Even poets attacked each other with savage recklessness. There was nocriticism after the style of Sainte-Beuve. Writers sought either toannihilate or to extravagantly praise. The jealousy which poetsdisplayed in reference to each other's productions was as unreasonableand bitter as the envy and strife between country doctors, or musiciansat the opera. There was one great writer in the age of Queen Anne who was an exceptionto this nearly universal envy and bitterness; and this was Addison, whowas as serene and calm as other critics were furious and unjust. EvenSwift spared this amiable and accomplished writer, although he belongedto the Whig party. Joseph Addison, born in 1672, was the most fortunateman of letters in his age, --perhaps in any succeeding age in Englishhistory. He was early distinguished as a writer of Latin poems; and in1699, at the age of twenty-seven, the young scholar was sent byMontague, at the recommendation of Somers, to the Continent, on apension of £300 a year, to study languages with a view to the diplomaticservice. On the accession of Anne, Addison was obliged to return toliterature for his support. Solicited by Godolphin, under the advice ofHalifax, to write a poem on the victories of Marlborough, he wrote oneso popular that he rapidly rose in favor with the Whig ministry. In 1708he was made secretary for Ireland, under Lord Wharton, and enteredParliament. He afterwards was made secretary of state, married apeeress, and spent his last days at Holland House. But Addison was no politician; nor did he distinguish himself inParliament or as a political writer. He could not make a speech, nothaving been trained to debate. He was too timid, and his taste was toosevere, for the arena of politicians. He is immortal for his essays, inwhich his humor is transcendent, and his style easy and graceful, As awriter, he is a great artist. No one has ever been able to equal him inthe charming simplicity of his style. Macaulay, a great artist himselfin the use of language, places Addison on the summit of literaryexcellence and fame as an essayist. One is at loss to comprehend why soquiet and unobtrusive a scholar should have been selected for importantpolitical positions, but can easily understand why he was the admirationof the highest social circles for his wit and the elegance of hisconversation. He was the personification of urbanity and everygentlemanly quality, as well as one of the best scholars of his age;but it was only in an aristocratic age, when a few great noblescontrolled public affairs, that such a man could have been sorecognized, rewarded, and honored. He died beloved and universallylamented, and his writings are still classics, and likely to remain so. He was not an oracle in general society, like Mackintosh and Macaulay;but among congenial and trusted friends he gave full play to his humor, and was as charming as Washington Irving is said to have been in hischosen circle of admirers. Although he was a Whig, we do not read of anyparticular intimacy with such men as Marlborough and Godolphin. Marlborough, though an accomplished and amiable man, was not fond of thesociety of wits, as were Halifax, Montague, Harley, and St. John. As forthe Duchess, she was too proud and grand for such a retired scholar asAddison to feel at ease in her worldly coteries. She cared no more forpoetry or severe intellectual culture than politicians generally do. Sheshone only in a galaxy of ladies of rank and fashion. I do not read thatshe ever took a literary man into her service, and she had no more tastefor letters than the sovereign she served. She was doubtlessintellectual, shrewd, and discriminating; but her intellect was directedto current political movements, and she was coarse in her language. Shewould swear, like Queen Elizabeth, when excited to anger, and her wrathwas terrible. On the dismissal of the great Duke from all his offices, and the"disgrace" of his wife at court, they led a comparatively quiet lifeabroad. The Duchess had parted with her offices with great reluctance. Even when the Queen sent for the golden keys, which were the badge ofher office, she refused to surrender them. No one could do anything withthe infuriated termagant, and all were afraid of her. She threatened toprint the private correspondence of the Queen as Mrs. Morley. Theministers dared not go into her presence, so fierce was her characterwhen offended. To take from her the badge of office was like trying toseparate a fierce lioness from her whelps. The only person who couldmanage her was her husband; and when at last he compelled her to give upthe keys, she threw them in a storm of passion at his head, and ravedlike a maniac. It is amazing how the Queen could have borne so long withthe Duchess's ungovernable temper, and still more so how her husbandcould. But he was always mild and meek in the retirement of his home, --atruly domestic man, to whom pomp was a weariness. Moreover, he was asingularly fortunate man. His ambition and pride and avarice weregratified beyond precedent in English history. He had become theforemost man in his country, and perhaps of his age. And his wife wasstill looked to as a great personage, not only because of her positionand rank, but for her abilities, which were doubtless great. She wasstill a power in the land, and was surrounded by children andgrandchildren who occupied some of the highest social positionsin England. But she was not happy. What can satisfy a restless and ambitious womanwhose happiness is in external pleasures? There is a limit to the favorswhich fortune showers; and when the limits of success are reached, theremust be disappointment. The Duchess was discontented, and became morose, quarrelsome, and hard to please. Her children did not love her, and somewere in bitter opposition to her. She was perpetually embroiled infamily quarrels. Nothing could soften the asperity of her temper, orrestrain her unreasonable exactions. At last England became hateful toher, and she and her husband quitted it, and resided abroad for severalyears. In the retirement of voluntary exile she answered the numerousaccusations against her; for she was maligned on every side, andgenerally disliked, since her arrogance had become insupportable, evento her daughters. Meanwhile the last days of Queen Anne's weary existence were drawing toa close. She was assailed with innumerable annoyances. Her body wasracked with the gout, and her feeble mind was distracted by thecontradictory counsels of her advisers. Any allusion to her successorwas a knell of agony to her disturbed soul. She became suspicious, andwas even alienated from Harley, whom she dismissed from office only afew days before her death, which took place Aug. 1, 1714. She diedwithout signing her will, by which omission Mrs. Masham was deprived ofher legacy. She died childless, and the Elector George of Hanoverascended her throne. On the death of the Queen, Marlborough returned to England; and it wasone of the first acts of the new king to restore to him the post ofcaptain-general of the land forces, while his son-in-law Sunderland wasmade lord-lieutenant of Ireland. A Whig cabinet was formed, but the Dukenever regained his old political influence, and he gradually retired toprivate life, residing with the Duchess almost wholly at Holywell. Hispeaceful retirement, for which he had longed, came at last. He employedhis time in surveying the progress of the building of Blenheim, --inwhich palace he was never destined to live, --and in simple pleasures, for which he never lost a taste. His wife occupied herself inmatrimonial projects for her grandchildren, seeking alliances ofambition and interest. In 1716 the Duke of Marlborough was attacked with a paralytic fit, fromthe effects of which he only partially recovered. To restore his health, he went to Bath, --then the fashionable and favorite watering-place, whose waters were deemed beneficial to invalids; and here it was one ofthe scandals of the day that the rich nobleman would hobble from thepublic room to his lodgings, in a cold, dark night, to save sixpence incoach-hire. His enjoyments were now few and transient. His nervoussystem was completely shattered, after so many labors and exposures inhis numerous campaigns. He lingered till 1722, when he died leaving afortune of a million and a half pounds sterling, besides his vastestates. No subject at that time had so large an income. He left amilitary fame never surpassed in England, --except by Wellington, --and aname unstained by cruelty. So distinguished a man of course received athis death unparalleled funeral honors. He was followed to his temporaryresting-place in the vaults of Westminster by the most imposingprocession that England had ever seen. The Duchess of Marlborough was now the richest woman in England. Whatever influence proceeds from rank and riches she still possessed, though the titles and honors of the dukedom descended by act ofParliament, in 1706, to the Countess of Godolphin, with whom she was atwar. The Duchess was now sixty-two, with unbroken health andinextinguishable ambition. She resided chiefly at Windsor Lodge, for sheheld for life the office of ranger of the forest. It was then that shewas so severely castigated by Pope in his satirical lines on "Atossa, "that she is said to have sent £1000 to the poet, to suppress thelibel, --her avarice and wrath giving way to her policy and pride. Fortwenty years after the death of her husband she continued an intriguingpolitician, but on ill-terms with Sir Robert Walpole, the primeminister, whom she cordially hated, more because of money transactionsthan political disagreement. She was a very disagreeable old woman, yetnot without influence, if she was without friends. She had at least themerit of frankness, for she concealed none of her opinions of the King, nor of his ministers, nor of distinguished nobles. She was querulous, and full of complaints and exactions. One of her bitterest complaintswas that she was compelled to pay taxes on her house in Windsor Park. She would even utter her complaints before servants. Litigation was notdisagreeable to her if she had reason on her side, whether she hadlaw or not. It was not the good fortune of this strong-minded but unhappy woman toassemble around her in her declining years children and grandchildrenwho were attached to her. She had alienated even them. She had nointimate friends. "A woman not beloved by her own children can have butlittle claim to the affections of others. " As we have already said, theDuchess was at open variance with her oldest daughter Henrietta, theCountess of Godolphin, to whom she was never reconciled. Her quarrelswith her granddaughter Lady Anne Egerton, afterwards Duchess of Bedford, were violent and incessant. She lived in perpetual altercation with heryoungest daughter, the Duchess of Montague. She never was beloved by anyof her children at any time, since they were in childhood and youthintrusted to the care of servants and teachers, while the mother wasabsorbed in political cabals at court. She consulted their interestmerely in making for them grand alliances, to gratify her family pride. Her whole life was absorbed in pride and ambition. Nor did themortification of a dishonored old age improve her temper. She soughtneither the consolation of religion nor the intellectual stimulus ofhistory and philosophy. To the last she was as worldly as she wasmorose. To the last she was a dissatisfied politician. She reviled theWhig administration of Walpole as fiercely as she did the Toryadministration of Oxford. She haughtily refused the Order of the Bathfor her grandson the Duke of Marlborough, which Walpole offered, contented with nothing less than the Garter. "Madam, " replied Walpole, "they who take the Bath will sooner have the Garter. " In her old age herruling passion was hatred of Walpole. "I think, " she wrote, "'tisthought wrong to wish anybody dead, but I hope 'tis none to wish he maybe hanged. " Her wishes were partly gratified, for she lived long enoughto see this great statesman--so long supreme--driven to the verythreshold of the Tower. For his son Horace she had equal dislike, and hereturned her hatred with malignant satire. "Old Marlborough is dying, "said the wit; "but who can tell? Last year she had lain a great whileill, without speaking, and her physician told her that she must beblistered, or she would die. She cried out, 'I won't be blistered, and Iwon't die, '" She did indeed last some time longer; but with increasing infirmities, her amusements and pleasures became yearly more circumscribed. In formeryears she had sometimes occupied her mind with the purchase of land; forshe was shrewd, and rarely made a bad bargain. Even at the age of eightyshe went to the city to bid in person for the estate of Lord Yarmouth. But as her darkened day approached its melancholy close, she amusedherself by dictating in bed her "Vindication, " After spending thus sixhours daily with her secretary, she had recourse to her chamber organ, the eight tunes of which she thought much better to hear than going tothe Italian opera. Even society, in which she once shone, --for herintellect was bright and her person beautiful, --at last wearied her andgave her no pleasure. Like many lonely, discontented women, she becameattached to animals; she petted three dogs, in which she saw virtuesthat neither men nor women possessed. In her disquiet she often changedher residence. She went from Marlborough House to Windsor Lodge, andfrom Windsor Lodge to Wimbledon, only to discover that each place wasdamp and unhealthy. Wrapt up in flannels, and wheeled up and down herroom in a chair, she discovered that wealth can only mitigate the evilsof humanity, and realized how wretched is any person with a soul filledwith discontent and bitterness, when animal spirits are destroyed by theinfirmities of old age. All the views of this spoiled favorite offortune were bounded by the scenes immediately before her. While she wasnot sceptical, she was far from being religious; and hence she wasdeprived of the highest consolations given to people in disappointmentand sorrow and neglect. The older she grew, the more tenaciously did shecling to temporal possessions, and the more keenly did she feeloccasional losses. Her intellect remained unclouded, but her feelingsbecame callous. While she had no reverence for the dead, she feltincreasing contempt for the living, --forgetting that no one, howeverexalted, can live at peace in an atmosphere of disdain. At last she died, in 1744, unlamented and unloved, in the eighty-fourthyear of her age, and was interred by the side of her husband, in thetomb in the chapel of Blenheim. She left £30, 000 a year to hergrandson, Lord John Spencer, provided he would never accept any civilor military office from the Government. She left also £20, 000 to LordChesterfield, together with her most valuable diamond; but only smallsums to most of her relatives or to charities. The residue of herproperty she left to that other grandson who inherited the title andestates of her husband. £60, 000 a year, her estimated income, besides acostly collection of jewels, --one of the most valuable in Europe, --werea great property, when few noblemen at that time had over £30, 000a year. The life of Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, is a sad one to contemplate, with all her riches and honors. Let those who envy wealth or rank learnfrom her history how little worldly prosperity can secure happiness oresteem, without the solid virtues of the heart. The richest and mostprosperous woman of her times was the object of blended derision, contempt, and hatred throughout the land which she might have adorned. Why, then, it may be asked, should I single out such a woman for alecture, --a woman who added neither to human happiness, nationalprosperity, nor the civilization of her age? Why have I chosen her asone of the Beacon Lights of history? Because I know of no woman who hasfilled so exalted a position in society, and is so prominent a figure inhistory, whose career is a more impressive warning of the dangers to beshunned by those who embark on the perilous and troubled seas of mereworldly ambition. God gave her that to which she aspired, and which somany envy; but "He sent leanness into her soul. " AUTHORITIES. Private Correspondence of the Duchess of Marlborough; Mrs. Thompson'sLife of the Duchess of Marlborough; "Conduct, " by the Duchess ofMarlborough, Life of Dr. Tillotson, by Dr. Birch; Coxe's Life of theDuke of Marlborough; Evelyn's Diary; Lord Mahon's History of England;Macaulay's History of England; Lewis Jenkin's Memoirs of the Duke ofGloucester; Burnet's History of his own Times; Lamberty's Memoirs;Swift's Journal to Stella; Liddiard's Life of the Duke of Marlborough;Boyer's Annals of Queen Anne; Swift's Memoir of the Queen's Ministry;Cunningham's History of Great Britain; Walpole's Correspondence, editedby Coxe; Sir Walter Scott's Life of Swift; Agnes Strickland's Queens ofEngland; Marlborough and the Times of Queen Anne; Westminster Review, lvi. 26; Dublin University Review, lxxiv. 469; Temple Bar Magazine, lii. 333; Burton's Reign of Queen Anne; Stanhope's Queen Anne. MADAME RÉCAMIER. * * * * * A. D. 1777-1849. THE WOMAN OF SOCIETY. I know of no woman who by the force of beauty and social fascinations, without extraordinary intellectual gifts or high birth, has occupied soproud a position as a queen of society as Madame Récamier. So I selecther as the representative of her class. It was in Italy that women first drew to their _salons_ thedistinguished men of their age, and exercised over them a commandinginfluence. More than three hundred years ago Olympia Fulvia Morata wasthe pride of Ferrara, --eloquent with the music of Homer and Virgil, amiracle to all who heard her, giving public lectures to nobles andprofessors when only a girl of sixteen; and Vittoria Colonna was theornament of the Court of Naples, and afterwards drew around her at Romethe choicest society of that elegant capital, --bishops, princes, andartists, --equally the friend of Cardinal Pole and of Michael Angelo, andreigning in her retired apartments in the Benedictine convent of St. Anne, even as the Duchesse de Longueville shone at the Hôtel deRambouillet, with De Retz and La Rochefoucauld at her feet. This was ata period when the Italian cities were the centre of the new civilizationwhich the Renaissance created, when ancient learning and art werecultivated with an enthusiasm never since surpassed. The new position which women seem to have occupied in the sixteenthcentury in Italy, was in part owing to the wealth and culture ofcities--ever the paradise of ambitious women--and the influence ofpoetry and chivalry, of which the Italians were the earliest admirers. Provençal poetry was studied in Italy as early as the time of Dante; andveneration for woman was carried to a romantic excess when the rest ofEurope was comparatively rude. Even in the eleventh century we see inthe southern part of Europe a respectful enthusiasm for woman coevalwith the birth of chivalry. The gay troubadours expounded and explainedthe subtile metaphysics of love in every possible way: a peerless ladywas supposed to unite every possible moral virtue with beauty and rank;and hence chivalric love was based on sentiment alone. Provence gavebirth both to chivalry and poetry, and they were singularly blendedtogether. Of about five hundred troubadours whose names have descendedto us, more than half were noble, for chivalry took cognizance only ofnoble birth. From Provence chivalry spread to Italy and to the north ofFrance, and Normandy became pre-eminently a country of noble deeds, though not the land of song. It was in Italy that the poeticaldevelopment was greatest. After chivalry as an institution had passed away, it still left itsspirit on society. There was not, however, much society in Europeanywhere until cities arose and became centres of culture and art. Inthe feudal castle there were chivalric sentiments but not society, wheremen and women of cultivation meet to give expression and scope to theirideas and sentiments. Nor can there be a high society without the aid ofletters. Society did not arise until scholars and poets mingled withnobles as companions. This sort of society gained celebrity first inParis, when women of rank invited to their _salons_ literary men as wellas nobles. The first person who gave a marked impulse to what we call society wasthe Marquise de Rambouillet, in the seventeenth century. She was thefirst to set the fashion in France of that long series of socialgatherings which were a sort of institution for more than two hundredyears. Her father was a devoted friend of Henry IV. , belonged to one ofthe first families of France, and had been ambassador to Rome. She wasmarried in the year 1600, at the age of fifteen. When twenty-two, shehad acquired a distaste for the dissipations of the court and everythinglike crowded assemblies. She was among the first to discover that acrowd of men and women does not constitute society. Nothing is moreforeign to the genius of the highest cultivated life than a crowded_salon_, where conversation on any interesting topic is impossible;where social life is gilded, but frivolous and empty; where especiallythe loftiest sentiments of the soul are suppressed. From an early periodsuch crowds gathered at courts; but it was not till the seventeenthcentury that the _salon_ arose, in which woman was a queen and aninstitution. The famous queens of society in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuriesdo not seem to have mixed much in miscellaneous assemblies, howeverbrilliant in dress and ornament. They were more exclusive. They reservedtheir remarkable talents for social reunions, perhaps in modest_salons_, where among distinguished men and women they could pour outthe treasures of the soul and mind; where they could inspire and drawout the sentiments of those who were gifted and distinguished. Madame duDeffand lived quietly in the convent of St. Joseph, but she gatheredaround her an elegant and famous circle, until she was eighty and blind. The Saturday assemblies of Mademoiselle de Scudéry, frequented by themost distinguished people of Paris, were given in a modest apartment, for she was only a novelist. The same may be said of the receptions ofMadame de la Sablière, who was a childless widow, of moderate means. TheDuchesse de Longueville--another of those famous queens--saw her bestdays in the abbey of Port Royal. Madame Récamier reigned in a smallapartment in the Abbaye-au-Bois. All these carried out in their _salons_the rules and customs which had been established by Madame deRambouillet, It was in her _salon_ that the French Academy originated, and its first members were regular visitants at her hotel. Herconversation was the chief amusement. We hear of neither cards normusic; but there were frequent parties to the country, walks in thewoods, --a perpetual animation, where ceremony was banished. Thebrilliancy of her parties excited the jealousy of Richelieu. Hitherresorted those who did not wish to be bound by the stiffness of thecourt. At that period this famous hotel had its pedantries, but it wasseverely intellectual. Hither came Mademoiselle de Scudéri; Mademoisellede Montpensier, granddaughter of Henry IV. ; Vaugelas, and others of thepoets; also Balzac, Voiture, Racan, the Duc de Montausier, Madame deSévigné, Madame de la Fayette, and others. The most marked thing aboutthis hotel was the patronage extended to men of letters. Those greatFrench ladies welcomed poets and scholars, and encouraged them, and didnot allow them to starve, like the literary men of Grub Street. Had theEnglish aristocracy extended the same helping hand to authors, thecondition of English men of letters in the eighteenth century would havebeen far less unfortunate. Authors in France have never been excludedfrom high society; and this was owing in part to the influence of theHôtel de Rambouillet, which sought an alliance between genius and rank. It is this blending of genius with rank which gave to society in Franceits chief attraction, and made it so brilliant. Mademoiselle de Scudéry, Madame de la Sablière, and Madame deLongueville followed the precedents established by Madame de Rambouilletand Madame de Maintenon, and successively reigned as queens ofsociety, --that is, of chosen circles of those who were most celebratedin France, --raising the intellectual tone of society, and inspiringincreased veneration for woman herself. But the most celebrated of all these queens of society was MadameRécamier, who was the friend and contemporary of Madame de Staël. Shewas born at Lyons, in 1777, not of high rank, her father, M. Bernard, being only a prosperous notary. Through the influence of Calonne, minister of Louis XVI. , he obtained the lucrative place of Receiver ofthe Finances, and removed to Paris, while his only daughter Juliette wassent to a convent, near Lyons, to be educated, where she remained untilshe was ten years of age, when she rejoined her family. Juliette'seducation was continued at home, under her mother's superintendence; butshe excelled in nothing especially except music and dancing, and wasonly marked for grace, beauty, and good-nature. Among the visitors to her father's house was Jacques Rose Récamier, arich banker, born in Lyons, 1751, --kind-hearted, hospitable, fine-looking, and cultivated, but of frivolous tastes. In 1793, duringthe Reign of Terror, being forty-two, he married the beautiful daughterof his friend, she being but fifteen. This marriage seems to have beenone of convenience and vanity, with no ties of love on eitherside, --scarcely friendship, or even sentiment. For a few years MadameRécamier led a secluded life, on account of the troubles and dangersincident to the times, but when she did emerge from retirement she haddeveloped into the most beautiful woman in France, and was devoted to alife of pleasure. Her figure was flexible and elegant, her headwell-poised, her complexion brilliant, with a little rosy mouth, pearlyteeth, black curling hair, and soft expressive eyes, with a carriageindicative of indolence and pride, yet with a face beaming withgood-nature and sympathy. Such was Madame Récamier at eighteen, so remarkable for beauty that shecalled forth murmurs of admiration wherever she appeared. As it hadlong been a custom in Paris, and still is, to select the most beautifuland winning woman to hand round the purse in churches for all charities, she was selected by the Church of St. Roche, the most fashionable churchof that day; and so great was the enthusiasm to see this beautiful andbewitching creature, that the people crowded the church, and evenmounted on the chairs, and, though assisted by two gentlemen, she couldscarcely penetrate the crowd. The collection on one occasion amounted totwenty thousand francs, --equal, perhaps, to ten thousand dollars to-day. This adaptation of means to an end has never been disdained by theCatholic clergy. What would be thought in Philadelphia or New York, inan austere and solemn Presbyterian church, to see the most noted beautyof the day handing round the plate? But such is one of the forms whichFrench levity takes, even in the consecrated precincts of the church. The fashionable drive and promenade in Paris was Longchamps, now theChamps Élysées, and it was Madame Récamier's delight to drive in an opencarriage on this beautiful avenue, especially on what are called theholy days, --Wednesdays and Fridays, --when her beauty extortedsalutations from the crowd. Of course, such a woman excited equaladmiration in the _salons_, and was soon invited to the fêtes andparties of the Directory, through Barras, one of her admirers. Thereshe saw Bonaparte, but did not personally know him at that time. At oneof these fêtes, rising at full length from her seat to gaze at theGeneral, sharing in the admiration for the hero, she at once attractedthe notice of the crowd, who all turned to look at her; which so annoyedBonaparte that he gave her one of his dreadful and withering frowns, which caused her to sink into her seat with terror. In 1798 M. Récamier bought the house which had Récamier belonged toNecker, in what is now the Chaussée d'Antin. This led to an acquaintancebetween Madame Récamier and Madame de Staël, which soon ripened intofriendship. In the following year M. Récamier, now very rich, established himself in a fine chateau at Clichy, a short distance