Section III Anne Louisa Staël
“What woman indeed, (and we may add) how many men, could have preserved all the grace and brilliancy of Parisian society in analyzing its nature—explained the most abstruse metaphysical theories of Germany precisely, yet perspicuously and agreeably—and combined the eloquence which inspires exalted sentiments of virtue, with the enviable talent of gently indicating the defects of men or of nations, by the skilfully softened touches of a polite and merciful pleasantry.”
Sir James Mackintosh.
VERSATILITY OF GENIUS.
It has been maintained that all human minds are originally constituted alike, and that the diversity of gifts which afterwards appears results from education. But it is plain enough that God hath made marvellous differences, original and constitutional, which no education can wholly reduce. All children are not alike precocious; and all adults are not alike capable of learning or of teaching. Education will do much, but it cannot convert talent into genius, or efface the distinction which subsists between them. No education can give what nature has denied—for education can only work on that which is given. Some receive at birth minds so obtuse, that although sent to school, furnished with accomplished teachers, and surrounded with all the appliances of learning, they emerge dunces; while others, by the sheer force of their genius, push their way upwards to eminence, amid every form of hardship, difficulty, and privation. The character of mental products is as much determined by the natural condition and constitution of mind as are the natural products of the earth determined by its physical conditions. It would be just as irrational to expect glowing pictures, grand conceptions, and lofty harmonies to spring in the universal mind, as to expect to clothe the whole globe with the cocoa, the palm-tree, and the banian. Original genius must be inherited. The thoughts which rise in the gifted mind—the flash of wit and the play of fancy—are as independent of the will as is the weed at the bottom of the sea, or the moss on the summit of the hill independent of the farmer. In glancing over the catalogue of our mental aristocracy, we are struck with the versatility of genius. It is no hard unbending thing, confined to a few topics, and hemmed in by a few principles; but a free mountain flame, not unfrequently as broad in its range as burning in its radiance. Many of both sexes are equally happy in science, art, philosophy, and literature.
BIOGRAPHY.
Anne Louisa Germaine Necker, was born at Paris, April 22nd, 1766. Her father was the celebrated M. Necker, finance minister of Louis XVI., in the times immediately preceding the revolution. Her mother was the daughter of a Protestant clergyman, and would have been the wife of Gibbon, had not the father of the future historian threatened his son with disinheritance if he persisted in wooing a bride whose dowry consisted only of her own many excellencies. Few children have come into the world under more favourable auspices. She had wise parents, liberal culture, intellectual friends, ample fortune, splendid talents, and good health. Her favourite amusement during childhood consisted in cutting out paper kings and queens, and making them act their part in mimic life. Her mother did not approve of this, but found it as difficult to stop her daughter from such play, as it was to prevent men and women, some years after, from playing with kings and queens not made of paper.
The training of their only child was to both parents a matter of immense importance. Her talents were precociously developed, and whilst yet the merest girl, she would listen with eager and intelligent interest to the conversation of the eminent savans who constantly visited her father’s house. Without opening her mouth she seemed to speak in her turn, so much expression had her mobile features. When only ten years old she conceived the idea of marrying her mother’s early lover, that he might be retained near her parents, both of whom delighted in his company. At the age of twelve she amused herself in writing comedies.
Perhaps Mademoiselle Necker lost nothing by having no regular tutor. The germs of knowledge once fairly implanted, an intellect like hers may, like the forest sapling, be left to its own powers of growth. Roaming through the rural scenes of St. Ouen, her mind was enriching itself by observation and reflection. Circumstances which would have depressed multitudes only quickened her. She turned all things to account. Her power of mental assimilation was extraordinary.
In 1786, Mademoiselle Necker was married to the Baron de Staël-Holstein, Swedish ambassador at the court of Paris. The young Swede was a Protestant, amiable, handsome, courtly, and a great favourite with royalty. What more could the most fastidious require? It was not fashionable to put intellectual features in the bond. Perhaps had she been thirty instead of twenty years old, even in France, where the filial virtues to a large extent nullify the conjugal, no motherly persuasion nor fatherly approval would have induced her to marry a dull, unimaginative man like Baron de Staël, for whom she felt no kind of affection. After a few years a separation took place between them, two sons and a daughter having been meantime the fruit of their union. In France a wife may withdraw from her husband on the plea of saving her fortune for her children, and if unprincipled enough, console herself with another whose society she prefers. Madame de Staël was incapable of becoming galante.
