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Mémoires et Lettres du Maréchal, Prince de Ligne; faisant Suite aux Lettres et Pensées du même Auteur, publiées par Madame la Baronne de Stael Holstein: contenant des Anecdotes inédites sur les differentes Cours de l'Europe, &c. 2 tomes, 12mo.

Memoirs and Letters of Mareschal Prince de Ligne; forming a Sequel to the Letters and Thoughts of the same Author, edited by the Baroness de Stael Holstein, and containing Anecdotes hitherto unpublished concerning the different Courts of Europe. 2 vols. 12mo.

It is in general, with considerable reluctance, that we venture to dissent from any established opinion; and when, in the course of the perusal of the work of an author of acknowledged reputation, we find the impression with which we began the volume vanishing by degrees, and our judgment gradually deciding against him, the discovery is accompanied by a sensation almost amounting to pain. Emotions of pleasure or ad-miration are the more readily admitted, as we know them to be sanctioned by the decision of the wise, the great, the witty, or the good, while a difference of opinion gives us reason to suspect in ourselves, the failure of some faculty which might have given our judgment a direction similar to theirs; and this suspicion is more or less mortifying.

Such were the feelings with which we closed the volumes now before us; they form a sequel to one which has already passed the ordeal of criticism in Europe, nor is it our intention to appeal, however we may disapprove of the verdict already passed upon it. The first selection was introduced to us by an authority paramount in wit; but, with us, a knowledge of the circumstances which accompanied the editorship, has contributed to invalidate that authority. In the autumn of 1907, Madame de Stael made a journey to Vienna, the present residence of the Prince de Ligne. During the winter she passed there, she experienced every possible attention from the prince, who by the rank he held, both at court and in general society, was enabled to facilitate her participation in every enjoyment that capital could afford. At her departure he requested as a favour that she would usher into the world, a selection from his numerous works; and this, her gratitude in the first place, but above all the good nature for which that distinguished lady is eminent, would not allow her to refuse.

Has Madame de Stael repaid the obligation? We think the extensive currency of the " Volumette," extracted from

twenty-eight octavo volumes, the weight of which had previously sunk them in coteries of Vienna and Paris, (a currency so evidently proved by our reviewing them at this distant quarter of the globe) decides that she has.

It would have been fortunate for the prince, had this general circulation stopped at the first volume, and had not some interested editor imagined that he could distil a double quantity of essence, from the rejected mass of ingredients. The pe- . rusal of the first volume left, if not a high idea, at least a favourable impression, of the author. The vices inherent to the society in which he had always lived, were compensated by his animated gaiety, and by his brilliant valour, which was indeed worthy of the age of chivalry. Those who take the trouble of reading through the second and third volumes, which form the "Sequel" will, we think, agree with us, that on closing them, this favourable impression is not only destroyed, but is replaced by one of a contrary nature. To those who do not take that trouble we will state our reason for thinking so.

The present editor has disclosed an unfortunate fact to the public; for after having toiled through the twenty-eight volumes of the Prince de Ligne's works, and, to use his words, "sought for the few remaining flowers which Madame de Stael's delicate hand had rejected," he asserts, that his collection, together with the prior publication, " contains in general all that the Prince de Ligne has written most worthy of being read." This too at the end of a laboured panegyric on the author. But it is time to examine in detail, or to give some account of, the contents of his selection.

They consist principally of fragments of his correspondence; of his letters on private theatricals; of his essay on gardening, and of a work intitled "Mes Ecarts, ou ma tête en Liberté;"of different memoirs on the Count de Bonneval, on the modern Greeks, on Gipsies, on Cretins, on the Jews, and on Poland; of several portraits, (a descriptive style of writing we believe peculiar to the French:) almost the whole interspersed with detached thoughts and sentences.

A light work of this kind, were it published in our native tongue, would first of all demand a strict examination into the merits of its style. In works on science the importance of the subject matter may induce the public to tolerate a deficiency in that point; but the elegance of the diction ought always to be in the inverse ratio of the triviality of the subject. Even in this case however, and at the risk of being thought presumptuous, in hazarding any observations on the phraseology of a work published in a foreign language, we must say, that the one before us appears very deficient in that respect.

From the marked difference in the publications of the two editors, we have every reason to suspect that Madame de Stael was more solicitous than it is usual for editors to be, about the fame of her author. This difference consists, in the absence throughout the first selection, of those glaring faults in diction, which make themselves conspicuous in the pages before us, even to the foreign reader. That lady thought it necessary to say in her preface, that the prince's style was a 66 style parlé," which was a delicate manner of saying that he had a very bad one in writing; but, like a skilful singer who has to execute the air of a faulty composer, and knows how to veil the faults in it, Madame de Stael gave the whole a something of her own. In general indeed it may be truly said of her, "nihil tetigit quod non ornabît.”

The present editor has we suspect been more literally exact. In support of these observations, we shall content ourselves with giving two or three instances taken at random, from the body of the work.

In speaking of a memoir on Monsieur de Bonneval, which our author is endeavouring to prove spurious, he says, " Cependant comme un menteur rencontre quelquefois par hasard, je crois, à ce singulier orage (je crois même l'avoir entendu dire à mon pere) qui, au moment de sa naissance, écrasa la croix du clocher de sa paroisse, et à l'horoscope de l'aigle, tenant dans son bec une fleur de lys, surmontée d'un croissant; et quand je dis que j'y crois, c'est-à dire que je crois que cela s'est dit, je sais bien que ce sont des prédictions faites après coup, mais j'en ai une idée confuse." See vol. I. p. 123.