fromParis, where he kept open house. Thither came Lucien Bonaparte, at thattime twenty-four years of age, bombastic and consequential, and fell inlove with his beautiful hostess, as everybody else did. But MadameRécamier, with all her fascinations, was not a woman of passion; nor didshe like the brother of the powerful First Consul, and politely rejectedhis addresses. He continued, however, to persecute her with his absurdlove-letters for a year, when, finding it was hopeless to win so refinedand virtuous a lady as Madame Récamier doubtless was, --partly becauseshe was a woman of high principles, and partly because she had no greattemptations, --the pompous lover, then Home Minister, ceased hisaddresses. But Napoleon, who knew everything that was going on, had a curiosity tosee this woman who charmed everybody, yet whom nobody could win, and shewas invited to one of his banquets. Although she obeyed his summons, shewas very modest and timid, and did not try to make any conquest of him. She was afraid of him, as Madame de Staël was, and most ladies of rankand refinement. He was a hero to men rather than to women, --at least tothose women who happened to know him or serve him. That cold and cuttingirony of which he was master, that haughty carriage and air which heassumed, that selfish and unsympathetic nature, that exacting slavery tohis will, must have been intolerable to well-bred women who believed inaffection and friendship, of which he was incapable, and which he didnot even comprehend. It was his intention that the most famous beauty ofthe day should sit next to him at this banquet, and he left the seatvacant for her; but she was too modest to take it unless speciallydirected to do so by the Consul, which either pride or etiquetteprevented. This modesty he did not appreciate, and he was offended, andshe never saw him again in private; but after he became Emperor, he madeevery effort to secure her services as maid-of-honor to one of theprincesses, through his minister Fouché, in order to ornament his court. It was a flattering honor, since she was only the wife of a banker, without title; but she refused it, which stung Napoleon with vexation, since it indicated to him that the fashionable and high-born women ofthe day stood aloof from him. Many a woman was banished because shewould not pay court to him, --Madame de Staël, the Duchesse de Chevreuse, and others. Madame Récamier was now at the height of fashion, admired byFrenchmen and foreigners alike; not merely by such men as theMontmorencys, Narbonne, Jordan, Barrère, Moreau, Bernadotte, La Harpe, but also by Metternich, then secretary of the Austrian embassy, whocarried on a flirtation with her all winter. All this was displeasing toNapoleon, more from wounded pride than fear of treason. In the midst ofher social triumphs, after having on one occasion received uncommonhonor, Napoleon, now emperor, bitterly exclaimed that more honor couldnot be shown to the wife of a marshal of France, --a remark veryindicative of his character, showing that in his estimation there was nopossible rank or fame to be compared with the laurels of a militaryhero. A great literary genius, or woman of transcendent beauty, was nomore to him than a great scholar or philosopher is to a vulgar rich manin making up his parties. It was in the midst of these social successes that the husband ofMadame Récamier lost his fortune. He would not have failed had he beenable to secure a loan from the Bank of France of a million of francs;but this loan the Government peremptorily refused, --doubtless from thehostility of Napoleon; so that the banker was ruined because his wifechose to ally herself with the old aristocracy and refuse the favors ofthe Emperor. In having pursued such a course, Madame Récamier must haveknown that she was the indirect cause of her husband's failure. But shebore the reverse of fortune with that equanimity which seems to bepeculiar to the French, and which only lofty characters, or people ofconsiderable mental resources, are able to assume or feel. Most richmen, when they lose their money, give way to despondency and grief, conscious that they have nothing to fall back upon; that without moneythey are nothing. Madame Récamier at once sold her jewels and plate, andher fine hotel was offered for sale. Neither she nor her husband soughtto retain anything amid the wreck, and they cheerfully took up theirabode in a small apartment, --which conduct won universal sympathy andrespect, so that her friends were rather increased than diminished, andshe did not lose her social prestige and influence, which she would havelost in cities where money is the highest, and sometimes the only, testof social position. Madame de Staël wrote letters of impassionedfriendship, and nobles and generals paid unwonted attention. The deathof her mother soon followed, so that she spent the summer of 1807 inextreme privacy, until persuaded by her constant friend Madame de Staëlto pay her a visit at her country-seat near Geneva, where she met PrinceFrederick of Prussia, nephew of the great Frederic, who became soenamored of her that he sought her hand in marriage. Princes, in thosedays, had such a lofty idea of their rank that they deemed it an honorto be conferred on a woman, even if married, to take her away from herhusband. For a time Madame Récamier seemed dazzled with this splendidproposal, and she even wrote to the old banker, her husband, asking fora divorce from him. I think I never read of a request so preposterous ormore disgraceful, --the greatest flaw I know in her character, --showingthe extreme worldliness of women of fashion at that time, and theaudacity which is created by universal flattery. What is even moresurprising, her husband did not refuse the request, but wrote to her aletter of so much dignity, tenderness, and affection that her eyes wereopened. "She saw the protector of her youth, whose indulgence had neverfailed her, growing old, and despoiled of fortune; and to leave him whohad been so good to her, even if she did not love him, seemed rightlythe height of ingratitude and meanness. " So the Prince was dismissed, very much to his surprise and chagrin; and some there were who regardedM. Récamier as a very selfish man, to appeal to the feelings and honorof his wife, and thus deprive her of a splendid destiny. Such were themorals of fashionable people in Europe during the eighteenth century. Madame Récamier did not meddle with politics, like Madame de Staël andother strong-minded women before and since; but her friendship with awoman whom Napoleon hated so intensely as he did the authoress of"Delphine" and "Germany, " caused her banishment to a distance of fortyleagues from Paris, --one of the customary acts which the great conquerorwas not ashamed to commit, and which put his character in a repulsivelight. Nothing was more odious in the character of Napoleon than hisdisdain of women, and his harsh and severe treatment of those who wouldnot offer incense to him. Madame de Staël, on learning of the Emperor'sresentment towards her friend, implored her not to continue to visither, as it would certainly be reported to the Government, and result inher banishment; but Madame Récamier would obey the impulses offriendship in the face of all danger. And the result was indeed herexile from that city which was so dear to her, as well as to allfashionable women and all gifted men. In exile this persecuted woman lived in a simple way, first at Chalonsand then at Lyons, for her means were now small. Her companions, however, were great people, as before her banishment and in the days ofher prosperity, --in which fact we see some modification of theheartlessness which so often reigns in fashionable circles. MadameRécamier never was without friends as well as admirers. Her amiability, wit, good-nature, and extraordinary fascinations always attracted giftedand accomplished people of the very highest rank. It was at Lyons that she formed a singular friendship, which lasted forlife; and this was with a young man of plebeian origin, the son of aprinter, with a face disfigured, and with manners uncouth, --M. Ballanche, whose admiration amounted to absolute idolatry, and whodemanded no other reward for his devotion than the privilege of worship. To be permitted to look at her and listen to her was enough for him. Though ugly in appearance, and with a slow speech, he was well versed inthe literature of the day, and his ideas were lofty and refined. I have never read of any one who has refused an unselfish idolatry, theincense of a worshipper who has no outward advantage to seek orgain, --not even a king. If it be the privilege of a divinity to receivethe homage of worshippers, why should a beautiful and kind-heartedwoman reject the respectful adoration of a man contented with worshipalone? What could be more flattering even to a woman of the world, especially if this man had noble traits and great cultivation? Such wasBallanche, who viewed the mistress of his heart as Dante did hisBeatrice, though not with the same sublime elevation, for the object ofDante's devotion was on the whole imaginary, --the worship of qualitieswhich existed in his own mind alone, --whereas the admiration ofBallanche was based on the real presence of flesh and blood animated bya lovely soul. Soon after this friendship had begun, Madame Récamier made a visit toItaly, travelling in a _voiture_, not a private carriage, and arrived atRome in Passion Week, 1812, when the Pope was a prisoner of Napoleon atFontainebleau, and hence when his capital was in mourning, --sad anddull, guarded and occupied by French soldiers. The only society at Romein that eventful year which preceded the declining fortunes of Napoleon, was at the palace of Prince Torlonia the banker; but the modestapartment of Madame Récamier on the Corso was soon filled with those whodetested the rule of Napoleon. Soon after, Ballanche came all the wayfrom Lyons to see his star of worship, and she kindly took himeverywhere, for even in desolation the Eternal City is the mostinteresting spot on the face of the globe. From Rome she went to Naples(December, 1813), when the King Murat was forced into the coalitionagainst his brother-in-law. In spite of the hatred of Napoleon, hissister the Queen of Naples was devoted to the Queen of Beauty, who wasreceived at court as an ambassadress rather than as an exile. On thefall of Napoleon the next year the Pope returned from his thraldom; andMadame Récamier, being again in Rome, witnessed one of the most touchingscenes of those eventful days, when all the nobles and gentry went outto meet their spiritual and temporal sovereign, and amid the exultantshouts and rapture of the crowd, dragged his gilded carriage to St. Peter's Church, where was celebrated a solemn _Te Deum. _ But Madame Récamier did not tarry long in Italy, She hastened back toParis, for the tyrant was fallen. She was now no longer beaming inyouthful charms, with groups of lovers at her feet, but a woman ofmiddle age, yet still handsome, --for such a woman does not lose herbeauty at thirty-five, --with fresh sources of enjoyment, and a keendesire for the society of intellectual and gifted friends. She now gaveup miscellaneous society, --that is, fashionable and dissipated crowds ofmen and women in noisy receptions and ceremonious parties, --and drewaround her the lines of a more exclusive circle. Hither came to see herBallanche, now a resident of Paris, Mathieu de Montmorency, M. DeChâteaubriand, the Due de Broglie, and the most distinguished nobles ofthe ancient regime, with the literary lions who once more began to roaron the fall of the tyrant who had silenced them, including such men asBarante and Benjamin Constant. Also great ladies were seen in her_salon_, for her husband's fortunes had improved, and she was enabledagain to live in her old style of splendor. Among these ladies were theDuchesse de Cars, the Marchionesses de Podences, Castellan, andd'Aguesseau, and the Princess-Royal of Sweden. Also distinguishedforeigners sought her society, --Wellington, Madame Krüdener, the friendof the Emperor Alexander, the beautiful Duchess of Devonshire, the Dukeof Hamilton, and whoever was most distinguished in that brilliant circleof illustrious people who congregated at Paris on the restoration ofthe Bourbons. In 1819 occurred the second failure of M. Récamier, which necessarilyled again to a new and more humble style of life. The home which MadameRécamier now selected, and where she lived until 1838, was theAbbaye-au-Bois, while her father and her husband, the latter nowsixty-nine, lived in a small lodging in the vicinity. She occupied inthis convent--a large old building in the Rue de Sèvres--a small_appartement_ in the third story, with a brick floor, and uneven atthat. She afterwards removed to a small _appartement_ on the firstfloor, which looked upon the convent garden. Here, in this seclusion, impoverished, and no longer young, MadameRécamier received her friends and guests. And they were among the mostdistinguished people of France, especially the Duc de Montmorency andthe Viscount Châteaubriand. The former was a very religious man, and thebreath of scandal never for a moment tainted his reputation, or cast anyreproach on the memorable friendship which he cultivated with the mostbeautiful woman in France. This illustrious nobleman was at that timeMinister of Foreign Affairs, and was sent to the celebrated Congress ofVienna, where Metternich, the greatest statesman of the age, presidedand inaugurated a reaction from the principles of the Revolution. But more famous than he was Châteaubriand, then ambassador at London, and afterwards joined with Montmorency as delegate to the Congress ofVienna, and still later Minister of Foreign Affairs, who held during thereign of Louis XVIII. The most distinguished position in France as astatesman, a man of society, and a literary man. The author of the"Genius of Christianity" was aristocratic, moody, fickle, and vain, almost spoiled with the incense of popular idolatry. No literary mansince Voltaire had received such incense. He was the acknowledged headof French literature, a man of illustrious birth, noble manners, poetical temperament, vast acquisitions, and immense social prestige. Hetook sad and desponding views of life, was intensely conservative, buthad doubtless a lofty soul as well as intellectual supremacy. Heoccupied distinct spheres, --was poet, historian, statesman, orator, andthe oracle of fashionable _salons_, although he loved seclusion, anddetested crowds. The virtues of his private life were unimpeached, andno man was more respected by the nation than this cultivated scholar andgentleman of the old school. It was between this remarkable man and Madame Récamier that the mostmemorable friendship of modern times took place. It began in the year1817 at the bedside of Madame de Staël, but did not ripen into intimacyuntil 1818, when he was fifty and she was forty-one. His genius andaccomplishments soon conquered the first place in her heart; and he keptthat place until his death in 1848, --thirty years of ardent andreproachless friendship. Her other friends felt great inquietude in viewof this friendship, fearing that the incurable melancholy and fitfulmoods of the Viscount would have a depressing influence on her; but shecould not resist his fascinations any easier than he could resist hers. The Viscount visited her every day, generally in the afternoon; and whenabsent on his diplomatic missions to the various foreign courts, hewrote her, every day, all the details of his life, as well assentiments. He constantly complained that she did not write as often ashe did. His attachment was not prompted by that unselfish devotion whichmarked Ballanche, who sought no return, only the privilege of adoration. Châteaubriand was exacting, and sought a warmer and still increasingaffection, which it seems was returned. Madame Récamier's nature was notpassionate; it was simply affectionate. She sought to have the wants ofher soul met. She rarely went to parties or assemblies, and seldom tothe theatre. She craved friendship, and of the purest and loftiest kind. She was tired of the dissipation of society and even of flatteries, ofwhich the Viscount was equally weary. The delusions of life weredispelled, in her case, at forty; in his, at fifty. This intimacy reminds us of that of Louis XIV. And Madame de Maintenon. Neither could live without the other. But their correspondence does notreveal any improper intimacy. It was purely spiritual and affectionate;it was based on mutual admiration; it was strengthened by mutual respectfor each other's moral qualities. And the friendship gave rise to noscandal; nor was it in any way misrepresented. Every day the statesman, when immersed even in the cares of a great office, was seen at hermodest dwelling, at the same hour, --about four o'clock, --and no othervisitors were received at that hour. After unbending his burdened soul, or communicating his political plans, or detailing the gossip of theday, all to the end of securing sympathy and encouragement from a greatwoman, he retired to his own hotel, and spent the evening with his sickwife. One might suppose that his wife would have been jealous. The wifeof Carlyle never would have permitted her husband to visit on suchintimate terms the woman he most admired, --Lady Ashburton, --without aseparation. But Châteaubriand's wife favored rather than discouraged theintimacy, knowing that it was necessary to his happiness. Nor did thefriendship between Madame Récamier and the Due de Montmorency, thepolitical rival of Châteaubriand, weaken the love of the latter orcreate jealousy, a proof of his noble character. And when the pious Dukedied, both friends gave way to the most sincere grief. It was impossible for Madame Récamier to live without friendship. Shecould give up society and fortune, but not her friends. The friendlycircle was not large, but, as we have said, embraced the leading men ofFrance. Her limited means made no difference with her guests, sincethese were friends and admirers. Her attraction to men and women alikedid not decrease with age or poverty. The fall of Charles X. , in 1830, led of course to the political downfallof Châteaubriand, and of many of Madame Récamier's best friends. Butthere was a younger class of an opposite school who now came forward, and the more eminent of these were also frequent visitors to the oldqueen of society, --Ampère, Thiers, Mignet, Guizot, De Tocqueville, Sainte-Beuve. Nor did she lose the friendship, in her altered fortunes, of queens and nobles. She seems to have been received with the greatestcordiality in whatever chateau she chose to visit. Even Louis Napoleon, on his release from imprisonment in the castle of Ham, lost no time inpaying his respects to the woman his uncle had formerly banished. One of the characteristic things which this interesting lady did, was toget up a soiree in her apartments at the convent in aid of the sufferersof Lyons from an inundation of the Rhône, from which she realized alarge sum. It was attended by the _élite_ of Paris. Lady Byron paid ahundred francs for her ticket. The Due de Noailles provided therefreshments, the Marquis de Verac furnished the carriages, andChâteaubriand acted as master of ceremonies. Rachel acted in the rôle of"Esther, " not yet performed at the theatre, while Garcia, Rubini, andLablache kindly gave their services. It was a very brilliantentertainment, one of the last in which Madame Récamier presided as aqueen of society. It showed her kindness of heart, which was the mostconspicuous trait of her character. She wished to please, but shedesired still more to be of assistance. The desire to please may arisefrom blended vanity and good-nature; the desire to be useful is purelydisinterested. In all her intercourse with friends we see in MadameRécamier a remarkable power of sympathy. She was not a woman of genius, but of amazing tact, kindness, and amiability. She entered with all herheart into the private and confidential communications of her friends, and was totally free from egotism, forgetting herself in the happinessof others. If not a woman of genius, she had extraordinary good sense, and her advice was seldom wrong. It was this union of sympathy, kindness, tact, and wisdom which made Madame Récamier's friendship sohighly prized by the greatest men of the age. But she was exclusive; shedid not admit everybody to her salon, --only those whom she loved andesteemed, generally from the highest social circle. Sympathy cannotexist except among equals. We associate Paula with Jerome, the CountessMatilda with Hildebrand, Vittoria Colonna with Michael Angelo, HannahMore with Dr. Johnson. Friendship is neither patronage nor philanthropy;and the more exalted the social or political or literary position, themore rare friendship is and the more beautiful when it shines. It was the friendships of Madame Récamier with distinguished men andwomen which made her famous more than her graces and beauty. Shesoothed, encouraged, and fortified the soul of Châteaubriand in his fitsof depression and under political disappointments, always herselfcheerful and full of vivacity, --an angel of consolation and spiritualradiance. Her beauty at this period was moral rather than physical, since it revealed the virtues of the heart and the quickness ofspiritual insight. In her earlier days--the object of universal andunbounded admiration, from her unparalleled charms and fascinations--shemay have coquetted more than can be deemed decorous in a lady offashion; but if so, it was vanity and love of admiration which were thecauses. She never appealed to passion; for, as we have said, her ownnature was not passionate. She was satisfied to be worshipped. The loveof admiration is not often allied with that passion which losesself-control, and buries one in the gulf of mad infatuation. Themainspring of her early life was to please, and of her later life tomake people happy. A more unselfish woman never lived. Those beautieswho lure to ruin, as did the Sirens, are ever heartless andselfish, --like Cleopatra and Madame de Pompadour. There is nothing onthis earth more selfish than what foolish and inexperienced people oftenmistake for love. There is nothing more radiant and inspiring than themoral beauty of the soul. The love that this creates is tender, sympathetic, kind, and benevolent. Nothing could be more unselfish andbeautiful than the love with which Madame Récamier inspired Ballanche, who had nothing to give and nothing to ask but sympathy and kindness. One of the most touching and tender friendships ever recorded was theintercourse between Châteaubriand and Madame Récamier when they wereboth old and infirm. Nothing is more interesting than their letters anddaily interviews at the convent, where she spent her latter days. Shewas not only poor, but she had also become blind, and had lost allrelish for fashionable society, --not a religious recluse, saddened andpenitent, like the Duchesse de Longueville in the vale of Chevreuse, butstill a cheerful woman, fond of music, of animated talk, and of thepolitical news of the day, Châteaubriand was old, disenchanted, disappointed, melancholy, and full of infirmities. Yet he never failedin the afternoon to make his appearance at the Abbaye, driven in acarriage to the threshold of the salon, where he was placed in anarm-chair and wheeled to a corner of the fireplace, when he poured outhis sorrows and received consolation. Once, on one of those drearyvisits, he asked his friend to marry him, --he being then seventy-nineand she seventy-one, --and bear his illustrious name. "Why, " said she, "should we marry at our age? There is no impropriety in my taking careof you. If solitude is painful to you, I am ready to live in the samehouse with you. The world will do justice to the purity of ourfriendship. Years and blindness give me this right. Let us changenothing in so perfect an affection. " The old statesman and historian soon after died, broken in mind andbody, living long enough to see the fall of Louis Philippe. In losingthis friend of thirty years Madame Récamier felt that the mainspring ofher life was broken. She shed no tears in her silent and submissivegrief, nor did she repel consolation or the society of friends, "but thesad smile which played on her lips was heart-rending. .. . Whilewitnessing the decline of this noble genius, she had struggled, withsingular tenderness, against the terrible effect of years upon him; butthe long struggle had exhausted her own strength, and all motives forlife were gone. " Though now old and blind, yet, like Mme. Du Deffand at eighty, MadameRécamier's attractions never passed away. The great and thedistinguished still visited her, and pronounced her charming to thelast. Her vivacity never deserted her, nor her desire to make every onehappy around her. She was kept interesting to the end by the warmth ofher affections and the brightness of her mind. As it is the soul whichis the glory of a woman, so the soul sheds its rays of imperishablelight on the last pathway of existence. No beauty ever utterly passesaway when animated by what is immortal. Madame Récamier died at last of cholera, that disease which of allothers she had ever most dreaded and avoided. On the 11th of May, 1849, amid weeping relatives and kneeling servants and sacerdotal prayers, this interesting woman passed away from earth. To her might be appliedthe eulogy of Burke on Marie Antoinette. Madame Récamier's place in society has never since been filled withequal grace and fascination. She adopted the customs of the Hôtel deRambouillet, --certain rules which good society has since observed. Shediscouraged the _tête-à-tête_ in a low voice in a mixed company; if anyone in her circle was likely to have especial knowledge, she wouldappeal to him with an air of deference; if any one was shy, sheencouraged him; if a _mot_ was particularly happy, she would take it upand show it to the company. Presiding in her own _salon_, she talked butlittle herself, but rather exerted herself to draw others out; withoutbeing learned, she exercised great judgment in her decisions whenappeals were made to her as the presiding genius; she discouragedeverything pedantic and pretentious; she dreaded exaggerations; she kepther company to the subject under discussion, and compelled attention;she would allow no slang; she insisted upon good-nature and amiability, which more than anything else marked society in the eighteenth century. We read so much of those interesting reunions in the _salons_ ofdistinguished people in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries that wenaturally seek to know what constituted their peculiar charm. It seemsto me to have been conversation, which is both an art and a gift. Inthese exclusive meetings women did not reign in consequence of theirbeauty so much as their wit. Their vivacity, intelligence, and tact, Imay add also their good-nature, were a veil to cover up alleccentricities. It was when Madame du Deffand was eighty, and blind, that Horace Walpole pronounced her to be the most interesting woman inFrance. Madame de Staël, never beautiful, was the life of a party atforty-five; Madame Récamier was in her glory at fifty; Hannah More wasmost sought when she was sixty. There can be no high society whereconversation is not the chief attraction; and men seldom learn to talkwell when not inspired by gifted women. They may dictate like Dr. Johnson, or preach like Coleridge in a circle of admirers, or give ventto sarcasms and paradoxes like Carlyle; but they do not please likeHorace Walpole, or dazzle like Wilkes, or charm like Mackintosh. Whensociety was most famous at Paris, it was the salon--not the card table, or the banquet, or the ball--which was most sought by cultivated men andwomen, where conversation was directed by gifted women. Women arenothing in the social circle who cannot draw out the sentiments of ablemen; and a man of genius gains more from the inspiration of onebrilliant woman than from all the bookworms of many colleges. In societya bright and witty woman not merely shines, but she reigns. Conversationbrings out all her faculties, and kindles all her sensibilities, andgives expression to her deepest sentiments. Her talk is more than music;it is music rising to the heights of eloquence. She is more even than anartist: she is a goddess before whom genius delights to burnits incense. Success