On her marriage she opened her saloons, and her position, wealth, and wit attracted to them the most brilliant inhabitants of Paris. At first she does not seem to have attained any remarkable degree of celebrity. She was too much of a genius. Paris was full of anecdotes about her foibles and infringements of etiquette. About this time too she began to produce those wonderful books which form an era in the history of modern literature, and which demonstrate that in intellectual endowment she had no compeer among her sex. As might be expected in a disciple of Rousseau, she cherished great expectations in reference to the French revolution of 1789; but soon ceased to admire a movement which discarded her beloved father, and began its march towards a reign of terror.
Madame de Staël suffered dreadfully during the period that Maximilien Robespierre headed the populace in the Champ de Mars. All the brilliant society to which she had been accustomed from the cradle were proscribed, or hiding in holes or corners of the city they had made so glorious. Liberty, the theme of her childish pen, had been metamorphosed into a bloodthirsty tyrant. Before midnight on the 9th of August, 1792, the forty-eight tocsins of the sections began to sound. Madame de Staël might have secured her own safety by a flight into Switzerland, but she could not leave Paris while her friends were in danger, and she might be of use to them. The words “Swedish Embassy,” on her door, gave her some security. By her passionate eloquence and consummate diplomacy she saved M. de Narbonne, and several other distinguished persons. On the morning of the 2nd of September, she set out from Paris in all the state of an ambassadress. In a few minutes her carriage was stopped, her servants overpowered, and she herself compelled to drive to the Hotel de Ville. When she alighted, one fiend in human shape made a thrust at her, and she was saved from death only by the policeman who accompanied her. She was taken before Robespierre, and her carriage might have been torn to pieces and herself murdered, but for the interference of a republican named Manuel, who on a former occasion had felt the power of her eloquence. Next day Manuel sent her a policeman to escort her to the frontier, and thus Madame de Staël escaped to Coppet.
Early in 1793, she went to England, and took up her residence at Juniper Hall, near Richmond, Surrey. No one has been able to assign a very distinct reason for this journey. Perhaps she came simply to breathe the air of liberty, and to become better acquainted with a country she had always loved. At all events, she became the centre of a little colony of French emigrants. Among the refugees were many illustrious people. Their funds were not in a flourishing condition, but they managed to purchase one small carriage, and ex-ministers took their turn to act as footmen, when they rode out to see the country. The little party was soon scattered. In the summer of 1793, Madame de Staël rejoined her father in Switzerland. At Coppet she devoted her great energy to the succour of exiles, and the reconciliation of France and England.
The earliest intercourse between Madame de Staël and Napoleon Bonaparte occurred between his return from Italy and his departure for Egypt, towards the end of 1797. At first she submitted as willingly as France—as indeed the whole world, to the fascination of his genius; but she was one of the earliest to discover that he was merely a skilful chess-player, who had chosen the human race as his adversary, and expected to checkmate it. She expressed her opinions openly and with all the force for which she was celebrated, and they left upon the first man of the day many unpleasant impressions. The future emperor gathered something from his brother Joseph concerning the principles of the most popular saloon in Paris, and watched for an opportunity to get rid of such an influential foe. Her father wrote a book which gave great umbrage. It was not deemed safe to touch him; but he who was reckoned the greatest hero of the modern world, was cowardly enough to visit the sin of the father upon the daughter; and so Madame de Staël was informed that her presence would be tolerated in Paris no longer. In 1802, she was exiled from France itself. Rejoining her sick husband, she closed his eyes in death at Poligny, and became an eligible widow.
The death of her father in 1804, recalled her to Coppet. Subsequently, she was permitted to return to Paris. But fresh difficulties occurred with Napoleon, and she was banished anew to Coppet. In 1808, the Baron de Staël, secured an interview with the master of the world, and pleaded eloquently on behalf of his mother. The inexorable deliverance of the emperor is too characteristic and amusing to be omitted. “Let her go to Rome, Naples, Vienna, Berlin, Milan, Lyons; if she wants to publish libels, let her go to London. I should think of her with pleasure in any of those cities; but Paris, you see, is where I live myself, and I want none but those who love me there.” The Baron de Staël renewed his entreaties. “You are very young; if you were as old as I, you would judge more accurately; but I like to see a son pleading for his mother. If I had put her in prison, I would liberate her, but I will not recall her from exile. Every one knows that imprisonment is misery; but your mother need not be miserable when all Europe is left to her.” The man of destiny acted on the dictate of a sound prudential policy. A woman so uncompromising and fearless—of such weight of genius and reputation—was not to be tolerated in Paris by the head of a government more or less the sport of the hour.