The last assertion explains indeed the obscurity of the whole phrase, for the reverse of Boileau's axiom is also true. "Ce que l'on conçoit bien s'énonce clairement."

But as the phrase stands, it is impossible to find out the exact extent of the author's belief; on whose birth day the church spire was crushed, or by whom or what; all which circumstances it was meant to explain fully to the reader.

Again "C'est Casanova, homme de beaucoup d'esprit et d'une érudition profonde, connu par son fameux duel avec Branicki, grand-général de Pologne, sa fuite des Plombs de Venise, et quantité d'ouvrages et d'aventures; frère du grand peintre de batailles du même nom; mort à Dux en Bohême; bibliothécaire de mon neveu, le comte de Waldstein, qui m'a dit, entre autres choses, qu'un des plaisirs du comte de Bonneval étoit, lorsqu'il étoit sûr de ne voir personne, de s'habiller à la Française.'

After a reperusal of this phrase we have not been able to find out whether it was the comte de Waldstein or his librarian Casanova, that related this anecdote to the author; nor, (if it

was Casanova as we suspect he means it to be) have we discovered a sufficient importance in the fact, to oblige him to give us the enumeration of the qualities, connexions, and titles, in support of the authenticity of so trivial a communication.

It would be difficult to find a parallel to the following ilk judged, and ill expressed piece of enthusiasm at Ermenonville. As these extravagancies took place during his second visit to the abode of the philosopher, it is impossible to guess what his sensations might have been at the time of the first. "Je suis retourné," says he, " à Ermenonville; je n'ai pensé qu'à Julie; je crois que je l'ai pleurée." (This uncertainty is really pleasant.) "J'ai béni son historien; je me suis assis sur "son banc. On m'a montré les canards que sa main a nourris. " Il m'a semblé que leur cri étoit plus agréable, mais guère plus "juste. Je me suis remis à penser à Julie," &c.* All this translated literally into English, would appear to be a burlesque on the imitators of Sterne, nor do we know any language in which such whining sentimentality would be tolerable, except in the German, where it would at all events harmonize with, and be characteristic of, the genius of the language.

With regard to the matter contained in these volumes much of it is curious to general readers, none of it important. The longest, and in air opinion, the most interesting pieces are, the Memoir on " M. Le Comte de Bonneval," that on Poland and the Portrait of the Empress Catharine.

The life of M. de Bonneval would furnish the plan of an entertaining novel, and has it seems been worked up into one, to bring the authenticity of which into question is the purpose of our Author's memoir. We shall content ourselves with recommending it, as likely to afford half an hour's amusement to our readers.

The Memoir on Poland gives a melancholy picture of the internal politics of that country, at the time it was written. Considering it as to its object, it seems to have been merely intended to inculcate a servile deference to Russia, and of course, a total dereliction by the Poles of their own political rights. In this memoir, as in most of the other political pieces, the style is too trivial for the subject, and we find the punster always interfering with the politician. This constant play upon words diminishes the effect of the few truths that are scattered among them, and impresses the reader with the idea that the Author

"I returned to Ermenonville; I thought of nothing but Julia: I believe "I wept for her fate. I blessed her historian:-I sat on his bench. They "showed me the ducks which his hand had fed. It seemed to me as if their "quacking was more agreeable, Sc.-I thought of Julia again, &c.”

VOL. II.

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attended more to the manner than the matter, which is far from being always the case.

Even the inhabitants of our republic might derive benefit, mutatis mutandis, from the serious consideration of the following advice, although it proceeds from the lips of a monarchist. "Point de cachotterie, surtout à la Russie. Point d'incohérence "dans vos principes. Que les grandes familles ne se brouillent pas entre elles. Que les honnêtes gens ne se trompent point et ne se laissent point tromper par ceux qui ne le sont " pas. Ne vous accusez pas les uns les autres, en disant: Ce"lui-ci est Russe, celui-là est Prussien. On engage souvent à "Pêtre de bons patriotes qui n'y pensoient pas. Oubliez vos "anciennes querelles particulières, vos petits malentendus, et "chassez ces petits intrigans subalternes, qui, après vous avoir "brouillés les uns avec les autres, se moquent de vous."

Nothing can be more interesting and curious than the details given by intelligent persons, who are in habits of intimacy, with those removed by an elevated rank above the generality of mankind. Many of the secret springs of the great machine of despotic governments are discovered by this means. Hence the pleasure we derive from the perusal of the numerous class of French" Memoires," which are unfortunately almost peculiar to that nation, and may be called the chitchat of history. We have often thought that the "fooles," whom it was formerly the fashion to keep about a court, and more immediately about the person of a monarch, (and who by-the-by were often very clever fellows) would have formed a very amusing body of historians, had they given an account of every thing they saw and heard. The fashion has now changed: instead of their privileged fools, monarchs have their privileged wits. Our author has been on this footing at several courts, and luckily possesses the cacoëthes, of which we have just been lamenting the failure, in those to whose post he has succeeded. The result is some very curious information.

The Portrait of Catharine begins in a manner characteristic of our author. "Catherine le Grand (j'espère que l'Europe confirmera ce nom que je lui ai donné) Catherine le Grand n'est plus. Ces deux mots sont affreux à prononcer. Je n'aurais pû les écrire hier," &c. He luckily, however, on the following day, recovered sufficient presence of mind to give us a detailed and curious picture of the Empress, which is the more valuable as it puts her in a more amiable light, than that in which we have been accustomed to view her. Due allowance is, indeed, to be made for the warm feelings of partiality by which, under all circumstances, the author must naturally have been animated.