in this great art of conversation depends as much upon thedisposition as upon the brains. The remarkable women who reigned in thesalons of the last century were all distinguished for theirgood-nature, --good-nature based on toleration and kind feeling, ratherthan on insipid acquiescence. There can be no animated talk withoutdissent; and dissent should be disguised by the language of courtesy. Asvanity is one of the mainsprings of human nature, and is nearlyuniversal, the old queens of society had the tact to hide what could noteasily be extirpated; and they were adepts in the still greater art ofseeming to be unconscious. Those people are ever the most agreeable wholisten with seeming curiosity, and who conceal themselves in order tofeed the vanity of others. Nor does a true artist force his wit. "Aconfirmed punster is as great a bore as a patronizing moralist. "Moreover, the life of society depends upon the general glow of theparty, rather than the prominence of an individual, so that a brillianttalker will seek to bring out "the coincidence which strengthensconviction, or the dissent which sharpens sagacity, rather thanindividual experiences, which ever seem to be egotistical. In agreeablesociety all egotism is to be crushed and crucified. Even a man who is anoracle, if wise, will suggest, rather than seem to instruct. In acongenial party all differences in rank are for the time ignored. It isin bad taste to remind or impress people with a sense of theirinferiority, as in chivalry all degrees were forgotten in an assemblageof gentlemen. " Animated conversation amuses without seeming to teach, and transfers ideas so skilfully into the minds of others that they areignorant of the debt, and mistake them for their own. It kindles ahealthy enthusiasm, promotes good-nature, repels pretension, and rebukesvanity. It even sets off beauty, and intensifies its radiance. SaidMadame de la Fayette to Madame de Sévigné: "Your varying expression sobrightens and adorns your beauty, that there is nothing so brilliant asyourself: every word you utter adds to the brightness of your eyes; andwhile it is said that language impresses only the ear, it is quitecertain that yours enchants the vision. " "Like style in writing, " saysLamartine, "conversation must flow with ease, or it will oppress. Itmust be clear, or depth of thought cannot be penetrated; simple, or theunderstanding will be overtasked; restrained, or redundancy willsatiate; warm, or it will lack soul; witty, or the brain will not beexcited; generous, or sympathy cannot be roused; gentle, or there willbe no toleration; persuasive, or the passions cannot be subdued. " Whenit unites these excellences, it has an irresistible power, "musical aswas Apollo's lyre;" a perpetual feast of nectared sweets, such as, Ifancy, Socrates poured out to Athenian youth, or Augustine in thegardens of Como; an electrical glow, such as united the members of theTurk's Head Club into a band of brothers, or annihilated alldistinctions of rank at the supper-table of the poet Scarron. We cannot easily overrate the influence of those who inspire the socialcircle. They give not only the greatest pleasure which is known tocultivated minds, but kindle lofty sentiments. They draw men from thewhirlpools of folly, break up degrading habits, dissipate the charms ofmoney-making, and raise the value of the soul. How charming, howdelightful, how inspiring is the eloquence which is kindled by theattrition of gifted minds! What privilege is greater than to be withthose who reveal the experiences of great careers, especially if therebe the absence of vanity and ostentation, and encouragement by thosewhose presence is safety and whose smiles are an inspiration! It is theblending of the beatitudes of Bethany with the artistic enjoyments ofWeimar, causing the favored circle to forget all cares, and giving themstrength for those duties which make up the main business of human life. When woman accomplishes such results she fills no ordinary sphere, sheperforms no ordinary mission; she rises in dignity as she declines inphysical attractions. Like a queen of beauty at the tournament, shebestows the rewards which distinguished excellence has won; she breaksup the distinctions of rank; she rebukes the arrogance of wealth; shedestroys pretensions; she kills self-conceit; she even gainsconsideration for her husband or brother, --for many a stupid man isreceived into a select circle because of the attractions of his wife orsister, even as many a silly woman gains consideration from the talentsor position of her husband or brother. No matter how rich a man may be, if unpolished, ignorant, or rude, he is nobody in a party which seeks"the feast of reason and the flow of soul. " He is utterly insignificant, rebuked, and humiliated, --even as a brainless beauty finds herself _detrop_ in a circle of wits. Such a man may have consideration in thecircle which cannot appreciate anything lofty or refined, but none inthose upper regions where art and truth form subjects of discourse, where the aesthetic influences of the heart go forth to purify andexalt, where the soul is refreshed by the communion of gifted andsympathetic companions, and where that which is most precious andexalted in a man or woman is honored and beloved. Without this influencewhich woman controls, "a learned man is in danger of becoming a pedant, a religious man a bigot, a vain man a fool, and a self-indulgent man aslave. " No man can be truly genial unless he has been taught in theschool where his wife, or daughter, or sister, or mother presides as asun of radiance and beauty. It is only in this school that boorishmanners are reformed, egotisms rebuked, stupidities punished, andcynicism exorcised. But this exalting influence cannot exist in society without anattractive power in those ladies who compose it. A crowd of women doesnot necessarily make society, any more than do the empty, stupid, andnoisy receptions which are sometimes held in the houses of therich, --still less those silly, flippant, ignorant, pretentious, unblushing, and exacting girls who have just escaped from a fashionableschool, who elbow their brothers into corners, and cover with confusiontheir fathers and mothers. A mere assemblage of men and women is nothingwithout the charms of refinement, vivacity, knowledge, and good-nature. These are not born in a day; they seldom mark people till middle life, when experiences are wide and feelings deep, when flippancy is notmistaken for wit, nor impertinence for ease. A frivolous slave of dressand ornament can no more belong to the circle of which I now speak, thancan a pushing, masculine woman to the sphere which she occasionallyusurps. Not dress, not jewelry, not pleasing manners, not eveninnocence, is the charm and glory of society; but the wisdom learned byexperience, the knowledge acquired by study, the quickness based onnative genius. When woman has thus acquired these great resources, --bybooks, by travel, by extended intercourse, and by the soaring of anuntrammelled soul, --then only does she shine and guide and inspire, andbecome, not the equal of man, but his superior, his mentor, his guardianangel, his star of worship, in that favored and glorious realm which isalike the paradise and the empire of the world! AUTHORITIES. Miss J. M. Luyster's Memoirs of Madame Récamier; Memoirs andCorrespondence by Lenormant; Marquis of Salisbury's Historical Sketches;Mrs. Thomson's Queens of Society; Guizot's sketch of Madame Récamier;Biographie Universelle; Dublin Review, 57-88; Christian Examiner, 82-299; Quarterly Review, 107-298; Edinburgh Review, 111-204; NorthBritish Review, 32; Bentley's Magazine, 26-96; The Nation, 3, 4, 15;Fraser's Magazine, 40-264. MADAME DE STAËL, * * * * * A. D. 1766-1817. WOMAN IN LITERATURE. It was two hundred years after woman began to reign in the great citiesof Europe as queen of society, before she astonished the world bybrilliant literary successes. Some of the most famous women who adornedsociety recorded their observations and experiences for the benefit ofposterity; but these productions were generally in the form of memoirsand letters, which neither added to nor detracted from the splendidposition they occupied because of their high birth, wit, and socialfascinations. These earlier favorites were not courted by the greatbecause they could write, but because they could talk, and adorn courts, like Madame de Sévigné. But in the eighteenth century a class of womenarose and gained great celebrity on account of their writings, likeHannah More, Miss Burney, Mrs. Macaulay, Madame Dacier, Madame de laFayette, --women who proved that they could do something more than merelywrite letters, for which women ever have been distinguished from thetime of Héloïse. At the head of all these women of genius Madame de Staël standspre-eminent, not only over literary women, but also over most of the menof letters in her age and country. And it was only a great age whichcould have produced such a woman, for the eighteenth century was morefruitful in literary genius than is generally supposed. The greatestlights, indeed, no longer shone, --such men as Shakspeare, Bacon, Milton, Corneille, Racine, Boileau, Molière, --but the age was fruitful in greatcritics, historians, philosophers, economists, poets, and novelists, whowon immortal fame, like Pope, Goldsmith, Johnson, Addison, Gibbon, Bentley, Hume, Robertson, Priestley, Burke, Adam Smith, in England;Klopstock, Goethe, Herder, Schiller, Lessing, Handel, Schlegel, Kant, inGermany; and Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot, Marmontel, D'Alembert, Montesquieu, Rollin, Buffon, Lavoisier, Raynal, Lavater, in France, --allof whom were remarkable men, casting their fearless glance upon allsubjects, and agitating the age by their great ideas. In Franceespecially there was a notable literary awakening. A more brilliantcircle than ever assembled at the Hôtel de Rambouillet met in the salonsof Madame Geoffrin and Madame de Tencin and Madame du Deffand and MadameNecker, to discuss theories of government, political economy, humanrights, --in fact, every question which moves the human mind. They weregenerally irreligious, satirical, and defiant; but they were fresh, enthusiastic, learned, and original They not only aroused the people toreflection, but they were great artists in language, and made arevolution in style. It was in this inquiring, brilliant, yet infidel age that the star ofMadame de Staël arose, on the eve of the French Revolution. She was bornin Paris in 1766, when her father--Necker--was amassing an enormousfortune as a banker and financier, afterwards so celebrated as financeminister to Louis XVI. Her mother, --Susanne Curchod, --of humble Swissparentage, was yet one of the remarkable women of the day, a lady whomGibbon would have married had English prejudices and conventionalitiespermitted, but whose marriage with Necker was both fortunate and happy. They had only one child, but she was a Minerva. It seems that she was ofextraordinary precocity, and very early attracted attention. As a merechild Marmontel talked with her as if she were twenty-five. At fifteen, she had written reflections on Montesquieu's "Spirit of Laws, " and wassolicited by Raynal to furnish an article on the Revocation of the Edictof Nantes. So brilliant a girl was educated by her wealthy parentswithout regard to expense and with the greatest care. She was fortunatefrom the start, with unbounded means, surrounded with illustriouspeople, and with every opportunity for improvement both as to teachersand society, --doubtless one important cause of her subsequent success, for very few people climb the upper rounds of the ladder of literaryfame who are obliged to earn their living; their genius is fettered andtheir time is employed on irksome drudgeries. Madame de Staël, when a girl, came very near losing her health andbreaking her fine constitution by the unwise "cramming" on which hermother insisted; for, although a superior woman, Madame Necker knew verylittle about the true system of education, thinking that study and laborshould be incessant, and that these alone could do everything. Sheloaded her daughter with too many restraints, and bound her by a toorigid discipline. She did all she could to crush genius out of the girl, and make her a dictionary, or a machine, or a piece of formality andconventionalism. But the father, wiser, and with greater insight andtruer sympathy, relaxed the cords of discipline, unfettered herimagination, connived at her flights of extravagance, and allowed her todevelop her faculties in her own way. She had a remarkable fondness forher father, --she adored him, and clung to him through life with peculiartenderness and devotion, which he appreciated and repaid. Before shewas twenty she wrote poetry as a matter of course. Most girls do, --Imean those who are bright and sentimental; still, she produced butindifferent work, like Cicero when he was young, and soon dropped rhymeforever for the greater freedom of prose, into which she poured from thefirst all the wealth of her poetic soul. She was a poet, disdainingmeasure, but exquisite in rhythm, --for nothing can be more musical thanher style. As remarked in the lecture on Madame Récamier, it is seldom that peopleacquire the art of conversation till middle life, when the mind isenriched and confidence is gained. The great conversational powers ofJohnson, Burke, Mackintosh, Coleridge, Wilkes, Garrick, Walpole, SydneySmith, were most remarkable in their later years, after they had readeverything and seen everybody. But Madame de Staël was brilliant inconversation from her youth. She was the delight of every circle, theadmiration of the most gifted men, --not for her beauty, for she was notconsidered beautiful, but for her wit, her vivacity, her repartee, heranimated and sympathetic face, her electrical power; for she couldkindle, inspire, instruct, or bewitch. She played, she sang, shediscoursed on everything, --a priestess, a sibyl, full of inspiration, listened to as an oracle or an idol. "To hear her, " says Sismondi, "onewould have said that she was the experience of many souls mingled intoone, I looked and listened with transport. I discovered in her featuresa charm superior to beauty; and if I do not hear her words, yet hertones, her gestures, and her looks convey to me her meaning. " It is saidthat though her features were not beautiful her eyes wereremarkable, --large, dark, lustrous, animated, flashing, confiding, andbathed in light. They were truly the windows of her soul; and it was hersoul, even more than her intellect, which made her so interesting and sogreat. I think that intellect without soul is rather repulsive thanotherwise, is cold, critical, arrogant, cynical, --something from whichwe flee, since we find no sympathy and sometimes no toleration from it. The soul of Madame de Staël immeasurably towered above her intellect, great as that was, and gave her eloquence, fervor, sincerity, poetry, --intensified her genius, and made her irresistible. It was this combination of wit, sympathy, and conversational talentwhich made Madame de Staël so inordinately fond of society, --to satisfylongings and cravings that neither Nature nor books nor home could fullymeet. With all her genius and learning she was a restless woman; andeven friendship, for which she had a great capacity, could not bind her, or confine her long to any one place but Paris, which was to her theworld, --not for its shops, or fashions, or churches, or museums andpicture-galleries, or historical monuments and memories, but for thosecoteries where blazed the great wits of the age, among whom she toowould shine and dazzle and inspire. She was not without heart, as herwarm and lasting friendships attest; but the animating passion of herlife was love of admiration, which was only equalled by a craving forsympathy that no friendship could satisfy, --a want of her nature thatreveals an ardent soul rather than a great heart; for many awarm-hearted woman can live contentedly in retirement, whether in cityor country, --which Madame de Staël could not, not even when surroundedwith every luxury and all the charms of nature. Such a young lady as Mademoiselle Necker--so gifted, so accomplished, sorich, so elevated in social position--could aspire very high. And bothher father and mother were ambitious for so remarkable a daughter. Butthe mother would not consent to her marriage with a Catholic, and sheherself insisted on a permanent residence in Paris. It was hard to meetsuch conditions and yet make a brilliant match; for, after all, herfather, though minister, was only a clever and rich Swissfinancier, --not a nobleman, or a man of great family influence. TheBaron de Staël-Holstein, then secretary to the Swedish embassy, afterwards ambassador from Sweden, was the most available suitor, sincehe was a nobleman, a Protestant, and a diplomatist; and MademoiselleNecker became his wife, in 1786, at twenty years of age, with a dowry oftwo millions of francs. Her social position was raised by this marriage, since her husband was a favorite at court, and she saw much of the Queenand of the great ladies who surrounded her. But the marriage was not happy. The husband was extravagant andself-indulgent; the wife panted for beatitudes it was not in his natureto give. So they separated after a while, but were not divorced. Bothbefore and after that event, however, her house was the resort of thebest society of the city, and she was its brightest ornament. Thithercame Grimm, Talleyrand, Barnave, Lafayette, Narbonne, Sieyès, --allfriends. She was an eye-witness to the terrible scenes of theRevolution, and escaped judicial assassination almost by miracle. Atlast she succeeded in making her escape to Switzerland, and lived awhile in her magnificent country-seat near Geneva, surrounded withillustrious exiles. Soon after, she made her first visit to England, butreturned to Paris when the violence of the Revolution was over. She returned the very day that Napoleon, as First Consul, had seized thereins of government, 1799. She had hailed the Revolution with transport, although she was so nearly its victim. She had faith in its ideas. Shebelieved that the people were the ultimate source of power. She condonedthe excesses of the Revolution in view of its aspirations. Napoleongained his first great victories in defence of its ideas. So at first, in common with the friends of liberty, she was prepared to worship thisrising sun, dazzled by his deeds and deceived by his lying words. Butshe no sooner saw him than she was repelled, especially when she knew hehad trampled on the liberties which he had professed to defend. Herinstincts penetrated through all the plaudits of his idolaters. She feltthat he was a traitor to a great cause, --was heartless, unboundedlyambitious, insufferably egotistic, a self-worshipper, who would brushaway everything and everybody that stood in his way; and she hated him, and she defied him, and her house became the centre of opposition, theheadquarters of enmity and wrath. What was his glory, as a conqueror, compared with the cause she loved, trodden under foot by an iron, rigid, jealous, irresistible despotism? Nor did Napoleon like her any betterthan she liked him, --not that he was envious, but because she stood inhis way. He expected universal homage and devotion, neither of whichwould she give him. He was exceedingly irritated at the reports of herbitter sayings, blended with ridicule and sarcasm. He was not merelyannoyed, he was afraid. "Her arrows, " said he, "would hit a man if hewere seated on a rainbow. " And when he found he could not silence her, he banished her to within forty leagues of Paris. He was not naturallycruel, but he was not the man to allow so bright a woman to say hersharp things about him to his generals and courtiers. It was not theworst thing he ever did to banish his greatest enemy; but it was meanand cruel to persecute her as he did after she was banished. So from Paris--to her the "hub of the universe"--Madame de Staël, "withwandering steps and slow, took her solitary way. " Expelled from the Edenshe loved, she sought to find some place where she could enjoysociety, --which was the passion of her life. Weimar, in Germany, thencontained a constellation of illustrious men, over whom Goethe reigned, as Dr. Johnson once did in London. Thither she resolved to go, after abrief stay at Coppet, her place in Switzerland; and her ten years' exilebegan with a sojourn among the brightest intellects of Germany. She wascordially received at Weimar, especially by the Court, although thedictator of German literature did not like her much. She was tooimpetuous, impulsive, and masculine for him. Schiller and Wieland andSchlegel liked her better, and understood her better. Her great workshad not then been written, and she had reputation chiefly for her highsocial position and social qualities. Possibly her exceeding vivacityand wit seemed superficial, --as witty French people then seemed to bothGermans and English. Doubtless there were critics and philosophers inGermany who were not capable of appreciating a person who aspired topenetrate all the secrets of art, philosophy, religion, and science thenknown who tried to master everything, and who talked eloquently oneverything, --and that person a woman, and a Frenchwoman. Goethe wasindeed an exception to most German critics, for he was an artist, as fewGermans have been in the use of language, and he, like Humboldt, haduniversal knowledge; yet he did not like Madame de Staël, --not fromenvy: he had too much self-consciousness to be envious of any man, stillless a woman. Envy does not exist between the sexes: a musician may bejealous of a musician; a poet, of a poet; a theologian, of a theologian;and it is said, a physician has been known to be jealous of a physician. I think it is probable that the gifted Frenchwoman overwhelmed the greatGerman with her prodigality of wit, sarcasm, and sentiment, for he wasinclined to coldness and taciturnity. Madame de Staël speaks respectfully of the great men she met at Weimar;but I do not think she worshipped them, since she did not fullyunderstand them, --especially Fichte, whom she ridiculed, as well asother obscure though profound writers, who disdained style and art inwriting, for which she was afterwards so distinguished. I believenine-tenths of German literature is wasted on Europeans for lack ofclearness and directness of style; although the involved obscuritieswhich are common to German philosophers and critics and historians alikedo not seem to derogate from their literary fame at home, and have evenfound imitators in England, like Coleridge and Carlyle. Nevertheless, obscurity and affectation are eternal blots on literary genius, sincethey are irreconcilable with art, which alone gives perpetuity tolearning, --as illustrated by the classic authors of antiquity, and suchmen as Pascal, Rousseau, and Macaulay in our times, --although thepedants have always disdained those who write clearly and luminously, and lost reverence for genius the moment it is understood; since clearwriting shows how little is truly original, and makes a disquisition ona bug, a comma, or a date seem trivial indeed. Hitherto, Madame de Staël had reigned in _salons_, rather than on thethrone of letters. Until her visit to Germany, she had written but twobooks which had given her fame, --one, "On Literature, considered in itsRelations with Social Institutions, " and a novel entitled"Delphine, "--neither of which is much read or prized in these times. The leading idea of her book on literature was the perfectibility ofhuman nature, --not new, since it had been affirmed by Ferguson inEngland, by Kant in Germany, and by Turgot in France, and even by RogerBacon in the Middle Ages. But she claimed to be the first to applyperfectibility to literature. If her idea simply means theever-expanding progress of the human mind, with the aids that Providencehas furnished, she is doubtless right. If she means that the necessarycondition of human nature, unaided, is towards perfection, she wars withChristianity, and agrees with Rousseau. The idea was fashionable in itsday, especially by the disciples of Rousseau, who maintained that themajority could not err. But if Madame de Staël simply meant that societywas destined to progressive advancement, as a matter of fact her viewwill be generally accepted, since God rules this world, and brings goodout of evil. Some maintain we have made no advance over ancient India ineither morals or literature or science, or over Greece in art, or Romein jurisprudence; and yet we believe the condition of humanity to-day issuperior to what it has been, on the whole, in any previous age of ourworld. But let us give the credit of this advance to God, and notto man. Her other book, "Delphine, " published in 1802, made a great sensation, like a modern first-class novel, but was severely criticised. SydneySmith reviewed it in a slashing article. It was considered by many asimmoral in its tendency, since she was supposed to attack marriage. Sainte-Beuve, the greatest critic of the age, defends her against thischarge; but the book was doubtless very emotional, into which she pouredall the warmth of her ardent and ungoverned soul in its restlessagitation and cravings for sympathy, --a record of herself, blasted inher marriage hopes and aspirations. It is a sort of New Héloïse, and, though powerful, is not healthy. These two works, however, stamped heras a woman of genius, although her highest triumphs were not yet won. With the éclat of these two books she traversed Germany, studying laws, literature, and manners, assisted in her studies by August v. Schlegel(the translator of Shakspeare), who was tutor to her children, on asalary of twelve thousand francs a year and expenses. She had greatadmiration for this distinguished scholar, who combined with hislinguistic attainments an intense love of art and a profoundappreciation of genius, in whatever guise it was to be found. With sucha cicerone she could not help making great acquisitions. He was likeJerome explaining to Paula the history of the sacred places; like Dr. Johnson teaching ethics to Hannah More; like Michael Angelo explainingthe principles of art to Vittoria Colonna. She mastered the language ofwhich Frederick the Great was ashamed, and, for the first time, didjustice to the German scholars and the German character. She defendedthe ideal philosophy against Locke and the French materialists; she madea remarkable analysis of Kant; she warmly praised both Goethe andSchiller; she admired Wieland; she had a good word for Fichte, althoughshe had ridiculed his obscurities of style. The result of her travels was the most masterly dissertation on thatgreat country that has ever been written, --an astonishing book, when weremember it was the first of any note which had appeared of its kind. Tome it is more like the history of Herodotus than any book of travelswhich has appeared since that accomplished scholar traversed Asia andAfrica to reveal to his inquisitive countrymen the treasures of Orientalmonarchies. In this work, which is intellectually her greatest, shetowered not only over all women, but over all men who have since beenher competitors. It does not fall in with my purpose to give other thana passing notice of this masterly production in order to show what amarvellous woman she was, not in the realm of sentiment alone, not as awriter of letters, but as a critic capable of grasping and explainingall that philosophy, art, and literature have sought to accomplish inthat _terra incognita_, as Germany was then regarded. She revealed a newcountry to the rest of Europe; she described with accuracy its mannersand customs; she did justice to the German intellect; she showed whatamazing scholarship already existed in the universities, far surpassingboth Paris and Oxford. She appreciated the German character, itssimplicity, its truthfulness, its sincerity, its intellectual boldness, its patience, its reserved power, afterwards to be developed inwar, --qualities and attainments which have since raised Germany to theforemost rank among the European nations. This brilliant Frenchwoman, accustomed to reign in the most cultivatedsocial circles of Paris, shows a remarkable catholicity and breadth ofjudgment, and is not shocked at phlegmatic dulness or hyperboreanawkwardness, or laughable simplicity; because she sees, what