During this stay at Coppet she made the acquaintance (1810) of a young Italian of good family named Rocca, who had fought in the French army in Spain, and had gone to Geneva to recover from his wounds. The young officer of hussars, aged twenty-five, worshipped Madame de Staël; and she, a mature matron of forty-six, married him, but the marriage was kept secret, in order, it is said, that she should not be obliged to change her celebrated name.
Napoleon having banished Schlegel, the eminent German poet and critic (who had accompanied her in her travels and been tutor to her son), and subjected herself to a petty surveillance, she rushed restlessly over Europe to Vienna, Moscow, St. Petersburgh, thence through Finland to Stockholm. In 1813, she arrived in England, and was the lion, or lioness, of at least one London season, the whig aristocracy fêting her, and Sir James Mackintosh trumpeting her praises in the Edinburgh Review. She was celebrated for the persecutions she had endured, and as the only person of note who had stood firm against Napoleon to the last.
At the Restoration, she returned to her beloved Paris. From Louis XVIII. she met with the most gracious reception; and restitution was made to her of two million livres long due to her father from the royal treasury. But her old foe was only caged. He broke the bars of his prison, cleared the inconstant court in a few hours, was hailed by the army and the people, and spared none who had taken part in the restoration. “I felt,” she says, “when I heard of his coming, as if the ground yawned beneath my feet.” In the spring of 1816, she was at Coppet, the centre of a brilliant circle, with Lord Byron near her at the Villa Diodati. To Madame de Staël, Paris was the centre of the world, and accordingly in the autumn of this year we find her there again, the lady-leader of the Constitutionalists. In her saloon might have been seen Wellington and Blucher, Humboldt and Châteaubriand, Sismondi and Constant, the two Schlegels, Canova the sculptor, and Madame Recamier, whom the defeat of Napoleon had once more restored to liberty.
But she did not long enjoy the society of the metropolis which she loved so well. In February, 1817, she was seized with a violent fever. On her deathbed she said to Châteaubriand, “I have loved God, my father, and liberty.” The royal family were constant inquirers after her health, and the Duke of Wellington called daily at her door to ask if hope might yet remain. At two o’clock on Monday, the 14th July, she died in perfect peace, at the age of fifty-one. The day of her death was the anniversary of the Revolution which had exerted so great an influence on her life.
She died at Paris, but her dust was laid beside the dust of her father at Coppet. Perhaps no one ever felt more strongly the stirrings of the soul within than Madame de Staël. So long as genius and patriotism and piety can excite the admiration of the world, so long will her tomb be one of the holiest shrines of the imagination.
ANALYSIS OF WRITINGS.
Madame de Staël may be safely pronounced the greatest writer who has yet appeared among women. At an early age, she applied herself to literary composition, and produced several plays and tales. To the elements of genius, intellect, intelligence, and imagination, God added the vehemence of passion, and she became the highest representative of female authorship. We humbly submit that it is impossible to read her incomparable works without feeling the soul elate, and seeing a glory not of earth shed over this mortal scene. A philosophy profounder than the philosophy of the schools is the imperishable legacy she has left to posterity. She wrote neither to please nor to surprise, but to profit others; and whatever may be the faults or defects of her writings, they have this greatest of all merit,—intense, life-pervading, and life-breathing truth.