nobody elsethen saw, a patience which never wearies, a quiet enthusiasm which nodifficulty or disgust destroys, and a great insight which can giverichness to literature without art, discrimination to philosophy withoutconciseness, and a new meaning to old dogmas. She ventures to pluck fromthe forbidden tree of metaphysics; and, reckless of the fiats of theschools, she entered fearlessly into those inquiries which have appalledboth Greek and schoolman. Think of a woman making the best translationand criticism of Kant which had appeared until her day! Her revelationsmight have found more value in the eyes of pedants had she been moreobscure. But, as Sir James Mackintosh says, "Dullness is not accuracy, nor is an elegant writer necessarily superficial. " Divest Germanmetaphysics of their obscurities, and they might seem commonplace; takeaway the clearness of French writers, and they might pass for profound. Clearness and precision, however, are not what the world expects fromits teachers. It loves the fig-trees with nothing but leaves; it adoresthe _stat magni nominis umbra_. The highest proof of severe culture isthe use of short and simple words on any subject whatever; and he whocannot make his readers understand what he writes about does notunderstand his subject himself. I am happy to have these views corroborated by one of the best writersthat this country has produced, --I mean William Matthews:-- "The French, who if not the most original are certainly the acutest andmost logical thinkers in the world, are frequently considered frivolousand shallow, simply because they excel all other nations in thedifficult art of giving literary interest to philosophy; while, on theother hand, the ponderous Germans, who living in clouds of smoke have apositive genius for making the obscure obscurer, are thought to beoriginal, because they are so chaotic and clumsy. But we have yet tolearn that lead is priceless because it is weighty, or that gold isvalueless because it glitters. The Damascus blade is none the less keenbecause it is polished, nor the Corinthian shaft less strong because itis fluted and its capital curved. " The production of such a woman, in that age, in which there is so muchlearning combined with eloquence, and elevation of sentiment with acuteobservation, and the graces of style with the spirit ofphilosophy, --candid, yet eulogistic; discriminating, yetenthusiastic, --made a great impression on the mind of cultivated Europe. Napoleon however, with inexcusable but characteristic meanness, wouldnot allow its publication. The police seized the whole edition--tenthousand--and destroyed every copy. They even tried to get possession ofthe original copy, which required the greatest tact on the part of theauthor to preserve, and which she carried with her on all her travels, for six years, until it was finally printed in London. Long before this great work was completed, --for she worked upon it sixyears, --Madame de Staël visited, with Sismondi, that country which aboveall others is dear to the poet, the artist, and the antiquarian. Sheentered that classic and hallowed land amid the glories of a southernspring, when the balmy air, the beautiful sky, the fresh verdure of thefields, and the singing of the birds added fascination to scenes whichwithout them would have been enchantment. Châteaubriand, the only Frenchwriter of her day with whom she stood in proud equality, also visitedItaly, but sang another song; she, bright and radiant, with hope andcheerfulness, an admirer of the people and the country as they were; he, mournful and desponding, yet not less poetic, with visions of departedglory which the vast debris of the ancient magnificence suggested to hispensive soul, O Italy, Italy! land of associations, whose history nevertires; whose antiquities are perpetual studies; whose works of artprovoke to hopeless imitation; whose struggles until recently wereequally chivalric and unfortunate; whose aspirations have ever been withliberty, yet whose destiny has been successive slaveries; whose hillsand plains and vales are verdant with perennial loveliness, thoughcovered with broken monuments and deserted cities; where monks andbeggars are more numerous than even scholars and artists, --glory indebasement, and debasement in glory, reminding us of the greatness andmisery of man; alike the paradise and the prison of the world; theMinerva and the Niobe of nations, --never shall thy wonders be exhaustedor thy sorrows be forgotten! "E'en in thy desert what is like to thee? Thy very weeds are beautiful; thy wastes More rich than other lands' fertility; Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin grand. " In this unfortunate yet illustrious land, ever fresh to travellers, everto be hallowed in spite of revolutions and assassinations, of popes andpriests, of semi-infidel artists and cynical savants, of beggars andtramps, of filthy hotels and dilapidated villas, Madame de Staëllingered more than a year, visiting every city which has a history andevery monument which has antiquity; and the result of that journey was"Corinne, "--one of the few immortal books which the heart of the worldcherishes; which is as fresh to-day as it was nearly one hundred yearsago, --a novel, a critique, a painting, a poem, a tragedy; interesting tothe philosopher in his study and to the woman in her boudoir, since itis the record of the cravings of a great soul, and a description of whatis most beautiful or venerated in nature or art. It is the mostwonderful book ever written of Italy, --with faults, of course, but atranscript of profound sorrows and lofty aspirations. To some it mayseem exaggerated in its transports; but can transports be too highlycolored? Can any words be as vivid as a sensation? Enthusiasm, whenfully expressed, ceases to be a rapture; and the soul that fancies ithas reached the heights of love or beauty or truth, claims to comprehendthe immortal and the infinite. It is the effort of genius to express the raptures and sorrows of alofty but unsatisfied soul, the glories of the imperishable in art andlife, which gives to "Corinne" its peculiar charm. It is the mirror of awide and deep experience, --a sort of "Divine Comedy, " in which a Dantefinds a Beatrice, not robed in celestial loveliness, coursing fromcircle to circle and star to star, explaining the mysteries of heaven, but radiant in the beauty of earth, and glowing with the ardor of ahuman love. Every page is masculine in power, every sentence iscondensed thought, every line burns with passion; yet every sentimentbetrays the woman, seeking to reveal her own boundless capacities ofadmiration and friendship, to be appreciated, to be loved with thatfervor and disinterestedness which she was prepared to lavish on theobject of her adoration. No man could have made such revelations, although it may be given to him to sing a greater song. While no womancould have composed the "Iliad, " or the "Novum Organum, " or the"Critique of Pure Reason, " or "Othello, " no man could have written"Corinne" or "Adam Bede. " In painting Corinne, Madame de Staël simply describes herself, as shedid in "Delphine, " with all her restless soul-agitations; yet not in tooflattering colors, since I doubt if there ever lived a more impassionedsoul, with greater desires of knowledge, or a more devouring thirst forfame, or a profounder insight into what is lofty and eternal, than theauthor of "Corinne. " Like Héloïse, she could love but one; yet, unlikeHéloïse, she could not renounce, even for love, the passion foradmiration or the fascinations of society. She does not attempt todisguise the immense sacrifices which love exacts and marriage implies, but which such a woman as Héloïse is proud to make for him whom shedeems worthy of her own exalted sentiments; and she shows in the personof Corinne how much weakness may coexist with strength, and how timidand dependent is a woman even in the blaze of triumph and in theenjoyment of a haughty freedom. She paints the most shrinking delicacywith the greatest imprudence and boldness, contempt for the opinions andusages of society with the severest self-respect; giving occasion forscandal, yet escaping from its shafts; triumphant in the greatness ofher own dignity and in the purity of her unsullied soul. "Corinne" is adisguised sarcasm on the usages of society among the upper classes inMadame de Staël's day, when a man like Lord Neville is represented ascapable of the most exalted passion, and almost ready to die for itsobject, and at the same time is unwilling to follow its promptings to anhonorable issue, --ready even, at last, to marry a woman for whom hefeels no strong attachment, or even admiration, in compliance withexpediency, pride, and family interests. But "Corinne" is not so much a romance as it is a description of Italyitself, its pictures, its statues, its palaces, its churches, itsantiquities, its literature, its manners, and its aspirations; and it isastonishing how much is condensed in that little book. The author hasforestalled all poets and travellers, and even guidebooks; allsuccessive works are repetitions or amplifications of what she hassuggested. She is as exhaustive and condensed as Thucydides; and, trueto her philosophy, she is all sunshine and hope, with unbounded faith inthe future of Italy, --an exultant prophet as well as a critical observer. This work was published in Paris in 1807, when Napoleon was on the apexof his power and glory; and no work by a woman was ever hailed withgreater enthusiasm, not in Paris merely, but throughout Europe. Yetnothing could melt the iron heart of Napoleon, and he continued hisimplacable persecution of its author, so that she was obliged tocontinue her travels, though travelling like a princess. Again shevisited Germany, and again she retired to her place near Geneva, whereshe held a sort of court, the star of which, next to herself, was MadameRécamier, whose transcendent beauty and equally transcendent lovelinessof character won her admiration and friendship. In 1810 Madame de Staël married Rocca, of Italian or Spanish origin, whowas a sickly and dilapidated officer in the French army, little morethan half her age, --he being twenty-five and she forty-five, --a strangemarriage, almost incredible, if such marriages were not frequent. He, though feeble, was an accomplished man, and was taken captive by thebrilliancy of her talk and the elevation of her soul. It is harder totell what captured her, for who can explain the mysteries of love? Themarriage proved happy, however, although both parties dreaded ridicule, and kept it secret. The romance of the thing--if romance there was--hasbeen equalled in our day by the marriages of George Eliot and MissBurdett Coutts. Only very strong characters can afford to run suchrisks. The caprices of the great are among the unsolved mysteries oflife. A poor, wounded, unknown young man would never have aspired tosuch an audacity had he not been sure of his ground; and the probabilityis that she, not he, is to be blamed for that folly, --if a woman is tobe blamed for an attachment which the world calls an absurdity. The wrath of Napoleon waxing stronger and stronger, Madame de Staël feltobliged to flee even from Switzerland. She sought a rest in England; butEngland was hard to be reached, as all the Continent save Russia was inbondage and fear. She succeeded in reaching Vienna, then Russia, andfinally Sweden, where she lingered, as it was the fashion, to receiveattentions and admiration from all who were great in position or eminentfor attainments in the northern capitals of Europe. She liked evenRussia; she saw good everywhere, something to praise and enjoy wherevershe went. Moscow and St. Petersburg were equally interesting, --the oldand the new, the Oriental magnificence of the one, the stupendouspalaces and churches of the other. Romanzoff, Orloff, the EmpressElizabeth, and the Emperor Alexander himself gave her distinguishedhonors and hospitalities, and she saw and recorded their greatness, andabandoned herself to pleasures which were new. After a delightful winter in Stockholm, she sailed for England, whereshe arrived in safety, 1813, twenty years after her first visit, and inthe ninth of her exile. Her reception in the highest circles wasenthusiastic. She was recognized as the greatest literary woman who hadlived. The Prince Regent sought her acquaintance; the greatest noblesfeted her in their princely palaces. At the house of the Marquis ofLansdowne, at Lord Jersey's, at Rogers's literary dinners, at thereunions of Holland House, everywhere, she was admired and honored. SirJames Mackintosh, the idol and oracle of English society at that time, pronounced her the most intellectual woman who had adorned theworld, --not as a novelist and poet merely, but as philosopher andcritic, grappling with the highest questions that ever tasked theintellect of man. Byron alone stood aloof; he did not like strong-mindedwomen, any more than Goethe did, especially if they were not beautiful. But he was constrained to admire her at last. Nobody could resist thefascination and brilliancy of her conversation. It is to be regrettedthat she did not write a book on England, which on the whole sheadmired, although it was a little too conventional for her. But she wasnow nearly worn out by the excitements and the sorrows of her life. Shewas no longer young. Her literary work was done. And she had to resortto opium to rally from the exhaustion of her nervous energies. On the fall of Napoleon, Madame de Staël returned to Paris, --the cityshe loved so well; the city so dear to all Frenchmen and to allforeigners, to all gay people, to all intellectual people, to allfashionable people, to all worldly people, to all pious people, --to themthe centre of modern civilization. Exile from this city has ever beenregarded as a great calamity, --as great as exile was to Romans, even toCicero. See with what eagerness Thiers himself returned to this charmedcapital when permitted by the last Napoleon! In this city, after her tenyears' exile, Madame de Staël reigned in prouder state than at anyprevious period of her life. She was now at home, on her own throne asqueen of letters, and also queen of society. All the great men who werethen assembled in Paris burned their incense before her, --Châteaubriand, Lafayette, Talleyrand, Guizot, Constant, Cuvier, Laplace. Distinguishedforeigners swelled the circle of her admirers, --Blücher, Humboldt, Schlegel, Canova, Wellington, even the Emperor of Russia. TheRestoration hailed her with transport; Louis XVIII. Sought the glory ofher talk; the press implored her assistance; the salons caughtinspiration from her presence. Never was woman seated on a prouderthrone. But she did not live long to enjoy her unparalleled socialhonors. She was stifled, like Voltaire, by the incense of idolaters; thebody could no longer stand the strain of the soul, and she sunk, at theage of fifty-one, in the year 1817, a few months before her husbandRocca, whom, it appears, she ever tenderly loved. Madame de Staël died prematurely, as precocious people generallydo, --like Raphael, Pascal, Schiller, I may add Macaulay and Mill; butshe accomplished much, and might have done more had her life beenspared, for no one doubts her genius, --perhaps the most remarkablefemale writer who has lived, on the whole. George Sand is the onlyFrenchwoman who has approached her in genius and fame. Madame de Staëlwas novelist, critic, essayist, and philosopher, grasping theprofoundest subjects, and gaining admiration in everything sheattempted. I do not regard her as pre-eminently a happy woman, since hermarriages were either unfortunate or unnatural. In the intoxicatingblaze of triumph and admiration she panted for domestic beatitudes, andfound the earnest cravings of her soul unsatisfied. She sought relieffrom herself in society, which was a necessity to her, as much asfriendship or love; but she was restless, and perpetually travelling. Moreover, she was a persecuted woman during the best ten years of herlife. She had but little repose of mind or character, and was worldly, vain, and ambitious. But she was a great woman and a good woman, inspite of her faults and errors; and greater in her womanly qualitiesthan she was in her writings, remarkable as these were. She had a greatindividuality, like Dr. Johnson and Thomas Carlyle. And she lives in thehearts of her countrymen, like Madame Récamier; for it was not thebeauty and grace of this queen of society which made her beloved, buther good-nature, amiability, power of friendship, freedom from envy, andgenerous soul. In the estimation of foreigners--of those great critics of whom Jeffreyand Mackintosh were the representatives--Madame de Staël has won theproud fame of being the most powerful writer her country has producedsince Voltaire and Rousseau. Historically she is memorable forinaugurating a new period of literary history. With her began a newclass of female authors, whose genius was no longer confined to lettersand memoirs and sentimental novels. I need not enumerate the longcatalogue of illustrious literary women in the nineteenth century inFrance, in Germany, in England, and even in the United States. Thegreatest novelist in England, since Thackeray, was a woman. One of thegreatest writers on political economy, since Adam Smith, was a woman. One of the greatest writers in astronomical science was a woman. InAmerica, what single novel ever equalled the success of "Uncle Tom'sCabin"? What schools are better kept than those by women? And this isonly the beginning, since it is generally felt that women are bettereducated than men, outside of the great professions. And why not, sincethey have more leisure for literary pursuits than men? Who now sneers atthe intellect of a woman? Who laughs at blue-stockings? Who denies theinsight, the superior tact, the genius of woman? What man does notaccept woman as a fellow-laborer in the field of letters? And yet thereis one profession which they are more capable of filling than men, --thatof physicians to their own sex; a profession most honorable, andrequiring great knowledge, as well as great experience and insight. Why may not women cope with men in the proudest intellectualtournaments? Why should they not become great linguists, and poets, andnovelists, and artists, and critics, and historians? Have they notquickness, brilliancy, sentiment, acuteness of observation, good sense, and even genius? Do not well-educated women speak French before theirbrothers can translate the easiest lines of Virgil? I would not put suchgentle, refined, and cultivated creatures, --these flowers of Paradise, spreading the sweet aroma of their graces in the calm retreats from toiland sin, --I would not push them into the noisy arena of wranglingpolitics, into the suffocating and impure air of a court of justice, oreven make them professors in a college of unruly boys; but because Iwould not do them this great cruelty, do I deny their intellectualequality, or seek to dim the lustre of the light they shed, or hidetheir talents under the vile bushel of envy, cynicism, or contempt? Isit paying true respect to woman to seek to draw her from the beautifulsphere which she adorns and vivifies and inspires, --where she is asolace, a rest, a restraint, and a benediction, --and require of herlabors which she has not the physical strength to perform? And when itis seen how much more attractive the wives and daughters of favoredclasses have made themselves by culture, how much more capable they areof training and educating their children, how much more dignified thefamily circle may thus become, --every man who is a father will rejoicein this great step which women have recently made, not merely inliterary attainments, but in the respect of men. Take away intellectfrom woman, and what is she but a toy or a slave? For my part, I see nomore cheering signs of the progress of society than in the advancingknowledge of favored women. And I know of no more splendid future forthem than to encircle their brows, whenever they have an opportunity, with those proud laurels which have ever been accorded to those who haveadvanced the interests of truth and the dominion of the soul, --whichlaurels they have lately won, and which both reason and experienceassure us they may continue indefinitely to win. AUTHORITIES. Miss Luyster's Memoirs of Madame de Staël; Mémoires Dix Années d'Exil;Alison's Essays; M. Shelly's Lives; Mrs. Thomson's Queens of Society;Sainte-Beuve's Nouveaux Lundis; Lord Brougham on Madame de Staël; J. Bruce's Classic Portraits; J. Kavanagh's French Women of Letters;Biographic Universelle; North American Review, vols. X. , xiv. , xxxvii. ;Edinburgh Review, vols. Xxi. , xxxi. , xxxiv. , xliii. ; Temple Bar, vols. Xl. , lv. ; Foreign Quarterly, vol. Xiv. ; Blackwood's Magazine, vols. Iii. , vii. , x. ; Quarterly Review, 152; North British Review, vol. Xx. ;Christian Examiner, 73; Catholic World, 18. HANNAH MORE. * * * * * A. D. 1745-1833. EDUCATION OF WOMAN. One of the useful and grateful tasks of historians and biographers is tobring forward to the eye of every new generation of men and women thoseillustrious characters who made a great figure in the days of theirgrandfathers and grandmothers, yet who have nearly faded out of sight inthe rush of new events and interests, and the rise of new stars in theintellectual firmament. Extraordinary genius or virtue or services maybe forgotten for a while, but are never permanently hidden. There isalways somebody to recall them to our minds, whether the interval beshort or long. The Italian historian Vico wrote a book which attractedno attention for nearly two hundred years, --in fact, was forgotten, --butwas made famous by the discoveries of Niebuhr in the Vatican library, and became the foundation of modern philosophical history. Some greatmen pass out of view for a generation or two owing to the bitterness ofcontemporaneous enemies and detractors, and others because of the veryunanimity of admirers and critics, leading to no opposition. We wearyboth of praise and censure. And when either praise or censure stops, theobject of it is apparently forgotten for a time, except by the few whoare learned. Yet, I repeat, real greatness or goodness is nevercompletely hidden. It reappears with new lustre when brought intocomparison with those who are embarked in the same cause. Thus the recent discussions on the education of women recall to ourremembrance the greatest woman who lived in England in the latter partof the last century, --Hannah More, --who devoted her long and prosperousand honorable life to this cause both by practical teaching and bywritings which arrested the attention and called forth the admiration ofthe best people in Europe and America. She forestalled nearly everythingwhich has been written in our times pertaining to the life of woman, both at school and in society. And she evinced in her writings on thisgreat subject an acuteness of observation, a good sense, a breadth andcatholicity of judgment, a richness of experience, and a high moral tonewhich have never been surpassed. She reminds us of the wise Madame deMaintenon in her school at St. Cyr; the pious and philanthropic MaryLyon at the Mount Holyoke Seminary; and the more superficial andworldly, but truly benevolent and practical, Emma Willard at herinstitution in Troy, --the last two mentioned ladies being the pioneersof the advanced education for young ladies in such colleges as Vassar, Wellesley, and Smith, and others I could mention. The wisdom, tact, andexperience of Madame de Maintenon--the first great woman who gave amarked impulse to female education in our modern times--were not lost onHannah More, who seems to have laid down the laws best adapted todevelop the mind and character of woman under a high civilization. England seems to have been a century in advance of America, both in itswisdom and folly; and the same things in London life were ridiculed andcondemned with unsparing boldness by Hannah More which to-day, in NewYork, have called out the vigorous protests of Dr. Morgan Dix. Theeducators of our age and country cannot do better than learn wisdom fromthe "Strictures on the Modern System of Female Education, " as well asthe "Thoughts on the Manners of the Great, " which appeared from the penof Hannah More in the latter part of the 18th century, in which sheappears as both moralist and teacher, getting inspiration not only fromher exalted labors, but from the friendship and conversation of thegreat intellectual oracles of her age. I have not read of any one womanin England for the last fifty years, I have not heard or known of anyone woman in the United States, who ever occupied the exalted positionof Hannah More, or who exercised so broad and deep an influence on thepublic mind in the combined character of a woman of society, author, andphilanthropist. There have been, since her day, more brilliant queens offashion, greater literary geniuses, and more prominent philanthropists;but she was enabled to exercise an influence superior to any of them, byher friendship with people of rank, by her clear and powerful writings, and by her lofty piety and morality, which blazed amid the vices offashionable society one hundred years ago. It is well to dwell on the life and labors of so great and good a woman, who has now become historical. But I select her especially as therepresentative of the grandest moral movement of modern times, --thatwhich aims to develop the mind and soul of woman, and give to her thedignity of which she has been robbed by paganism and "philistinism. " Imight have selected some great woman nearer home and our own time, moreintimately connected with the profession of educating young ladies; butI prefer to speak of one who is universally conceded to have renderedgreat service to her age and country. It is doubly pleasant to presentHannah More, because she had none of those defects and blemishes whichhave often detracted from the dignity of great benefactors. She wasabout as perfect a woman as I have read of; and her virtues were notcarried out to those extremes of fanaticism which have often markedillustrious saints, from the want of common-sense or because ofvisionary theories. Strict and consistent as a moralist, she was neverled into any extravagances or fanaticisms. Stern even as adisciplinarian, she did not proscribe healthy and natural amusements. Strong-minded, --if I may use a modern contemptuous phrase, --she neverrebelled against the ordinances of nature or the laws dictated byinspiration. She was a model woman: beautiful, yet not vain; witty, yetnever irreverent; independent, yet respectful to authority; exercisingprivate judgment, yet admired by bishops; learned, without pedantry;hospitable, without extravagance; fond of the society of the great, yetspending her life among the poor; alive to the fascinations of society, yet consecrating all her energies of mind and body to the good of thosewith whom she was brought in contact; as capable of friendship as Paula, as religious as Madame Guyon, as charming in conversation as Récamier, as practical as Elizabeth, as broad and tolerant as Fénelon, who washimself half woman in his nature, as the most interesting men of geniusare apt to be. Nothing cynical, or bitter, or extravagant, orcontemptuous appears in any of her writings, most of which werepublished anonymously, --from humility as well as sensitiveness. Vanitywas a stranger to her, as well as arrogance and pride. Embarking ingreat enterprises, she never went outside the prescribed sphere ofwoman. Masculine in the force and vigor of her understanding, she wasfeminine in all her instincts, --proper, amiable, and gentle; a womanwhom everybody loved and everybody respected, even to kings and queens. Hannah More was born in a little village near Bristol, 1745, and herfather was the village schoolmaster. He had been well educated, and hadlarge expectations; but he was disappointed, and was obliged to resortto this useful but irksome way of getting a living. He had fivedaughters, of whom Hannah was the fourth. As a girl, she was veryprecocious in mind, as well as beautiful and attractive in her person. She studied Latin when only eight years of age. Her father, it wouldseem, was a very sensible man, and sought to develop the peculiartalents which each of his daughters possessed, without the usualpartiality of parents, who are apt to mistake inclination for genius. Three of the girls had an aptitude for teaching, and opened aboarding-school in Bristol when the oldest was only twenty. The schoolwas a great success, and soon became fashionable, and ultimately famous. To this school the early labors of Hannah More were devoted; and shesoon attracted attention by her accomplishments, especially in themodern languages, in which she conversed with great accuracy andfacility. But her talents were more remarkable than heraccomplishments; and eminent men sought her society and friendship, whoin turn introduced her to their own circle of friends, by all of whomshe was admired. Thus she gradually came to know the celebrated DeanTucker of Gloucester cathedral; Ferguson the astronomer, then lecturingat Bristol; the elder Sheridan, also giving lectures on oratory in thesame city; Garrick, on the eve of his retirement from the stage; Dr. Johnson, Goldsmith, Reynolds, Mrs. Montagu, in whose _salon_ the mostdistinguished men of the age assembled as the headquarters offashionable society, --Edmund Burke, then member for Bristol in the Houseof Commons; Gibbon; Alderman Cadell, the great publisher; BishopPorteus; Rev. John Newton; and Sir James Stonehouse, an eminentphysician. With all these stars she was on intimate terms, visiting themat their houses, received by them all as more than an equal, --for shewas not only beautiful and witty, but had earned considerable reputationfor her poetry. Garrick particularly admired her as a woman of genius, and performed one of her plays ("Percy") twenty successive nights atDrury Lane, writing himself both the prologue and the epilogue. It mustbe borne in mind that when first admitted to the choicest society ofLondon, --at the houses not merely of literary men, but of greatstatesmen and nobles like Lord Camden, Lord Spencer, the Duke ofNewcastle. Lord Pembroke, Lord Granville, and others, --she was teachingin a girls' school at Bristol, and was a young lady under thirtyyears of age. It was as a literary woman--when literary women were not so numerous orambitious as they now are--that Hannah More had the _entrée_ into thebest society under the patronage of the greatest writers of the age. Shewas a literary lion before she was twenty-five. She attracted theattention of Sheridan by her verses when she was scarcely eighteen. Her"Search after Happiness" went through six editions before the year 1775. Her tragedy of "Percy" was translated into French and German before shewas thirty; and she realized from the sale of it £600. "The FatalFalsehood" was also much admired, but did not meet the same success, being cruelly attacked by envious rivals. Her "Bas Bleu" was praised byJohnson in unmeasured terms. It was for her poetry that she was bestknown from 1775 to 1785, the period when she lived in the fashionableand literary world, and which she adorned by her wit and brilliantconversation, --not exactly a queen of society, since she did not set upa _salon_, but was only an honored visitor at the houses of the great; abrilliant and beautiful woman, whom everybody wished to know. I will not attempt any criticism on those numerous poems. They are notmuch read and valued in our time. They are all after the style ofJohnson and Pope;--the measured and artificial style of the eighteenthcentury, in imitation of the ancient classics and of French poetry, inwhich the wearisome rhyme is the chief peculiarity, --smooth, polished, elaborate, but pretty much after the same pattern, and easily imitatedby school-girls. The taste of this age--created by Burns, Byron, Wordsworth, Browning, Tennyson, Longfellow, and others--is verydifferent. But the poems of Hannah More were undoubtedly admired by hergeneration, and gave her great _éclat_ and considerable pecuniaryemolument. And yet her real fame does not rest on those artificialpoems, respectable as they were one hundred years ago, but on herwritings as a moralist and educator. During this period of her life--from 1775 to 1785--she chiefly residedwith her sisters in Bristol, but made long visits to London, and to thehouses of famous or titled personages. In a worldly point of view theseyears were the most brilliant, but not most useful, period of her life. At first she was intoxicated by the magnificent attentions she received, and had an intense enjoyment of cultivated society. It was in theseyears she formed the most ardent friendships of her life. Of all herfriends, she seems to have been most attached to Garrick, --the idol ofsociety, a general favorite wherever he chose to go, a man ofirreproachable morals and charming conversational powers; at whosehouse and table no actor or actress was ever known to be invited, exceptin one solitary instance; from which it would appear that he was moredesirous of the attentions of the great than of the sympathy andadmiration of the people of his own profession. It is not common foractors to be gifted with great conversational powers, any more than forartists, as a general thing, to be well-read people, especially inhistory. Hannah More was exceedingly intimate with both Garrick and hiswife; and his death, in 1779, saddened and softened his greatworshipper. After his death she never was present at any theatricalamusement. She would not go to the theatre to witness the acting of herown dramas; not even to see Mrs. Siddons, when she appeared as sobrilliant a star. In fact, after Garrick's death Miss More partiallyabandoned fashionable society, having acquired a disgust of itsheartless frivolities and seductive vices. With the death of Garrick a new era opened in the life of Hannah More, although for the succeeding five years she still was a frequent visitorin the houses of those she esteemed, both literary lions and people ofrank. It would seem, during this period, that Dr. Johnson was herwarmest friend, whom she ever respected for his lofty moral nature, andbefore whom she bowed down in humble worship as an intellectualdictator. He called her his child. Sometimes he was severe on her, whenshe differed from him in opinion, or when caught praising books whichhe, as a moralist, abhorred, --like the novels of Fielding and Smollet;for the only novelist he could tolerate was Richardson. Once when shewarmly expatiated in praise of the Jansenists, the overbearing autocratexclaimed in a voice of thunder: "Madam, let me hear no more of this!Don't quote your popish authorities to me; I want none of your popery!"But seeing that his friend was overwhelmed with the shock he gave her, his countenance instantly changed; his lip quivered, and his eyes filledwith tears. He gently took her hand, and with the deepest emotionexclaimed: "Child, never mind what I have said, --follow true pietywherever you find it. " This anecdote is a key to the whole character ofJohnson, interesting and uninteresting; for this rough, tyrannicaldogmatist was also one of the tenderest of men, and had a soul asimpressible as that of a woman. The most intimate woman friend, it would seem, that Hannah ever had wasMrs. Garrick, both before and after the death of her husband; and thewife of Garrick was a Roman Catholic. Hannah More usually spent severalmonths with this accomplished and warm-hearted woman at her house inHampton, generally from March to July. This was often her home duringthe London season, after which she resided in Bristol with her sisters, who made a fortune by their boarding-school. After Hannah had enteredinto the literary field she supported herself by her writings, whichuntil 1785 were chiefly poems and dramas, --now almost forgotten, butwhich were widely circulated and admired in her day, and by which shekept her position in fashionable and learned society. After the death ofGarrick, as we have said, she seemed to have acquired a disgust of thegay and fashionable society which at one time was so fascinating. Shefound it frivolous, vain, and even dull. She craved sympathy andintellectual conversation and knowledge. She found neither at afashionable party, only outside show, gay dresses, and unspeakablefollies, --no conversation; for how could there be either the cultivationof friendship or conversation in a crowd, perchance, of empty people forthe most part? "As to London, " says she, "I shall be glad to get out ofit; everything is great and vast and late and magnificent and dull. " Ivery seldom go to these parties, and I always repent when I do. Mydistaste of these scenes of insipid magnificence I have not words totell. Every faculty but the sight is starved, and that has a surfeit. Ilike conversation parties of the right sort, whether of four persons orforty; but it is impossible to talk when two or three hundred people arecontinually coming in and popping out, or nailing themselves to a cardtable. "Conceive, " said she, "of the insipidity of two or three hundredpeople, --all dressed in the extremity of fashion, painted as red asbacchanals, poisoning the air with perfumes, treading on each other'sdresses, not one in ten able to get a chair when fainting withweariness. I never now go to these things when I can possibly avoid it, and stay when there as few minutes as I can. " Thus she wrote as early as1782. She went through the same experience as did Madame Récamier, learning to prefer a small and select circle, where conversation was thechief charm, especially when this circle was composed only of gifted menand women. In this incipient disgust of gay and worldly society--chieflybecause it improved neither her mind nor her morals, because it wasstupid and dull, as it generally is to people of real culture and highintelligence--she seems to have been gradually drawn to the learnedprelates of the English Church, --like Dr. Porteus, Bishop of Chester, afterwards of London; the Bishop of St. Asaph; and Dr. Home, then Deanof Canterbury. She became very intimate with Wilberforce and Rev. JohnNewton, while she did not give up her friendship for Horace Walpole, Pepys, and other lights of the social world. About this time (1785) she retired to Cowslip Green, a pretty cottageten miles from Bristol, and spent her time in reading, writing, andgardening. The country, with its green pastures and still waters, calledher back to those studies and duties which are most ennobling, and whichproduce the most lasting pleasure. In this humble retreat she had manyvisitors from among her illustrious friends. She became more and morereligious, without entirely giving up society; corresponding with theeminent men and women she visited, especially Mrs. Montagu, Dr. Porteus, Mrs. Boscawen, Mr. Pepys, and Rev. John Newton. In the charmingseclusion of Cowslip Green she wrote her treatise on the "Manners of theGreat;" the first of that series in which she rebuked the fashions andfollies of the day. It had an immense circulation, and was publishedanonymously. This very popular work was followed, in 1790, by a volumeon an "Estimate of the Religion of the Fashionable World, " whichproduced a still deeper sensation among the great, and was much admired. The Bishop of London (Porteus) was full of its praises; so was JohnNewton, although he did not think that any book could wean the worldlyfrom their pleasures. Thus far most of the associations of Hannah More had been with thefashionable world, by which she was petted and flattered. Seeing clearlyits faults, she had sought to reform it by her writings and by herconversation. But now she turned her attention to another class, --thepoor and ignorant, --and labored for them. She instituted a number ofschools for the poor in her immediate neighborhood, superintended them, raised money for them, and directed them, as Madame de Maintenon did theschool of St. Cyr; only with this difference, --that while theFrenchwoman sought to develop the mind and character of a set ofaristocratic girls to offset the practical infidelity that permeated theupper walks of life, Hannah More desired to make the children of thepoor religious amid the savage profligacy which then marked the peasantclass. The first school she established was at Cheddar, a wild andsunless hollow, amid yawning caverns, about ten miles from CowslipGreen, --the resort of pleasure parties for its picturesque cliffs andfissures. Around this weird spot was perhaps the most degraded peasantryto be found in England, without even spiritual instruction, --for thevicar was a non-resident, and his living was worth but £50 a year. Inher efforts to establish a school in such a barbarous and pagan localityHannah met with serious obstacles. The farmers and petty landholderswere hostile to her scheme, maintaining that any education would spoilthe poor, and make them discontented. Even the farmers themselves werean ignorant and brutal class, very depraved, and with intenseprejudices. For a whole year she labored with them to disarm theirhostilities and prejudices, and succeeded at last in collecting twohundred and fifty children in the schoolhouse which she had built. Theirinstruction was of course only elemental, but it was religious. From Cheddar, Hannah More was led to examine into the condition ofneighboring places. Thirteen contiguous parishes were without a residentcurate, and nine of these were furnished with schools, with over fivehundred scholars. Her theory was, --a suitable education for each, and aChristian education for all. While she was much encouraged by herecclesiastical aristocratic friends, she still encountered greatopposition from the farmers. She also excited the jealousy of theDissenters for thus invading the territory of ignorance. All hermovements were subjected to prelates and clergymen of the Church ofEngland for their approval; for she put herself under their patronage. And yet the brutal ignorance of the peasantry was owing in part to theneglect of these very clergymen, who never visited these poor peopleunder their charge. As an excuse for them, it may be said that at thattime there were 4, 809 parishes in England and Wales in which a clergymancould not reside, if he would, for lack of a parsonage. At that time, even in Puritan New England, every minister was supposed to live in aparsonage. To-day, not one parish in ten is provided with that desirableauxiliary. Not only were the labors of Hannah More extended to the ignorant anddegraded by the establishment of schools in her neighborhood, at anexpense of about £1, 000 a year, part of which she contributed herself, but she employed her pen in their behalf, writing, at the solicitationof the Bishop of London, a series of papers or tracts for the times, with special reference to the enlightenment of the lower classes onthose subjects that were then agitating the country. The whole land wasat this time inundated with pamphlets full of infidelity and discontent, fanned by the French Revolution, then passing through its worst stagesof cruelty, atheism, and spoliation. Burke about the same time wrote his"Reflections, " which are immortal for their wisdom and profundity; buthe wrote for the upper classes, not merely in England, but in Americaand on the continent of Europe. Hannah More wrote for the lower classes, and in a style of great clearness and simplicity. Her admirabledialogue, called "Village Politics, " by Will Chip, a country carpenter, exposed the folly and atrocity of the revolutionary doctrines then invogue. Its circulation was immense. The Government purchased severalthousand copies for distribution. It was translated into French andItalian. Similar in spirit was the tract in reply to the infidel speechof M. Dupont in the French Convention, in which he would divorce allreligion from education. The circulation of this tract was also verygreat. These were followed, in 1795, by the "Cheap Repository, " aperiodical designed for the poor, with religious tales, most of whichhave since been published by Tract Societies, among them the famousstory of "The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain. " The "Cheap Repository" wascontinued for three years, and circulated in every village and hamlet ofEngland and America. It almost equalled the popularity of the "Pilgrim'sProgress. " Two millions of these tracts were sold in the first year. In 1799 Hannah More's great work entitled "Strictures on the ModernSystem of Female Education" appeared, which passed through twentyeditions in a few years. It was her third ethical publication in prose, and the most powerful of all her writings. Testimonies as to its valuepoured in upon her from every quarter. Nothing was more talked about atthat time except, perhaps, Robert Hall's "Sermons. " It was regarded asone of the most perfect works of its kind that any country or age hadproduced. It made as deep an impression on the English mind as the"Émile" of Rousseau did on the French half a century earlier, but wasvastly higher in its moral tone. I know of no treatise on education sofull and so sensible as this. It ought to be reprinted, for the benefitof this generation, for its author has forestalled all subsequentwriters on this all-important subject. There is scarcely anything saidby Rev. Morgan Dix, in his excellent Lenten Lectures, which was not saidby Hannah More in the last century. Herbert Spencer may be moreoriginal, possibly more profound, but he is not so practical or clear orinstructive as the great woman who preceded him more than halfa century. The fundamental principle which underlies all Hannah More's theories ofeducation is the necessity of Christian instruction, which HerbertSpencer says very little about, and apparently ignores. She would notdivorce education from religion. Women, especially, owe their elevationentirely to Christianity. Hence its influence should be paramount, toexalt the soul as well as enlarge the mind. All sound education shouldprepare one for the duties of life, rather than for the enjoyment of itspleasures. What good can I do? should be the first inquiry. It isChristianity alone that teaches the ultimate laws of morals. Hannah Morewould subject every impulse and every pursuit and every study to theseultimate laws as a foundation for true and desirable knowledge. Shewould repress everything which looks like vanity. She would educategirls for their homes, and not for a crowd; for usefulness, and not foradmiration; for that; period of life when external beauty is faded orlost. She thinks more highly of solid attainments than ofaccomplishments, and would incite to useful rather than unnecessaryworks. She would have a girl learn the languages, though she deems themof little value unless one can think in them. She would cultivate that"sensibility which has its seat in the heart, rather than the nerves. "Anything which detracts from modesty and delicacy, and makes a girlbold, forward, and pushing, she severely rebukes. She would check allextravagance in dancing, and would not waste much time on music unlessone has a talent for it. She thinks that the excessive cultivation ofthe arts has contributed to the decline of States. She is severe on thatstyle of dress which permits an indelicate exposure of the person, andon all forms of senseless extravagance. She despises children's balls, and ridicules children's rights and "Liliputian coquetry" with ribbonsand feathers. She would educate women to fulfil the duties of daughters, wives, and mothers rather than to make them dancers, singers, players, painters, and actresses. She maintains that when a man of sense comes tomarry, he wants a companion rather than a creature who can only dressand dance and play upon an instrument. Yet she does not discourageornamental talent; she admits it is a good thing, but not the best thingthat a woman has. She would not cut up time into an endlessmultiplicity of employments, She urges mothers to impress on theirdaughters' minds a discriminating estimate of personal beauty, so thatthey may not have their heads turned by the adulation that men are soprone to lavish on those who are beautiful. While she deprecatesharshness, she insists on a rigorous discipline. She would stimulateindustry and the cultivation of moderate abilities, as more likely towin in the long race of life, --even as a barren soil and ungenialclimate have generally produced the most thrifty people. She wouldbanish frivolous books which give only superficial knowledge, and eventhose abridgments and compendiums which form too considerable a part ofordinary libraries, and recommends instead those works which exercisethe reasoning faculties and stir up the powers of the mind. Sheexpresses great contempt for English sentimentality, French philosophy, Italian poetry, and German mysticism, and is scarcely less severe on thenovels of her day, which stimulate the imagination without adding toknowledge. She recommends history as the most improving of all studies, both as a revelation of the ways of Providence and as tending to theenlargement of the mind. She insists on accuracy in language and onavoiding exaggerations. She inculcates co-operation with man, and notrivalry or struggle for power. What she says about women'srights--which, it seems, was a question that agitated even her age--isworth quoting, since it is a woman, and not a man, who speaks:-- "Is it not more wise to move contentedly in the plain path whichProvidence has obviously marked out for the sex, and in which custom hasfor the most part rationally confirmed them, rather than to strayawkwardly, unbecomingly, unsuccessfully, in a forbidden road; to be thelawful possessors of a lesser domestic territory, rather than theturbulent usurpers of a wider foreign empire; to be good originals, rather than bad imitators; to be the best thing of one's kind, ratherthan an inferior thing even if it were of a higher kind; to be excellentwomen, rather than indifferent men? Let not woman view with envy thekeen satirist hunting vice through all the doublings and windings of theheart; the sagacious politician leading senates and directing the fateof empires; the acute lawyer detecting the obliquities of fraud, or theskilful dramatist exposing the pretensions of folly; but let herremember that those who thus excel, to all that Nature bestows and bookscan teach must add besides that consummate knowledge of the world towhich a delicate woman has no fair avenues, and which, even if she couldattain, she would never be supposed to have come honestly by. .. . Womenpossess in a high degree that delicacy and quickness of perception, andthat nice discernment between the beautiful and defective which comesunder the denomination of taste. Both in composition and action theyexcel in details; but they do not so much generalize their ideas asmen, nor do their minds seize a great subject with so large a grasp. They are acute observers, and accurate judges of life and manners, sofar as their own sphere of observation extends; but they describe asmaller circle. And they have a certain tact which enables them to feelwhat is just more instantaneously than they can define it. They have anintuitive penetration into character bestowed upon them by Providence, like the sensitive and tender organs of some timid animals, as a kind ofnatural guard to warn of the approach of danger, --beings who are oftencalled to act defensively. "But whatever characteristic distinctions may exist between man andwoman, there is one great and leading circumstance which raises womanand establishes her equality with man. Christianity has exalted woman totrue and undisputed dignity. 'In Christ Jesus there is neither rich norpoor, bond nor free, male nor female, ' So that if we deny to women thetalents which lead them to excel as lawyers, they are preserved from theperil of having their principles warped by that too indiscriminatedefence of right and wrong to which the professors of the law areexposed. If we question their title to eminence as mathematicians, theyare exempted from the danger of looking for demonstration on subjectswhich, by their very nature, are incapable of affording it. If they areless conversant with the powers of Nature, the structure of the humanframe, and the knowledge of the heavenly bodies than philosophers, physicians, and astronomers, they are delivered from the error intowhich many of each of these have sometimes fallen, from the fatal habitof resting on second causes, instead of referring all to the first. Andlet women take comfort that in their very exemption from privilegeswhich they are sometimes disposed to envy, consist their security andtheir happiness. " Thus spoke Hannah More at the age of fifty-four, with a wider experienceof society and a profounder knowledge of her sex than any Englishwomanof the eighteenth century, and as distinguished for her intellectualgifts and cultivation as she was for her social graces and charms, --thepet and admiration of all who were great and good in her day, both amongmen and women. Bear these facts in mind, ye obscure, inexperienced, discontented, envious, ambitious seekers after notoriety or novelty!--yerebellious and defiant opponents of the ordinances of God and the lawsof Nature, if such women there are!