In 1788, on the eve of the Revolution, she issued her first work of note, the eloquent and enthusiastic “Lettres sur les Ecrits et le Caractère de J. J. Rousseau.” These letters are, however, rather a girlish eulogy than a just and discriminating criticism. The news of the king’s execution on the 21st of January, 1793, inexpressibly shocked her; and in the month of August she sought to save the life of the queen, by publishing “Réflexions sur le Procès de la Reine, par une Femme.” In this appeal, which deserves to rank among the classics of the human race, her first word is to her own sex. She then refers to her illustrious client’s devotion to her husband and children; labours to show that the death of the queen would be prejudicial to the republic; then draws a picture of what she must have suffered during her imprisonment, and argues that, if guilty, she has been sufficiently punished. Her pleadings for the fallen queen were too late to be effective. In 1794, she issued a pamphlet, entitled “Réflexions sur la Paix, adressées à M. Pitt et aux Français.” The stand-point of this spirited brochure is that of a friend of Lafayette, the Constitutionalists of France, and a British Foxite. The next pamphlet she published, was in 1795: “Réflexions sur la Paix Intérieure.” It is a valuable contribution to the political history of the times; but as it was never sold to the public, we shall not dwell upon it. This year also, she published at Lausanne, under the title “Recueil de Morceaux Détachés,” a collection of her juvenile writings. This work manifests an intimate knowledge of the principal romances, not only of France, but of Europe. In the summer of 1796, her work—“De l’Influence des Passions sur le Bonheur des Individus et des Nations,” a work full of originality and genius. She treated first of the passions; then of the sentiments which are intermediate between the passions and the resources which we find in ourselves; and finally, of the resources which we find in ourselves. Here she first revealed her almost unequalled power as a delineator of the human passions. In 1800, she published, “De la Littérature Considérée dans ses Rapports avec les Institutions sociales.” This work must take an abiding place in the history of the female mind. Few, if any, of her contemporaries of the male sex could have executed it; and none of her own sex could have planned it. “Delphine” was published in 1802. This romance greatly increased her reputation; although subjected to much adverse criticism. But far superior to it in every respect was “Corinne,” which appeared in 1807, and which breathes in every page the glowing and brilliant Italy which it partly paints. Its success was instant and immense, and won for her a really European reputation. “De l’Allemagne,” was printed at Paris in 1810, but not published. The whole edition was seized by the police; the plea afterwards given for its suppression being that it was an anti-national work. Several years afterwards, it was published in London. This celebrated work consists of four parts: Germany, and the German manners; literature and the arts; philosophy and morals; religion and enthusiasm. Sir James Mackintosh considered it the most elaborate and masculine production of the faculties of woman. It exhibits throughout an almost unparalleled union of graceful vivacity and philosophical ingenuity, and, according to Goethe, broke down the Chinese wall of prejudice which separated the rest of Europe from the fruitful and flowery empire of German thought and imagination. Her unfinished and posthumous book—“Dix Années d’Exil,” was an impassioned denunciation of Napoleon and his arbitrary rule. The whole was evidently written under a galling sense of oppression and wrong. The famous work, “Considérations sur la Revolution Française,” was also posthumous.
From this necessarily imperfect analysis of Madame de Staël’s writings, it will be seen that she was endowed in the very “prodigality of heaven” with genius of a creative order, with boundless fertility of fancy, with an intellect of intense electric light, with a tendency to search out the very quintessence of feeling, and with an eloquence of the most impassioned kind. “She could mount up with wings as an eagle, she could run and not be weary, she could walk and not be faint.”
CHARACTER OF MADAME DE STAËL.
We enjoy the immense advantage of studying Madame de Staël from a distance that is neither too great nor too little; but she presents so many sides, that it would be presumption on our part to expect to render anything like a full and true portrait. She had a good physical constitution, which is of far more importance than many clever people seem to imagine. Her personal appearance was plain; she had no good feature but her eyes. Yet by her astonishing powers of speech she made herself even more than agreeable. Years increased her charms. Her beauty—if we may so call it—was of the kind which improves with time.
Madame de Staël had a vast intellect and a burning nature—the sensibility of a woman and the strength of a giant. She has been said to resemble Mrs. Thrale in the ardour and warmth of her partialities. M. L. Chénier, Benjamin Constant, M. de Bonald, M. Villemain, M. Sainte-Beuve, have each in his turn testified admiration of her brilliant capacity, almost always oratorical, and especially distinguished by an unrivalled superabundance and movement and ardour of thought. Napoleon Bonaparte feared her more than any of his talking and writing opponents. “Why do you take any notice of her? surely you need not mind a woman!” “That woman has shafts which would reach a man if he were mounted on a rainbow!”
There is little to be said against her. There is no doubt of her vanity—but she had something to be vain of. The concealment of her second marriage was foolish; but she confessed it upon her deathbed to her children, and recommended to their protection the young child that had been its fruit. Yet blame her for these faults as we may, we must still admire her, as an affectionate daughter, a devoted wife, and a loving mother; as a leader of society, and yet free from its vices. She was noted for candour, integrity, and kindness. French by birth, Swiss by lineage, Swedish by marriage, English, German, Italian, and Spanish by the adoptive power of sympathy and knowledge, she belonged rather to Europe than to France, and after French writers have done their best, there will still remain points of view which only a non-Frenchman can seize and occupy.