--remember that the sentiments I havejust quoted came from the pen of a woman, and not of a man; of a womanwho was the best friend of her sex, and the most enlightened advocate oftheir education that lived in the last century; and a woman who, if shewere living now, would undoubtedly be classed with those whom we callstrong-minded, and perhaps masculine and ambitious. She recognizes theeternal distinction between the sphere of a man and the sphere of awoman, without admitting any inferiority of woman to man, except inphysical strength and a sort of masculine power of generalization andgrasp. And _she_ would educate woman for her own sphere, not for thesphere of man, whatever Christianity, or experience, or reason maydefine that sphere to be. She would make woman useful, interesting, lofty; she would give dignity to her soul; she would make her the friendand helpmate of man, not his rival; she would make her a Christianwoman, since, with Christian virtues and graces and principles, she willnot be led astray. But I would not dwell on ground which may be controverted, and which tosome may appear discourteous or discouraging to those noble women whoare doomed by dire and hard misfortunes, by terrible necessities, tolabor in some fields which have been assigned to man, and in whichdepartments they have earned the admiration and respect of menthemselves. This subject is only one in a hundred which Hannah Morediscussed with clearness, power, and wisdom. She is equally valuable andimpressive in what she says of conversation, --a realm in which she hadno superior. Hear what she says about this gift or art: "Do we wish to see women take a lead in metaphysical disquisitions, --toplunge in the depths of theological polemics? Do we wish to enthronethem in the chairs of our universities, to deliver oracles, harangues, and dissertations? Do we desire to behold them, inflated with theiroriginal powers, laboring to strike out sparks of wit, with a restlessanxiety to shine, and with a labored affectation to please, which neverpleases? All this be far from them! But we _do_ wish to see theconversation of well-bred women rescued from vapid commonplaces, fromuninteresting tattle, from trite communications, from frivolousearnestness, from false sensibility, from a warm interest about thingsof no moment, and an indifference to topics the most important; from acold vanity, from the overflows of self-love, exhibiting itself underthe smiling mask of an engaging flattery; and from all the factitiousmanners of artificial intercourse. We _do_ wish to see the time passedin polished and intelligent society considered as the pleasant portionof our existence, and not consigned to premeditated trifling andsystematic unprofitableness. Women too little live or converse up totheir understandings; and however we deprecate affectation and pedantry, let it be remembered that both in reading and conversing, theunderstanding gains more by stretching than stooping. The mind byapplying itself to objects below its level, contracts and shrinks itselfto the size of the object about which it is conversant. In the facultyof speaking well, ladies have such a happy promptitude of turning theirslender advantages to account, that though never taught a rule ofsyntax, they hardly ever violate one, and often possess an elegantarrangement of style without having studied any of the laws ofcomposition, And yet they are too ready to produce not only pedanticexpressions, but crude notions and hackneyed remarks with all the vanityof conscious discovery, and all from reading mere abridgments and scantysketches rather than exhausting subjects. " Equally forcible are her remarks on society:-- "Perhaps, " said she, "the interests of friendship, elegant conversation, and true social pleasure, never received such a blow as when fashionissued the decree that _everybody must be acquainted with everybody_. The decline of instructive conversation has been effected in a greatmeasure by the barbarous habit of assembly _en masse_, where one hearsthe same succession of unmeaning platitudes, mutual insincerities, andaimless inquiries. It would be trite, however, to dwell on the vapidtalk which must almost of necessity mark those who assemble in crowds, and which we are taught to call society, which really cannot existwithout the free interchange of thought and sentiment. Hence societyonly truly shines in small and select circles of people of highintelligence, who are drawn together by friendship as well asadmiration. " About two years after this work on education appeared, --education in thebroadest sense, pertaining to woman at home and in society as well as atschool, --Hannah More moved from her little thatched cottage, and builtBarley Wood, --a large villa, where she could entertain the increasingcircle of her friends, who were at this period only the learned, thepious, and the distinguished, especially bishops like Porteus andHorne, and philanthropists like Wilberforce. The beauty of this newresidence amid woods and lawns attracted her sisters from Bath, whocontinued to live with her the rest of their lives, and to co-operatewith her in deeds of benevolence. In this charming retreat she wroteperhaps the most famous of her books, "Coelebs in Search of aWife, "--not much read, I fancy, in these times, but admired in its daybefore the great revolution in novel-writing was made by Sir WalterScott. Yet this work is no more a novel than the "Dialogues of Plato. "Like "Rasselas, " it is a treatise, --a narrative essay on the choice of awife, the expansion and continuation of her strictures on education andfashionable life. This work appeared in 1808, when the writer wassixty-three years of age. As on former occasions, she now not onlyassumed an anonymous name, but endeavored to hide herself under deeperincognita, --all, however, to no purpose, as everybody soon knew, fromthe style, who the author was. The first edition of this popularwork--popular, I mean, in its day, for no work is popular long, thoughit may remain forever a classic on the shelves of libraries--was sold intwo weeks. Twelve thousand were published the first year, the profits ofwhich were £2, 000. In this country the sale was larger, thirty thousandcopies being sold during the life of the author. It was also translatedinto most of the modern languages of Europe. In 1811 appeared her workon "Christian Morals, " which had a sale of ten thousand; and in 1815 heressay on the "Character and Practical Writings of Saint Paul, " of whichseven thousand copies were sold. These works were followed by her "MoralSketches of Prevailing Opinions and Manners, " of which ten thousand weresold, and which realized a royalty of £3, 000. At the age of eighty, Hannah More wrote her "Spirit of Prayer, " of whichnearly twenty thousand copies were printed; and with this work herliterary career virtually closed. Her later works were written amid thepains of disease and many distractions, especially visits fromdistinguished and curious people, which took up her time and sadlyinterrupted her labors. At the age of eighty, though still receivingmany visitors, she found herself nearly alone in the world. All her mostintimate friends had died, --Mrs. Garrick at the age of ninety-eight; SirWilliam Pepys (the Laelius of the "Bas Bleu"); Dr. Porteus, Bishop ofLondon; Dr. Fisher, Bishop of Salisbury; Bishop Horne, BishopBarrington; Dr. Andrew, Dean of Canterbury; and Lady Cremon, besides herthree sisters. The friends of her earlier days had long since passedaway, --Garrick, Johnson, Reynolds, Horace Walpole. Of those who startedin the race with her few were left. Still, visitors continued to throngher house to the last, impelled by admiration or curiosity; and she wasobliged at length to limit her _levee_ to the hours between oneand three. Hannah More lived at Barley Wood nearly thirty years in dignifiedleisure, with an ample revenue and in considerable style, keeping hercarriage and horses, with a large number of servants, dispensing agenerous hospitality, and giving away in charities a considerable partof her income. She realized from her pen £30, 000, and her sisters alsohad accumulated a fortune by their school in Bristol. Her property musthave been considerable, since on her death she bequeathed in charitiesnearly £10, 000, beside endowing a church. She spent about £900 a year incharities. The last few years of her residence at Barley Wood were disturbed by theingratitude and dishonesty of her servants. They deceived and robbedher, especially those to whom she had been most kind and generous. Shewas, at her advanced age, entirely dependent on these servants, so thatshe could not reform her establishment. There was the most shamelesspeculation in the kitchen, and money given in charity was appropriatedby the servants, who all combined to cheat her. Out of her sight, theywere disorderly: they gave nocturnal suppers to their friends, and drankup her wines. So she resolved to discharge the whole of them, and sellher beautiful place; and when she finally left her home, these servantsopenly insulted her. She removed to a house in Clifton, where she hadequal comfort and fewer cares. In this house she spent the remainingfour years of her useful life, dispensing charities, and entertainingthe numerous friends who visited her, and the crowd who came to do herhonor. She died in September, 1833, at the age of eighty-eight, retaining her intellectual faculties, like Madame de Maintenon, nearlyto the last. She was buried with great honors. A beautiful monument waserected to her memory in the parish church where her mortal remains werelaid, --the subscription to this monument being five times greater thanthe sum needed. Hannah More was strongly attached to the Church of England, and upheldthe authority of the established religious institutions of the country. She excited some hostility from the liberality of her views, for shewould occasionally frequent the chapels of the Dissenters and partake oftheir communion. She was supposed by many to lean towards Methodism, --aseverybody was accused of doing in the last century, in England, who leda strictly religious life. She was evangelical in her views, but was notCalvinistic; nor was she a believer in instantaneous conversions, anymore than she was in baptismal regeneration. She contributed liberallyto religious and philanthropic societies. The best book, she thought, that was ever published was Jeremy Taylor's "Holy Living and Dying;" buther opinion was that John Howe was a greater man. She was a greatadmirer of Shakspeare, whom she placed on the highest pedestal of humangenius. She also admired Sir Walter Scott's poetry, especially"Marmion. " She admitted the genius of Byron, but had such detestation ofhis character that she would not read his poetry. The best and greatest part of the life of Hannah More was devoted to theeducation and elevation of her sex. Her most valuable writings wereeducational and moral. Her popularity did not wane with advancing years. No literary woman ever had warmer friends; and these she retained. Shenever lost a friend except by death. She had to lament over no brokenfriendships, since her friendships were based on respect and affection. Her nature must have been very genial. For so strict a woman in herreligious duties, she was very tolerant of human infirmities. She wasfaithful in reproof, but having once given her friendship she held on toit with great tenacity; she clung to the worldly Horace Walpole as shedid to Dr. Johnson. The most intimate woman friend of her long life wasa Catholic. Hannah was never married, which was not her fault, for shewas jilted by the man she loved, --for whom, however, she is said to haveretained a friendly feeling to the last. Though unmarried, she wasaddressed as Mrs. , not Miss, More; and she seems to have insisted onthis, which I think was a weakness, since the dignity of her character, her fame and high social position, needed no conventional crutch to makeher appear more matronly. As a mere fashionable woman of society, hername would never have descended to our times; as a moralist she isimmortal, so far as any writer can be. As an author, I do not regard heras a great original genius; but her successful and honorable careershows how much may be done by industry and perseverance. Her memory iskept especially fresh from the interest she took in the education of hersex, and from her wise and sage counsels, based on religion and a wideexperience. No woman ever had better opportunities for the study of hersex, or more nobly improved them. She was the most enlightened advocateof a high education for women that her age and even hercentury produced. Now, what is meant by a high education for women? for in our times theopinions of people in regard to this matter are far from beingharmonious. Indeed, on no subject is there more disagreement; there isno subject which provokes more bitter and hostile comments; there is nosubject on which both men and women wrangle with more acerbity, evenwhen they are virtually agreed, --for the instincts of good women arereally in accord with the profoundest experience and reason of men. In the few remarks to which I am now limited I shall not discuss theirritating and disputed question of co-education of the sexes, which canonly be settled by experience. On this subject we have not yetsufficient facts for a broad induction. On the one hand, it would seemthat so long as young men and women mingle freely together inamusements, at parties and balls, at the theatre and opera, in thelecture-room, in churches, and most public meetings, it is not probablethat any practical evils can result from educational competition of thetwo sexes in the same class-rooms, especially when we consider that manyeminent educators have given their testimony in its favor, so far as ithas fallen under their observation and experience. But, on the otherhand, the co-education of the sexes may imply that both girls and boys, by similarity of studies, are to be educated for the same sphere. Boysstudy the higher mathematics not merely for mental discipline, but inorder to be engineers, astronomers, surveyors, and the like; so, too, they study chemistry, in its higher branches, to be chemists andphysicians and miners. If girls wish to do this rough work, let themknow that they seek to do men's work. If they are to do women's work, itwould seem that they should give more attention to music, the modernlanguages, and ornamental branches than boys do, since few men pursuethese things as a business. The question is, Is it wise for boys and girls to pursue the samestudies in the more difficult branches of knowledge? I would withhold nostudy from a woman on the ground of assumed intellectual inferiority. Ibelieve that a woman can grasp any subject as well as a man can, so farand so long as her physical strength will permit her to make exhaustiveresearches. There are some studies which task the physical strength ofmen to its utmost tension. If any woman has equal physical power withmen to master certain subjects, let her pursue them; for success, evenwith men, depends upon physical endurance as well as brain-power. Andthus the question is one of physical strength and endurance; and womenmust settle for themselves whether they can run races with men instudies in which only the physically strong can hope to succeed. Then, again, I would educate women with reference to the sphere in whichthey must forever move, --a sphere settled by the eternal laws of Natureand duty, against which it is folly to rebel. Does any one doubt or denythat the sphere of women _is_ different from the sphere of men? Can itbe questioned that a class of studies pursued by women who are confinedfor a considerable period of life to domestic duties, --like the care ofchildren, and the details of household economy, and attendance on thesick, and ornamental art labors, --should not be different from thosepursued by men who undertake the learned professions, and the governmentof the people, and the accumulation of wealth in the hard drudgeries ofbanks and counting-houses and stores and commercial travelling? There isno way to get round this question except by maintaining that men shouldnot be exempted from the cares and duties which for all recorded ageshave been assigned to women; and that women should enter upon theequally settled sphere of man, and become lawyers, politicians, clergymen, members of Congress and of State legislatures, sailors, merchants, commercial travellers, bankers, railway conductors, andsteamship captains. I once knew the discontented wife of an eminentpainter, with a brilliant intellect, who insisted that her husbandshould leave his studio and spend five hours a day in the drudgeries ofthe nursery and kitchen to relieve her, and that she should spend thefive hours in her studio as an amateur, --that they thus might be on anequality! The husband died in a mad-house, after dying for a year with abroken heart and a crushed ambition. He was obliged to submit to hiswife's demand, or fight from morning to night and from night to morning;and as he was a man of peace, he quietly yielded up his prerogative. Doyou admire the one who prevailed over him? She belonged to that classwho are called strong-minded; but she was perverted, as some noble mindsare, by atheistic and spiritualistic views, and thought to raise womenby lifting them out of the sphere which God has appointed. If, then, there be distinct spheres, divinely appointed, for women andfor men, and an education should be given to fit them for rising intheir respective spheres, the question arises, What studies shall womanpursue in order to develop her mind and resources, and fit her forhappiness and usefulness? This question is only to be answered by thosewho have devoted their lives to the education of young ladies. I wouldgo into no details; I would only lay down the general proposition that awoman should be educated to be interesting both to her own sex and tomen; to be useful in her home; to exercise the best influence on herfemale and male companions; to have her affections as well as intellectdeveloped; to have her soul elevated so as to be kindled by loftysentiments, and to feel that there is something higher than theadornment of the person, or the attracting of attention in those noisycrowds which are called society. She should be taught to become thefriend and helpmate of man, --never his rival She is to be invested withthose graces which call out the worship of man, which cause her to shinewith the radiance of the soul, and with those virtues which men rarelyreach, --a superior loftiness of character, a greater purity of mind, aheavenlike patience and magnanimity. She is not an angel, but a woman;yet she should shine with angelic qualities and aspire to angelicvirtues, and prove herself, morally and spiritually, to be so superiorto man, that he will render to her an instinctive deference; not a mockand ironical deference, because she is supposed to be inferior and weak, but a real deference, a genuine respect on which all permanentfriendship rests, --and even love itself, which every woman, as well asevery man, craves from the bottom of the soul, and without which lifehas no object, no charm, and no interest. Is woman necessarily made a drudge by assuming those domestic dutieswhich add so much to the unity and happiness of a family, and which aman cannot so well discharge as he can the more arduous labors ofsupporting a family? Are her labors in directing servants or educatingher children more irksome than the labors of a man, in heat and cold, often among selfish and disagreeable companions? Is woman, inrestricting herself to her sphere, thereby debarred from the pleasuresof literature and art? As a rule, is she not already better educatedthan her husband? However domestic she may be, cannot she still paintand sing, and read and talk on the grandest subjects? Is she not reallymore privileged than her husband or brother, with more time and lessharassing cares and anxieties? Would she really exchange her gracefullabors for the rough and turbulent work of men? But here I am stopped with the inquiry, What will you do with thosewomen who are unfortunate, who have no bright homes to adorn, no meansof support, no children to instruct, no husbands to rule: women cast outof the sphere where they would like to live, and driven to hard anduncongenial labors, forced to run races with men, or starve? To such myremarks do not apply; they are exceptions, and not the rule. To them Iwould say, Do cheerfully what Providence seems to point out for _you_;do the best you can, even in the sphere into which you are forced. Ifyou are at any time thrown upon your own resources, and compelled toadopt callings which task your physical strength, accept such lot withresignation, but without any surrender of your essentially feminine andwomanly qualities; do not try to be like men, for men are lower than youin their ordinary tastes and occupations. And I would urge all women, rich and poor, to pursue some one art, --like music, or painting, ordecoration, --not only for amusement, but with the purpose to carry it sofar that in case of misfortune they can fall back upon it and get aliving; for proficiency in these arts belongs as much to the sphere ofwomen as of men, since it refines and cultivates them. But again some may say, --not those who are unfortunate, and seeminglydriven from the glories and beatitudes of woman's sphere, but those whoare peculiarly intellectual and aspiring, and in some respects veryinteresting, --Why should not we embark in some of those callings whichheretofore have been assigned to or usurped by man, and becomephysicians, and professors in colleges, and lawyers, and merchants, notbecause we are driven to get a living, but because we prefer them; andhence, in order to fit ourselves for these departments, why should wenot pursue the highest studies which task the intellect of man? To suchI would reply, Do so, if you please; there is no valid reason why youshould not try. Nor will you fail unless your frailer bodies fail, asfail they will, in a long race, --for do what you will to strengthen anddevelop your physical forces for a million of years, you will still bewomen, and physically weaker than men; that is, your nervous systemcannot stand the strain of that long-continued and intense applicationwhich all professional men are compelled to exert in order to gainsuccess. But if you have in any individual case the physical strength ofa man, do what you please, so long as you preserve the delicacy andpurity of womanhood, --practise medicine or law, keep school, translatebooks, keep boarders, go behind a counter; yea, keep a shop, set types, keep accounts, give music and French lessons, sing in concerts andchurches, --do whatever you can do as well as men. You have that right;nobody will molest you or slander you. If you must, or if you choose to, labor so, God help you! So, then, the whole question of woman's education is decided by physicallimitations, concerning which there is no dispute, and against which itis vain to rebel; and we return to the more agreeable task of pointingout the supreme necessity of developing in woman those qualities whichwill make her a guide and a radiance and a benediction in that sphere towhich Nature and Providence and immemorial custom would appear to haveassigned her. Let her become great as a woman, not as a man. Let hermaintain her rights; but in doing so, let her not forget her duties. TheBible says nothing at all about the former, and very much about thelatter. Let her remember that she is the complement of a man, and hencethat what is most feminine about her is most interesting to man anduseful to the world. God made man and woman of one flesh, yet unlike. And who can point out any fundamental inferiority or superiority betweenthem? The only superiority lies in the superior way in which eachdischarges peculiar trusts and responsibilities. It is in this lightalone that we see some husbands superior to their wives, and some wivessuperior to their husbands. No sensible person would say that a girl issuperior to her brother because she has a greater aptness formathematics than he, but because she excels in the queen-like attributesand virtues and duties peculiar to her own sex and belonging to her ownsphere, --that sphere so beautiful, that when she abdicates it, it islike being expelled from Paradise; for, once lost, it can never beregained. That education is best even for a great woman, --great inintellect as in soul, --which best develops the lofty ideal of womanhood;which best makes her a real woman, and not a poor imitation of man, andgives to her the dignity and grace of a queen over her household, andbrings out that moral beauty by which she reigns over her husband'sheart, and inspires the reverence which children ought to feel. Do wederogate from the greatness of women when we seek to kindle thebrightness of that moral beauty which outshines all the triumphs of mereintellectual forces? Should women murmur because they cannot be superiorin everything, when it is conceded that they are superior in the bestthing? Nor let her clutch what she can neither retain nor enjoy. In theprimeval Paradise there was one tree the fruit of which our mother Evewas forbidden to touch or to eat. There is a tree which grows in ourtimes, whose fruit, when eaten by some, produces unrest, discontent, rebellion against God, unsatisfied desires, a revelation of unrealizedmiseries, the mere contemplation of which is enough to drive to madnessand moral death. Yet of all the other trees of life's garden may womaneat, --those trees that grow in the boundless field which modernknowledge and enterprise have revealed to woman, and which, if sheconfine herself thereto, will make her a blessing and a glory forever tofallen and afflicted humanity. AUTHORITIES Life of Hannah More, by H. C. Knight; Memoirs, by W. Roberts; LiteraryLadies of England, by H. K. Elwood; Literary Women, by J. Williams;Writings of Hannah More; Letters to Zachary Macaulay; Edinburgh Review, vol. Xiv. ; Christian Observer, vol. Xxxv. ; Gentleman's Magazine, vol. Xxv. ; American Quarterly, vol. Lii. ; Fraser's Magazine, vol. X. GEORGE ELIOT. * * * * * A. D. 1819-1880. WOMAN AS NOVELIST. Since the dawn of modern civilization, every age has been marked by somenew development of genius or energy. In the twelfth and thirteenthcenturies we notice Gothic architecture, the rise of universities, thescholastic philosophy, and a general interest in metaphysical inquiries. The fourteenth century witnessed chivalric heroism, courts of love, tournaments, and amorous poetry. In the fifteenth century we see therevival of classical literature and Grecian art. The sixteenth centurywas a period of reform, theological discussions, and warfare withRomanism. In the seventeenth century came contests for civil andreligious liberty, and discussions on the theological questions whichhad agitated the Fathers of the Church. The eighteenth century wasmarked by the speculations of philosophers and political economists, ending in revolution. The nineteenth century has been distinguished forscientific discoveries and inventions directed to practical andutilitarian ends, and a wonderful development in the literature offiction. It is the age of novelists, as the fifteenth century was theage of painters. Everybody now reads novels, --bishops, statesmen, judges, scholars, as well as young men and women. The shelves oflibraries groan with the weight of novels of every description, --novelssensational, novels sentimental, novels historical, novelsphilosophical, novels social, and novels which discuss every subjectunder the sun. Novelists aim to be teachers in ethics, philosophy, politics, religion, and art; and they are rapidly supplanting lecturersand clergymen as the guides of men, accepting no rivals but editors andreviewers. This extraordinary literary movement was started by Sir Walter Scott, who made a revolution in novel-writing, introducing a new style, freeingromances from bad taste, vulgarity, insipidity, and false sentiment. Hepainted life and Nature without exaggerations, avoided interminablescenes of love-making, and gave a picture of society in present and pasttimes so fresh, so vivid, so natural, so charming, and so true, and allwith such inimitable humor, that he still reigns without a peer in hispeculiar domain. He is as rich in humor as Fielding, without hiscoarseness; as inventive as Swift, without his bitterness; as moral asRichardson, without his tediousness. He did not aim to teach ethics orpolitical economy directly, although he did not disguise his opinions. His chief end was to please and instruct at the same time, stimulatingthe mind through the imagination rather than the reason; so healthfulthat fastidious parents made an exception of his novels among all othersthat had ever been written, and encouraged the young to read them. SirWalter Scott took off the ban which religious people had imposed onnovel-reading. Then came Dickens, amazingly popular, with his grotesque descriptions oflife, his exaggerations, his impossible characters and improbableincidents: yet so genial in sympathies, so rich in humor, so indignantat wrongs, so broad in his humanity, that everybody loved to read him, although his learning was small and his culture superficial. Greatly superior to him as an artist and a thinker was Thackeray, whosefame has been steadily increasing, --the greatest master of satire inEnglish literature, and one of the truest painters of social life thatany age has produced; not so much admired by women as by men; accuratein his delineation of character, though sometimes bitter and fierce;felicitous in plot, teaching lessons in morality, unveiling shams andhypocrisy, contemptuous of all fools and quacks, yet sad in hisreflections on human life. In the brilliant constellation of which Dickens and Thackeray were thegreater lights was Bulwer Lytton, --versatile; subjective in genius;sentimental, and yet not sensational; reflective, yet not always soundin morals; learned in general literature, but a charlatan in scientificknowledge; worldly in his spirit, but not a pagan; an inquisitivestudent, seeking to penetrate the mysteries of Nature as well as topaint characters and events in other times; and leaving a higher moralimpression when he was old than when he was young. Among the lesser lights, yet real stars, that have blazed in thisgeneration are Reade, Kingsley, Black, James, Trollope, Cooper, Howells, Wallace, and a multitude of others, in France and Germany as well asEngland and America, to say nothing of the thousands who have aspiredand failed as artists, yet who have succeeded in securing readers and inmaking money. And what shall I say of the host of female novelists which this age hasproduced, --women who have inundated the land with productions both goodand bad; mostly feeble, penetrating the cottages of the poor rather thanthe palaces of the rich, and making the fortunes of magazines andnews-vendors, from Maine to California? But there are three womennovelists, writing in English, standing out in this group of mediocrity, who have earned a just and wide fame, --Charlotte Bronté, HarrietBeecher Stowe, and Marian Evans, who goes by the name of George Eliot. It is the last of these remarkable women whom it is my object todiscuss, and who burst upon the literary world as a star whose light hasbeen constantly increasing since she first appeared. She takes rank withDickens, Thackeray, and Bulwer, and some place her higher even than SirWalter Scott. Her fame is prodigious, and it is a glory to her sex;indeed, she is an intellectual phenomenon. No woman ever received suchuniversal fame as a genius except, perhaps, Madame de Staël; or as anartist, if we except Madame Dudevant, who also bore a _nom deplume_, --Georges Sand. She did not become immediately popular, but thecritics from the first perceived her remarkable gifts and predicted herultimate success. For vivid description of natural scenery and ruralEnglish life, minute analysis of character, and psychological insightshe has never been surpassed by men; while for learning and profundityshe has never been equalled by women, --a deep, serious, sad writer, without vanity or egotism or pretension; a great but not always soundteacher, who, by common consent and prediction, will live and rank amongthe classical authors in English literature. Marian Evans was born in Warwickshire, about twenty miles fromStratford-on-Avon, --the county of Shakspeare, one of the most fertileand beautiful in England, whose parks and lawns and hedges andpicturesque cottages, with their gardens and flowers and thatched roofs, present to the eye a perpetual charm. Her father, of Welsh descent, wasoriginally a carpenter, but became, by his sturdy honesty, ability, andabiding sense of duty, land agent to Sir Roger Newdigate of Arbury Hall. Mr. Evans's sterling character probably furnished the model for AdamBede and Caleb Garth. Sprung from humble ranks, but from conscientious and religious parents, who appreciated the advantage of education, Miss Evans was allowed tomake the best of her circumstances. We have few details of her earlylife on which we can accurately rely. She was not an egotist, and didnot leave an autobiography like Trollope, or reminiscences like Carlyle;but she has probably portrayed herself, in her early aspirations, asMadame de Staël did, in the characters she has created. The less we knowabout the personalities of very distinguished geniuses, the better it isfor their fame. Shakspeare might not seem so great to us if we knew hispeculiarities and infirmities as we know those of Voltaire, Rousseau, and Carlyle; only such a downright honest and good man as Dr. Johnsoncan stand the severe scrutiny of after times and "destructivecriticism. " It would appear that Miss Evans was sent to a school in Nuneaton beforeshe was ten, and afterwards to a school in Coventry, kept by twoexcellent Methodist ladies, --the Misses Franklin, --whose lives andteachings enabled her to delineate Dinah Morris. As a school-girl we aretold that she had the manners and appearance of a woman. Her hair waspale brown, worn in ringlets; her figure was slight, her head massive, her mouth large, her jaw square, her complexion pale, her eyesgray-blue, and her voice rich and musical. She lost her mother atsixteen, when she most needed maternal counsels, and afterwards livedalone with her father until 1841, when they removed to Foleshill, nearCoventry. She was educated in the doctrines of the Low or EvangelicalChurch, which are those of Calvin, --although her Calvinism was earlymodified by the Arminian views of Wesley. At twelve she taught a classin a Sunday-school; at twenty she wrote poetry, as most bright girls do. The head-master of the grammar school in Coventry taught her Greek andLatin, while Signor Brizzi gave her lessons in Italian, French, andGerman; she also played on the piano with great skill. Her learning andaccomplishments were so unusual, and gave such indication of talent, that she was received as a friend in the house of Mr. Charles Bray, ofCoventry, a wealthy ribbon-merchant, where she saw many eminent literarymen of the progressive school, among whom were James Anthony Froude andRalph Waldo Emerson. At what period the change in her religious views took place I have beenunable to ascertain, --probably between the ages of twenty-one andtwenty-five, by which time she had become a remarkably well-educatedwoman, of great conversational powers, interesting because of herintelligence, brightness, and sensibility, but not for her personalbeauty. In fact, she was not merely homely, she was even ugly; thoughmany admirers saw great beauty in her eyes and expression when hercountenance was lighted up. She was unobtrusive and modest, and retiredwithin herself. At this period she translated from the German the "Life of Jesus, " byStrauss, Feuerbach's "Essence of Christianity, " and one of Spinoza'sworks. Why should a young woman have selected such books to translate?How far the writings of rationalistic and atheistic philosophersaffected her own views we cannot tell; but at this time her progressiveand advanced opinions irritated and grieved her father, so that, as weare told, he treated her with intolerant harshness. With all herpaganism, however, she retained the sense of duty, and was devoted inher attentions to her father until he died, in 1849. She then travelledon the Continent with the Brays, seeing most of the countries of Europe, and studying their languages, manners, and institutions. She residedlongest in a boarding-house near Geneva, amid scenes renowned by thelabors of Gibbon, Voltaire, and Madame de Staël, in sight of the Alps, absorbed in the theories of St. Simon and Proudhon, --a believer in thenecessary progress of the race as the result of evolution rather than ofrevelation or revolution. Miss Evans returned to England about the year 1857, --the year of theGreat Exhibition, --and soon after became sub-editor of the "WestminsterReview, " at one time edited by John Stuart Mill, but then in charge ofJohn Chapman, the proprietor, at whose house, in the Strand, sheboarded. There she met a large circle of literary and scientific men ofthe ultra-liberal, radical school, those who looked upon themselves asthe more advanced thinkers of the age, whose aim was to destroy beliefin supernaturalism and inspiration; among whom were John Stuart Mill, Francis Newman, Herbert Spencer, James Anthony Froude, G. H. Lewes, JohnA. Roebuck, and Harriet Martineau, --dreary theorists, mistrusted anddisliked equally by the old Whigs and Tories, high-churchmen, andevangelical Dissenters; clever thinkers and learned doubters, butarrogant, discontented, and defiant. It was then that the friendly attachment between Miss Evans and Mr. Lewes began, which ripened into love and ended in a scandal. Mr. Leweswas as homely as Wilkes, and was three years older than Miss Evans, --avery bright, witty, versatile, learned, and accomplished man; abrilliant talker, novelist, playwright, biographer, actor, essayist, andhistorian, whose "Life of Goethe" is still the acknowledged authority inGermany itself, as Carlyle's "Frederic the Great" is also regarded. Buthis fame has since been eclipsed by that of the woman he pretended tocall his wife, and with whom (his legal wife being still alive) he livedin open defiance of the seventh Commandment and the social customs ofEngland for twenty years. This unfortunate connection, which saddenedthe whole subsequent life of Miss Evans, and tinged all her writingswith the gall of her soul, excluded her from that high conventionalsociety which it has been the aim of most ambitious women to enter. Butthis exclusion was not, perhaps, so great an annoyance to Miss Evans asit would have been to Hannah More, since she was not fitted to shine ingeneral society, especially if frivolous, and preferred to talk withauthors, artists, actors, and musical geniuses, rather than withprejudiced, pleasure-seeking, idle patricians, who had such attractionsfor Addison, Pope, Mackintosh, and other lights of literature, whounconsciously encouraged that idolatry of rank and wealth which is oneof the most uninteresting traits of the English nation. Nor would thosefashionable people, whom the world calls "great, " have seen much toattract them in a homely and unconventional woman whose views werediscrepant with the established social and religious institutions of theland. A class that would not tolerate such a genius as Carlyle, wouldnot have admired Marian Evans, even if the stern etiquette of Englishlife had not excluded her from envied and coveted _réunions_; and sheherself, doubtless, preferred to them the brilliant society whichassembled in Mr. Chapman's parlors to discuss those philosophical andpolitical theories of which Comte was regarded as the high-priest, andhis positivism the essence of all progressive wisdom. How far the gloomy materialism and superficial rationalism of Lewes mayhave affected the opinions of Miss Evans we cannot tell. He was herteacher and constant companion, and she passed as his wife; so it isprobable that he strengthened in her mind that dreary pessimism whichappeared in her later writings. Certain it is that she paid the penaltyof violating a fundamental moral law, in the neglect of those womenwhose society she could have adorned, and possibly in the silentreproaches of conscience, which she portrayed so vividly in thecharacters of those heroines who struggled ineffectually in the conflictbetween duty and passion. True, she accepted the penalty withoutcomplaint, and labored to the end of her days, with masculine strength, to enforce a life of duty and self-renunciation on her readers, --to liveat least for the good of humanity. Nor did she court notoriety, likeGeorges Sand, who was as indifferent to reproach as she was to shame. Miss Evans led a quiet, studious, unobtrusive life with the man sheloved, sympathetic in her intercourse with congenial friends, anddevoted to domestic duties. And Mr. Lewes himself relieved her from manyirksome details, that she might be free to prosecute her intenseliterary labors. In this lecture on George Eliot I gladly would have omitted all allusionto a mistake which impairs our respect for this great woman. But defectscannot be unnoticed in an honest delineation of character; and no candidbiographers, from those who described the lives of Abraham and David, tothose who have portrayed the characters of Queen Elizabeth and OliverCromwell, have sought to conceal the moral defects of their subjects. Aside from the translations already mentioned, the first literaryefforts of Miss Evans were her articles in the "Westminster Review, " aheavy quarterly, established to advocate philosophical radicalism. Inthis Review appeared from her pen the article on Carlyle's "Life ofSterling, " "Madame de la Sablière, " "Evangelical Teachings, " "Heine, ""Silly Novels by Lady Novelists, " "The Natural History of German Life, ""Worldliness and Unworldliness, "--all powerfully written, but with avein of bitter sarcasm in reference to the teachers of those doctrineswhich she fancied she had outgrown. Her connection with the "Review"closed in 1853, when she left Mr. Chapman's home and retired to a smallhouse in Cambridge Terrace, Hyde Park, on a modest but independentincome. In 1854 she revisited the Continent with Mr. Lewes, spending hertime chiefly in Germany. It was in 1857 that the first tales of Miss Evans were published in"Blackwood's Magazine, " when she was thirty-eight, in the full maturityof her mind. "The Sad Fortunes of Amos Barton" was the first of the series called"Scenes of Clerical Life" which appeared. Mr. Blackwood saw at once thegreat merit of the work, and although it was not calculated to arrestthe attention of ordinary readers he published it, confident of itsultimate success. He did not know whether it was written by a man or bya woman; he only knew that he received it from the hand of Mr. Lewes, anauthor already well known as learned and brilliant. It is fortunate fora person in the conventional world of letters, as of society, to be wellintroduced. This story, though gloomy in its tone, is fresh, unique, andinteresting, and the style good, clear, vivid, strong. It opens with abeautiful description of an old-fashioned country church, with its highand square pews, in which the devout worshippers could not be seen byone another, nor even by the parson. This functionary went to church intop-boots, and, after his short sermon of platitudes, dined with thesquire, and spent the remaining days of the week in hunting or fishing, and his evenings in playing cards, quietly drinking his ale, and smokinghis pipe. But the hero of the story--Amos Barton--is a different sort ofman from his worldly and easy rector. He is a churchman, and yetintensely evangelical and devoted to his humble duties, --on a salary of£80, with a large family and a sick wife. He is narrow, but trulyreligious and disinterested. The scene of the story is laid in a retiredcountry village in the Midland Counties, at a time when the Evangelicalmovement was in full force in England, in the early part of lastcentury, contemporaneous with the religious revivals of New England;when the bucolic villagers had little to talk about or interest them, before railways had changed the face of the country, or the people hadbeen aroused to political discussions and reforms. The sorrows of theworthy clergyman centered in an indiscreet and in part unwillinghospitality which he gave to an artful, needy, pretentious, selfishwoman, but beautiful and full of soft flatteries; which hospitalityprovoked scandal, and caused the poor man to be driven away to anotherparish. The tragic element of the story, however, centres in Mrs. Barton, who is an angel, radiant with moral beauty, affectionate, devoted, and uncomplaining, who dies at last from overwork andprivations, and the cares of a large family of children. There is no plot in this story, but its charm and power consist in avivid description of common life, minute but not exaggerated, whichenlists our sympathy with suffering and misfortune, deeply excites ourinterest in commonplace people living out their weary and monotonousexistence. This was a new departure in fiction, --a novel withoutlove-scenes or happy marriages or thrilling adventures or impossiblecatastrophes. But there is great pathos in this homely tale of sorrow;with no attempts at philosophizing, no digressions, no wearisomechapters that one wishes to skip, but all spontaneous, natural, free, showing reserved power, --the precious buds of promise destined to bloomin subsequent works, till the world should be filled with the aroma ofits author's genius. And there is also great humor in this clericaltale, of which the following is a specimen:-- "'Eh, dear, ' said Mrs. Patten, falling back in her chair and lifting upher withered hands, 'what would Mr. Gilfil say if he was worthy to knowthe changes as have come about in the church in these ten years? I don'tunderstand these new sort of doctrines. When Mr. Barton comes to see mehe talks about my sins and my need of marcy. Now, Mr. Hackett, I'venever been a sinner. From the first beginning, when I went into service, I've al'ys did my duty to my employers. I was as good a wife as any inthe country, never aggravating my husband. The cheese-factor used to saythat my cheeses was al'ys to be depended upon. '" To describe clerical life was doubtless the aim which Miss Evans had inview in this and the two other tales which soon followed. In these, asindeed in all her novels, the clergy largely figure. She seems to beprofoundly acquainted with the theological views of the different sects, as well as with the social habits of the different ministers. So far aswe can detect her preference, it is for the Broad Church, or the"high-and-dry" clergy of the Church of England, especially those whowere half squires and half parsons in districts where conservativeopinions prevailed; for though she was a philosophical radical, she wasreverential in her turn of mind, and clung to poetical and consecratedsentiments, always laying more stress on woman's _duties_ than onher _rights_. The second of the Clerical series--"Mr. Gilfil's Love Story"--is not sowell told, nor is it so interesting as the first, besides being moreafter the fashion of ordinary stories. We miss in it the humor of goodMrs. Patten; nor are we drawn to the gin-and-water-drinking parson, although the description of his early unfortunate love is done with apowerful hand. The story throughout is sad and painful. The last of the series, "Janet's Repentance, " is, I think, the best. Thehero is again a clergyman, an evangelical, whose life is one longsuccession of protracted martyrdoms, --an expiation to atone for thedesertion of a girl whom he had loved and ruined while in college. Herewe see, for the first time in George Eliot's writings, that inexorablefate which pursues wrong-doing, and which so prominently stands out inall her novels. The singular thing is that she--at this time an advancedliberal--should have made the sinning young man, in the depth of hisremorse, to find relief in that view of Christianity which is expoundedby the Calvinists. But here she is faithful and true to the teaching ofthose by whom she was educated; and it is remarkable that her artenables her apparently to enter into the spiritual experiences of anevangelical curate with which she had no sympathy. She does not mock orderide, but seems to respect the religion which she had herselfrepudiated. And the same truths which consoled the hard-working, self-denying curateare also made to redeem Janet herself, and secure for her a truerepentance. This heroine of the story is the wife of a drunken, brutalvillage doctor, who dies of delirium tremens; she also is the slave ofthe same degrading habit which destroys her husband, but, unlike him, isa victim of remorse and shame. In her despair she seeks advice andconsolation from the minister whom she had ridiculed and despised; andthrough him she is led to seek that divine aid which alone enables aconfirmed drunkard to conquer what by mere force of will is anunconquerable habit. And here George Eliot--for that is the name she nowgoes by--is in accord with the profound experience of many. The whole tale, though short, is a triumph of art and abounds with acuteobservations of human nature. It is a perfect picture of village life, with its gossip, its jealousies, its enmities, and its religiousquarrels, showing on the part of the author an extraordinary knowledgeof theological controversies and the religious movements of the earlypart of the nineteenth century. So vivid is her description of rurallife, that the tale is really an historical painting, like the Dutchpictures of the seventeenth century, to be valued as an accuratedelineation rather than a mere imaginary scene. Madonnas, saints, andsuch like pictures which fill the churches of Italy and Spain, works ofthe old masters, are now chiefly prized for their grace of form andrichness of coloring, --exhibitions of ideal beauty, charming ascreations, but not such as we see in real life; George Eliot's novels, on the contrary, are not works of imagination, like the frescos in theSistine Chapel, but copies of real life, like those of Wilkie andTeniers, which we value for their fidelity to Nature. And in regard tothe passion of love, she does not portray it, as in the old-fashionednovels, leading to fortunate marriages with squires and baronets; butshe generally dissects it, unravels it, and attempts to penetrate itsmysteries, --a work decidedly more psychological than romantic orsentimental, and hence more interesting to scholars and thinkers than toordinary readers, who delight in thrilling adventures and excitingnarrations. The "Scenes of Clerical Life" were followed the next year by "AdamBede, " which created a great impression on the cultivated mind ofEngland and America. It did not create what is called a "sensation. " Idoubt if it was even popular with the generality of readers, nor was thesale rapid at first; but the critics saw that a new star ofextraordinary brilliancy had arisen in the literary horizon. The unknownauthor entered, as she did in "Janet's Repentance, " an entirely newfield, with wonderful insight into the common life of uninterestingpeople, with a peculiar humor, great power of description, rare felicityof dialogue, and a deep undertone of serious and earnest reflection. Andyet I confess, that when I first read "Adam Bede, " twenty-five yearsago, I was not much interested, and I wondered why others were. It wasnot dramatic enough to excite me. Many parts of it were tedious. Itseemed to me to be too much spun out, and its minuteness of detailwearied me. There was no great plot and no grand characters; nothingheroic, no rapidity of movement; nothing to keep me from laying the bookdown when the dinner-bell rang, or when the time came to go to bed. Idid not then see the great artistic excellence of the book, and I didnot care for a description of obscure people in the Midland Counties ofEngland, --which, by the way, suggests a reason why "Adam Bede" cannot beappreciated by Americans as it is by the English people themselves, whoevery day see the characters described, and hear their dialect, and knowtheir sorrows, and sympathize with their privations and labors. Butafter a closer and more critical study of the novel I have come to seemerits that before escaped my eye. It is a study, a picture of humbleEnglish life, painted by the hand of a master, to be enjoyed most bypeople of critical discernment, and to be valued for its rare fidelityto Nature. It is of more true historical interest than many novels whichare called historical, --even as the paintings of Rembrandt are moretruly historical than those of Horace Vernet, since the former paintedlife as it really was in his day. Imaginative pictures are not thosewhich are most prized by modern artists, or those pictures which makeevery woman look like an angel and every man like a hero, --like those ofGainsborough or Reynolds, --however flattering they may be to those whopay for them. I need not dwell on characters so well known as those painted in "AdamBede. " The hero is a painstaking, faithful journeyman carpenter, desirous of doing good work. Scotland and England abound in such men, and so did New England fifty years ago. This honest mechanic falls inlove with a pretty but vain, empty, silly, selfish girl of his ownclass; but she had already fallen under the spell of the young squire ofthe village, --a good-natured fellow, of generous impulses, butessentially selfish and thoughtless, and utterly unable to cope with hisduty. The carpenter, when he finds it out, gives vent to his wrath andjealousy, as is natural, and picks a quarrel with the squire and knockshim down, --an act of violence on the part of the inferior in rank notvery common in England. The squire abandons his victim after ruining hercharacter, --not an uncommon thing among young aristocrats, --and the girlstrangely accepts the renewed attentions of her first lover, until thelogic of events compels her to run away from home and become a vagrant. The tragic and interesting part of the novel is a vivid painting of theterrible sufferings of the ruined girl in her desolate wanderings, andof her trial for abandoning her infant child to death, --the inexorablelaw of fate driving the sinner into the realms of darkness and shame. The story closes with the prosaic marriage of Adam Bede to DinahMorris, --a Methodist preacher, who falls in love with him instead of hismore pious brother Seth, who adores her. But the love of Adam and Dinahfor one another is more spiritualized than is common, --is verybeautiful, indeed, showing how love's divine elements can animate thehuman soul in all conditions of life. In the fervid spiritualism ofDinah's love for Adam we are reminded of a Saint Theresa seeking to beunited with her divine spouse. Dinah is a religious rhapsodist, seekingwisdom and guidance in prayer; and the divine will is in accordance withher desires. "My soul, " said she to Adam, "is so knit to yours that itis but a divided life if I live without you. " The most amusing and finely-drawn character in this novel is a secondaryone, --Mrs. Poyser, --but painted with a vividness which Scott neverexcelled, and with a wealth of humor which Fielding never equalled. Itis the wit and humor which George Eliot has presented in this inimitablecharacter which make the book so attractive to the English, who enjoythese more than the Americans, --the latter delighting rather in what isgrotesque and extravagant, like the elaborate absurdities of "MarkTwain. " But this humor is more than that of a shrewd and thriftyEnglish farmer's wife; it belongs to human nature. We have seen suchvoluble sharp, sagacious, ironical, and worldly women among thefarm-houses of New England, and heard them use language, when excited orindignant, equally idiomatic, though not particularly choice. Strike outthe humor of this novel and the interest we are made to feel incommonplace people, and the story would not be a remarkable one. "Adam Bede" was followed in a year by "The Mill on the Floss, " the sceneof which is also laid in a country village, where are some well-to-dopeople, mostly vulgar and uninteresting. This novel is to me morepowerful than the one which preceded it, --having more faults, perhaps, but presenting more striking characters. As usual with George Eliot, herplot in this story is poor, involving improbable incidents andcatastrophes. She is always unfortunate in her attempts to extricate herheroes and heroines from entangling difficulties. Invention is not herforte; she is weak when she departs from realistic figures. She isstrongest in what she has seen, not in what she imagines; and here sheis the opposite of Dickens, who paints from imagination. There was neversuch a man as Pickwick or Barnaby Rudge. Sir Walter Scott createdcharacters, --like Jeannie Deans, --but they are as true to life as SirJohn Falstaff. Maggie Tulliver is the heroine of this story, in whose intellectualdevelopments George Eliot painted herself, as Madame De Staël describesher own restless soul-agitations in "Delphine" and "Corinne. " Nothing infiction is more natural and life-like than the school-days of Maggie, when she goes fishing with her tyrannical brother, and when the twochildren quarrel and make up, --she, affectionate and yielding; he, fitful and overbearing. Many girls are tyrannized over by theirbrothers, who are often exacting, claiming the guardianship whichbelongs only to parents. But Maggie yields to her obstinate brother aswell as to her unreasonable and vindictive father, governed by a senseof duty, until, with her rapid intellectual development and loftyaspiration, she breaks loose in a measure from their witheringinfluence, though not from technical obligations. She almost lovesPhilip Wakem, the son of the lawyer who ruined her father; yet out ofregard to family ties she refuses, while she does not yet repel, hislove. But her real passion is for Stephen Gurst, who was betrothed toher cousin, and who returned Maggie's love with intense fervor. "Why did he love her? Curious fools, be still! Is human love the fruit of human will?" She knows she ought not to love this man, yet she combats herpassion with poor success, allows herself to be compromised in herrelations with him, and is only rescued by a supreme effort ofself-renunciation, --a principle which runs through all George Eliot'snovels, in which we see the doctrines of Buddha rather than those ofPaul, although at times they seem to run into each other. Maggie erredin not closing the gate of her heart inexorably, and in not resistingthe sway of a purely "physiological law. " The vivid description of thissort of love, with its "strange agitations" and agonizing ecstasies, would have been denounced as immoral fifty years ago. The _dénouement_is an improbable catastrophe on a tidal river, in the rising floods ofwhich Maggie and her brother are drowned, --a favorite way with theauthor in disposing of her heroes and heroines when she can no longermanage them. The secondary characters of this novel are numerous, varied, and natural, and described with great felicity and humor. Noneof them are interesting people; in fact, most of them are veryuninteresting, --vulgar, money-loving, material, purse-proud, selfish, such as are seen among those to whom money and worldly prosperity areeverything, with no perception of what is lofty and disinterested, andon whom grand sentiments are lost, --yet kind-hearted in the main, and inthe case of the Dobsons redeemed by a sort of family pride. The moral ofthe story is the usual one with George Eliot, --the conflict of duty withpassion, and the inexorable fate which pursues the sinner. She bringsout the power of conscience as forcibly as Hawthorne has done in his"Scarlet Letter. " The "Mill on the Floss" was soon followed by "Silas Marner, " regarded bysome as the gem of George Eliot's novels, and which certainly--thoughpathetic and sad, as all her novels are--does not leave on the mind somournful an impression, since in its outcome we see redemption. Theprincipal character--the poor, neglected, forlorn weaver--emerges atlength from the Everlasting Nay into the Everlasting Yea; and he emergesby the power of love, --love for a little child whom he has rescued fromthe snow, the storm, and death. Driven by injustice to a solitary life, to abject penury, to despair, the solitary miser, gloating over his goldpieces, --which he has saved by the hardest privation, and in which hetrusts, --finds himself robbed, without redress or sympathy; but in theend he is consoled for his loss in the love he bestows on a helplessorphan, who returns it with the most noble disinterestedness, and livesto be his solace and his pride. Nothing more touching has ever beenwritten by man or woman than this short story, as full of pathos as"Adam Bede" is full of humor. What is remarkable in this story is that the plot is exactly similar tothat of "Jermola the Potter, " the masterpiece of a famous Polishnovelist, --a marvellous coincidence, or plagiarism, difficult to beexplained. But Shakspeare, the most original of men, borrowed some ofhis plots from Italian writers; and Mirabeau appropriated the knowledgeof men more learned than he, which by felicity of genius he made hisown; and Webster, too, did the same thing. There is nothing new underthe sun, except in the way of "putting things. " After the publication of the various novels pertaining to the rural andhumble life of England, with which George Eliot was so well acquainted, into which she entered with so much sympathy, and which she somarvellously portrayed, she took a new departure, entering a field withwhich she was not so well acquainted, and of which she could only learnthrough books. The result was "Romola, " the most ambitious, and in somerespects the most remarkable, of all her works. It certainly is the mostlearned and elaborate. It is a philosophico-historical novel, the sceneof which is laid in Florence at the time of Savonarola, --the periodcalled the Renaissance, when art and literature were revived with greatenthusiasm; a very interesting period, the glorious morning, as it were, of modern civilization. This novel, the result of reading and reflection, necessarily calledinto exercise other faculties besides accurate observation, --evenimagination and invention, for which she is not pre-eminentlydistinguished. In this novel, though interesting and instructive, wemiss the humor and simplicity of the earlier works. It is overloadedwith learning. Not one intelligent reader in a hundred has ever heardeven the names of many of the eminent men to whom she alludes. It isfull of digressions, and of reflections on scientific theories. Many ofthe chapters are dry and pedantic. It is too philosophical to bepopular, too learned to be appreciated. As in some of her other stories, highly improbable events take place. The plot is not felicitous, and theending is unsatisfactory. The Italian critics of the book are not, onthe whole, complimentary. George Eliot essayed to do, with prodigiouslabor, what she had no special aptitude for. Carlyle in ten sentenceswould have made a more graphic picture of Savonarola. None of herhistorical characters stand out with the vividness with which Scottrepresented Queen Elizabeth and Mary, Queen of Scots, or with which evenBulwer painted Rienzi and the last of the Barons. Critics do not admire historical novels, because they are neitherhistory nor fiction. They mislead readers on important issues, and theyare not so interesting as the masterpieces of Macaulay and Froude. Yetthey have their uses. They give a superficial knowledge of greatcharacters to those who will not read history. The field of history istoo vast for ordinary people, who have no time for extensive readingeven if they have the inclination. The great historical personage whom George Eliot paints in "Romola" isSavonarola, --and I think faithfully, on the whole. In the main shecoincides with Villani, the greatest authority. In some respects Ishould take issue with her. She makes the religion of the Florentinereformer to harmonize with her notions of self-renunciation. She makeshim preach the "religion of humanity, " which was certainly not taught inhis day. He preached duty, indeed, and appealed to conscience; but hepreached duty to God rather than to man. The majesty of a personal God, fearful in judgment and as represented by the old Jewish prophets, wasthe great idea of Savonarola's theology. His formula was something likethis: "Punishment for sin is a divine judgment, not the effect ofinexorable laws. Repentance is a necessity. Unless men repent of theirsins, God will punish them. Unless Italy repents, it will be desolatedby His vengeance. " Catholic theology, which he never departed from, hasever recognized the supreme allegiance of man to his Maker, because _He_demands it. Even among the Jesuits, with their corrupted theology, themotto emblazoned on their standard was, _Ad majorem dei gloriam_. Butthe great Dominican preacher is made by George Eliot to be "thespokesman of humanity made divine, not of Deity made human. " "Make yourmarriage vows, " said he to Romola, "an offering to the great work bywhich sin and sorrow are made to cease. " But Savonarola is only a secondary character in the novel. He might aswell have been left out altogether. The real hero and heroine are Romolaand Tito; and they are identified with the life of the period, which isthe Renaissance, --a movement more Pagan than Christian. These twocharacters may be called creations. Romola is an Italian woman, supposedto represent a learned and noble lady four hundred years ago. She haslofty purposes and aspirations; she is imbued with the philosophy ofself-renunciation; her life is devoted to others, --first to her father, and then to humanity. But she is as cold as marble; she is the veryreverse of Corinne. Even her love for Tito is made to vanish away on thefirst detection of his insincerity, although he is her husband. Shebecomes as hard and implacable as fate; and when she ceases to love herhusband, she hates him and leaves him, and is only brought back by asense of duty. Yet her hatred is incurable; and in her wretcheddisappointment she finds consolation only in a sort of stoicism. How farGeorge Eliot's notions of immortality are brought out in the spiritualexperiences of Romola I do not know; but the immortality of Romola isnot that which is brought to light by the gospel: it is a vague andindefinite sentiment kindred to that of Indian sages, --that we livehereafter only in our teachings or deeds; that we are absorbed in theuniversal whole; that our immortality is the living in the hearts andminds of men, not personally hereafter among the redeemed To quote herown fine thought, -- "Oh, may I join the choir invisible In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn For miserable aims that end in self, In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, And, with their mild persistence, urge man's search To vaster issues!" Tito is a more natural character, good-natured, kind-hearted, withgenerous impulses. He is interesting in spite of his faults; he isaccomplished, versatile, and brilliant. But he is inherently selfish, and has no moral courage. He gradually, in his egotism, becomes utterlyfalse and treacherous, though not an ordinary villain. He is thecreature of circumstances. His weakness leads to falsehood, andfalsehood ends in crime; which crime pursues him with unrelentingvengeance, --not the agonies of remorse, for he has no conscience, butthe vindictive and persevering hatred of his foster father, whom herobbed. The vengeance of Baldassare is almost preternatural; itsurpasses the wrath of Achilles and the malignity of Shylock. It is thewrath of a demon, from which there is no escape; it would be tragical ifthe subject of it were greater. Though Tito perishes in an improbableway, he is yet the victim of the inexorable law of human souls. But if "Romola" has faults, it has remarkable excellences. In this bookGeorge Eliot aspires to be a teacher of ethics and philosophy. She isnot humorous, but intensely serious and thoughtful. She sometimesdiscourses like Epictetus:-- "And so, my Lillo, " says she at the conclusion, "if you mean to actnobly, and seek to know the best things God has put within reach of man, you must learn to fix your mind on that end, and not on what will happento you because of it. And remember, if you were to choose somethinglower, and make it the rule of your life to seek your own pleasure andescape what is disagreeable, calamity might come just the same; and itwould be a calamity falling on a base mind, --which is the one form ofsorrow that has no balm in it, and that may well make a man say, 'Itwould have been better for me if I had never been born. '" Three years elapsed between the publication of "Romola" and that of"Felix Holt, " which shows to what a strain the mind of George Eliot hadbeen subjected in elaborating an historical novel. She now returns toher own peculiar field, in which her great successes had been made, andwith which she was familiar; and yet even in her own field we miss nowthe genial humanity and inimitable humor of her earlier novels. In"Felix Holt" she deals with social and political problems in regard towhich there is great difference of opinion; for the difficult questionsof political economy have not yet been solved. Felix Holt is a politicaleconomist, but not a vulgar radical filled with discontent and envy. Heis a mechanic, tolerably educated, and able to converse withintelligence on the projected reforms of the day, in cultivatedlanguage. He is high-minded and conscientious, but unpractical, and getshimself into difficulties, escaping penal servitude almost by miracle, for the crime of homicide. The heroine, Esther Lyon, is supposed to bethe daughter of a Dissenting minister, who talks theology after thefashion of the divines of the seventeenth century; unknown to herself, however, she is really the daughter of the heir of large estates, andultimately becomes acknowledged as such, but gives up wealth and socialposition to marry Felix Holt, who had made a vow of perpetual poverty. Such a self-renunciation is not common in England. Even a Paula wouldhardly have accepted such a lot; only one inspired with the philosophyof Marcus Aurelius would be capable of such a willing sacrifice, --verynoble, but very improbable. The most powerful part of the story is the description of the remorsewhich so often accompanies an illicit love, as painted in the proud, stately, stern, unbending, aristocratic Mrs. Transome. "Though youth hasfaded, and joy is dead, and love has turned to loathing, yet memory, like a relentless fury, pursues the gray-haired woman who hides withinher breast a heavy load of shame and dread. " Illicit love is a commonsubject with George Eliot; and it is always represented as a mistake orcrime, followed by a terrible retribution, sooner or later, --if notoutwardly, at least inwardly, in the sorrows of a wounded andheavy-laden soul. No one of George Eliot's novels opens more beautifully than "FelixHolt, " though there is the usual disappointment of readers with theclose. And probably no description of a rural district in the MidlandCounties fifty years ago has ever been painted which equals in graphicpower the opening chapter. The old coach turnpike, the roadside innsbrilliant with polished tankards, the pretty bar-maids, the repartees ofjocose hostlers, the mail-coach announced by the many blasts of thebugle, the green willows of the water-courses, the patient cart-horses, the full-uddered cows, the rich pastures, the picturesque milkmaids, theshepherd with his slouching walk, the laborer with his bread and bacon, the tidy kitchen-garden, the golden corn-ricks, the bushy hedgerowsbright with the blossoms of the wild convolvulus, the comfortableparsonage, the old parish church with its ivy-mantled towers, thethatched cottage with double daisies and geraniums in thewindow-seats, --these and other details bring before our minds a ruralglory which has passed away before the power of steam, and may neveragain return. "Felix Holt" was published in 1866, and it was five years before"Middlemarch" appeared, --a very long novel, thought by some to be thebest which George Eliot has written; read fifteen times, it is said, bythe Prince of Wales. In this novel the author seems to have beenambitious to sustain her fame. She did not, like Trollope, dash offthree novels a year, and all alike. She did not write mechanically, as aperson grinds at a mill. Nor was she greedy of money, to be spent inrunning races with the rich. She was a conscientious writer from firstto last. Yet "Middlemarch, " with all the labor spent upon it, has morefaults than any of her preceding novels. It is as long as "The Historyof Sir Charles Grandison;" it has a miserable plot; it has many tediouschapters, and too many figures, and too much theorizing on socialscience. Rather than a story, it is a panorama of the doctors andclergymen and lawyers and business people who live in a provincial town, with their various prejudices and passions and avocations. It is not acheerful picture of human life. We are brought to see an unusual numberof misers, harpies, quacks, cheats, and hypocrites. There are but fewinteresting characters in it: Dorothea is the most so, --a very noblewoman, but romantic, and making great mistakes. She desires to makeherself useful to somebody, and marries a narrow, jealous, aristocraticpedant, who had spent his life in elaborate studies on a dry andworthless subject. Of course, she awakes from her delusion when shediscovers what a small man, with great pretensions, her learned husbandis; but she remains in her dreariness of soul a generous, virtuous, anddutiful woman. She does not desert her husband because she does not lovehim, or because he is uncongenial, but continues faithful to the end. Like Maggie Tulliver and Romola, she has lofty aspirations, but marries, after her husband's death, a versatile, brilliant, shallow Bohemian, asill-fitted for her serious nature as the dreary Casaubon himself. Nor are we brought in sympathy with Lydgate, the fashionable doctor withgrand aims, since he allows his whole scientific aspirations to bedefeated by a selfish and extravagant wife. Rosamond Vincy is, however, one of the best drawn characters in fiction, such as we oftensee, --pretty, accomplished, clever, but incapable of making a sacrifice, secretly thwarting her husband, full of wretched complaints, utterlyinsincere, attractive perhaps to men, but despised by women. Caleb Garthis a second Adam Bede; and Mrs. Cadwallader, the aristocratic wife ofthe rector, is a second Mrs. Poyser in the glibness of her tongue andin the thriftiness of her ways. Mr. Bullstrode, the rich banker, is acharacter we unfortunately sometimes find in a large country town, --aman of varied charities, a pillar of the Church, but as full of cant asan egg is of meat; in fact, a hypocrite and a villain, ultimatelyexposed and punished. The general impression left on the mind from reading "Middlemarch" issad and discouraging. In it is brought out the blended stoicism, humanitarianism, Buddhism, and agnosticism of the author. She paints the"struggle of noble natures, struggling vainly against the currents of apoor kind of world, without trust in an invisible Rock higher thanthemselves to which they could entreat to be lifted up. " In another five years George Eliot produced "Daniel Deronda, " the lastand most unsatisfactory of her great novels, written in feeble healthand with exhausted nervous energies, as she was passing through theshadows of the evening of her life. In this work she doubtless essayedto do her best; but she could not always surpass herself, any more thancould Scott or Dickens. Nor is she to be judged by those productionswhich reveal her failing strength, but by those which were written inthe fresh enthusiasm of a lofty soul. No one thinks the less of Miltonbecause the "Paradise Regained" is not equal to the "Paradise Lost. "Many are the immortal poets who are now known only for two or three oftheir minor poems. It takes a Michael Angelo to paint his grandestfrescos after reaching eighty years of age; or a Gladstone, to make hisbest speeches when past the age of seventy. Only people with a wonderfulphysique and unwasted mental forces can go on from conquering toconquer, --people, moreover, who have reserved their strength, and livedtemperate and active lives. Although "Daniel Deronda" is occasionally brilliant, and laboriouslyelaborated, still it is regarded generally by the critics as a failure. The long digression on the Jews is not artistic; and the subject itselfis uninteresting, especially to the English, who have inveterateprejudices against the chosen people. The Hebrews, as they choose tocall themselves, are doubtless a remarkable people, and havemarvellously preserved their traditions and their customs. Some amongthem have arisen to the foremost rank in scholarship, statesmanship, andfinance. They have entered, at different times, most of the cabinets ofEurope, and have held important chairs in its greatest universities. Butit was a Utopian dream that sent Daniel Deronda to the Orient to collecttogether the scattered members of his race. Nor are enthusiasts andproselytes often found among the Jews. We see talent, but not visionarydreamers. To the English they appear as peculiarly practical, --bent onmaking money, sensual in their pleasures, and only distinguished fromthe people around them by an extravagant love of jewelry and a proud andcynical rationalism. Yet in justice it must be confessed, that some ofthe most interesting people in the world are Jews. In "Daniel Deronda" the cheerless philosophy of George Eliot is fullybrought out. Mordecai, in his obscure and humble life, is a goodrepresentative of a patient sufferer, but "in his views and aspirationsis a sort of Jewish Mazzini. " The hero of the story is Mordecai'sdisciple, who has discovered his Hebrew origin, of which he is as proudas his aristocratic mother is ashamed The heroine is a spoiled woman offashion, who makes the usual mistake of most of George Eliot's heroines, in violating conscience and duty. She marries a man whom she knows to beinherently depraved and selfish; marries him for his money, and pays theusual penalty, --a life of silent wretchedness and secret sorrow andunavailing regret. But she is at last fortunately delivered by theaccidental death of her detested husband, --by drowning, of course. Remorse in seeing her murderous wishes accomplished--though not by herown hand, but by pursuing fate--awakens a new life in her soul, and sheis redeemed amid the throes of anguish and conscious guilt. "Theophrastus Such, " the last work of George Eliot, is not a novel, buta series of character sketches, full of unusual bitterness and witheringsarcasm. Thackeray never wrote anything so severe. It is one of the mostcynical books ever written by man or woman. There is as much differencein tone and spirit between it and "Adam Bede, " as between "Proverbs" and"Ecclesiastes;" as between "Sartor Resartus" and the "Latter-DayPamphlets. " And this difference is not more marked than the differencein style and language between this and her earlier novels. Critics havebeen unanimous in their admiration of the author's style in "SilasMarner" and "The Mill on the Floss, "--so clear, direct, simple, natural;as faultless as Swift, Addison, and Goldsmith, those great masters ofEnglish prose, whose fame rests as much on their style as on theirthoughts. In "Theophrastus Such, " on the contrary, as in some parts of"Daniel Deronda, " the sentences are long, involved, and often almostunintelligible. In presenting the works of George Eliot, I have confined myself to herprose productions, since she is chiefly known by her novels. But shewrote poetry also, and some critics have seen considerable merit in it. Yet whatever merit it may have I must pass without notice. I turn fromthe criticism of her novels, as they successively appeared, to alludebriefly to her closing days. Her health began to fail when she waswriting "Middlemarch, " doubtless from her intense and continual studies, which were a severe strain on her nervous system. It would seem that sheled a secluded life, rarely paying visits, but receiving at her housedistinguished literary and scientific men. She was fond of travelling onthe Continent, and of making short visits to the country. Inconversation she is said to have been witty, tolerant, and sympathetic. Poetry, music, and art absorbed much of her attention. She read verylittle contemporaneous fiction, and seldom any criticisms on her ownproductions. For an unbeliever in historical Christianity, she had greatreverence for all earnest Christian peculiarities, from Roman Catholicasceticism to Methodist fervor. In her own belief she came nearest tothe positivism of Comte, although he was not so great an oracle to heras he was to Mr. Lewes, with whom twenty years were passed by her incongenial studies and labors. They were generally seen together at theopening night of a new play or the _début_ of a famous singer or actor, and sometimes, within a limited circle, they attended a social orliterary reunion. In 1878 George Eliot lost the companion of her literary life. And yettwo years afterward--at the age of fifty-nine--she surprised her friendsby marrying John Walter Cross, a man much younger than herself. No onecan fathom that mystery. But Mrs. Cross did not long enjoy thefelicities of married life. In six months from her marriage, after apleasant trip to the Continent, she took cold in attending a Sundayconcert in London; and on the 22d of December, 1880, she passed awayfrom earth to join her "choir invisible, " whose thoughts have enrichedthe world. It is not extravagant to say that George Eliot left no living competitorequal to herself in the realm of fiction. I do not myself regard her asgreat a novelist as Scott or Thackeray; but critics generally place hersecond only to those great masters in this department of literature. Howlong her fame will last, who can tell? Admirers and rhetoricians say, "as long as the language in which her books are written. " She doubtlesswill live as long as any English novelist; but do those who amuse livelike those who save? Will the witty sayings of Dickens be cherished likethe almost inspired truths of Plato, of Bacon, of Burke? Nor ispopularity a sure test of posthumous renown. The question for us to settle is, not whether George Eliot as a writeris immortal, but whether she has rendered services that her country andmankind will value. She has undoubtedly added to the richness of Englishliterature. She has deeply interested and instructed her generation. Thousands, and hundreds of thousands, owe to her a debt of gratitude forthe enjoyment she has afforded them. How many an idle hour has she notbeguiled! How many have felt the artistic delight she has given them, like those who have painted beautiful pictures! As already remarked, weread her descriptions of rural character and life as we survey themasterpieces of Hogarth and Wilkie. It is for her delineation of character, and for profound psychologicalanalysis, that her writings have permanent value. She is a faithfulcopyist of Nature. She recalls to our minds characters whom everybody oflarge experience has seen in his own village or town, --the conscientiousclergyman, and the minister who preaches like a lecturer; the angel wholifts up, and the sorceress who pulls down. We recall the misers we havescorned, and the hypocrites whom we have detested. We see on her canvasthe vulgar rich and the struggling poor, the pompous man of success andthe broken-down man of misfortune; philanthropists and drunkards, loftyheroines and silly butterflies, benevolent doctors and smilingpoliticians, quacks and scoundrels and fools, mixed up with noble menand women whose aspirations are for a higher life; people of kindimpulses and weak wills, of attractive personal beauty with meanness ofmind and soul. We do not find exaggerated monsters of vice, or faultlessmodels of virtue and wisdom: we see such people as live in everyChristian community. True it is that the impression we receive of humanlife is not always pleasant; but who in any community can bear theseverest scrutiny of neighbors? It is this fidelity to our poor humanitywhich tinges the novels of George Eliot with so deep a gloom. But the sadness which creeps over us in view of human imperfection isnothing to that darkness which enters the soul when the peculiarphilosophical or theological opinions of this gifted woman areinsidiously but powerfully introduced. However great she was as adelineator of character, she is not an oracle as a moral teacher. Shewas steeped in the doctrines of modern agnosticism. She did not believein a personal God, nor in His superintending providence, nor inimmortality as brought to light in the gospel. There are some who do notaccept historical Christianity, but are pervaded with its spirit. EvenCarlyle, when he cast aside the miracles of Christ and his apostles asthe honest delusions of their followers, was almost a Calvinist in hisrecognition of God as a sovereign power; and he abhorred the drearymaterialism of Comte and Mill as much as he detested the shallow atheismof Diderot and Helvetius. But George Eliot went beyond Carlyle indisbelief. At times, especially in her poetry, she writes almost like afollower of Buddha. The individual soul is absorbed in the universalwhole; future life has no certainty; hope in redemption is buried in asepulchre; life in most cases is a futile struggle; the great problemsof existence are invested with gloom as well as mystery. Thus shediscourses like a Pagan. She would have us to believe that Theocrituswas wiser than Pascal; that Marcus Aurelius was as good as Saint Paul. Hence, as a teacher of morals and philosophy George Eliot is not of muchaccount. We question the richness of any moral wisdom which is not inharmony with the truths that Christian people regard as fundamental, andwhich they believe will save the world. In some respects she has taughtimportant lessons. She has illustrated the power of conscience and thesacredness of duty. She was a great preacher of the doctrine that"whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. " She showed thatthose who do not check and control the first departure from virtue will, in nine cases out of ten, hopelessly fall. These are great certitudes. But there are others which console andencourage as well as intimidate. The _Te Domine Speravi_ of the dyingXavier on the desolate island of Sancian, pierced through the clouds ofdreary blackness which enveloped the nations he sought to save. Christianity is full of promises of exultant joy, and its firmestbelievers are those whose lives are gilded with its divine radiance. Surely, it is not intellectual or religious narrowness which causes usto regret that so gifted a woman as George Eliot--so justly regarded asone of the greatest ornaments of modern literature--should have driftedaway from the Rock which has resisted the storms and tempests of nearlytwo thousand years, and abandoned, if she did not scorn, the faith whichhas animated the great masters of thought from Augustine to Bossuet. "The stern mournfulness which is produced by most of her novels gives usthe idea of one who does not know, or who has forgotten, that the stonewas rolled away from the heart of the world on the morning when Christarose from the tomb. " AUTHORITIES. Miss Blind's Life of George Eliot. Mr. Cross's Life of George Eliot, Iregret to say, did not reach me until after the foregoing pages had goneto press. But as this lecture is criticism rather than history, the fewadditional facts that might have been gained would not be important;while, after tracing in that _quasi_-autobiography the development ofher mental and moral nature, I see no reason to change my conclusionsbased on the outward facts of her life and on her works. The NineteenthCentury, ix. ; London Quarterly Review, lvii. 40; Contemporary Review, xx. 29, 39; The National Review, xxxi. 23, 16; Blackwood's Magazine, cxxix. 85-100, 112, 116, 103; Edinburgh Review, ex. 144, 124, 137, 150;Westminster Review, lxxi. 110, lxxxvi. 74, 80, 90, 112; Dublin Review, xlvii. 88, 89; Cornhill Magazine, xliii. ; Atlantic Monthly, xxxviii. 18;Fortnightly Review, xxvi. 19; British Quarterly Review, lxiv. 57, 48, 45; International Review, iv. 10; Temple Bar Magazine, 49; Littell'sLiving Age, cxlviii. ; The North American Review, ciii. 116, 107;Quarterly Review, cxxxiv. 108; Macmillan's Magazine, iii. 4; NorthBritish Review, xiv.