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financier; he had advanced ideas and strong popular sympathies, and for a time he enjoyed great popularity. With his sound practical common-sense he reminds us often of Mr. W. H. Smith; he had many of the qualities of a competent statesman, and in quieter times might have been eminently successful. But he had nothing about him of the man of the world; he had neither tact nor versatility; he had none of the arts of conciliation, and was too stiff and formal to unbend. He had to contend with tremendous, if not insuperable difficulties, in the shape of an exhausted treasury, overwhelming national obligations, a starving people suddenly enlightened as to their wrongs, and an army as defenders of order that he himself had pronounced unreliable. His memorable interview with the brilliant Mirabeau is sufficient to explain his political collapse. Lady Blennerhassett tells the story picturesquely. He had been by no means blind to the weather-warnings, but he failed to read them rightly and be guided by them before it was too late. Malouet, who seems to have been always wide awake, had put strong pressure on Montmorin and Necker to try to come to terms with the formidable tribune.

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They hated Mirabeau, but as yet they did not fear him." Malouet was eloquently persuasive; Necker said nothing, but kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, "which with him was a special sign of indecision. However, he yielded so far as to assent to a meeting.

"Mirabeau came to it unfortunately without Malouet, and found himself in presence of the stiff, reserved man, who addressed him in the coldest tone. M. Malouet tells me, sir, that you have certain proposals to make. What may they be?' At this address, Mirabeau stepped back, took the measure of the man who had so addressed him with a look of contempt, and answered: 'My proposition is this, to wish you a very good morning.' And away he went. Yet at that time the fate of the dynasty and the future of France was being decided in the stormy debates of the States-General; and Madame de Staël, with all her admiration for her father, admits that he had none of the fiery eloquence of Mirabeau, and was no match for him in debate. He does not appear to have been actuated by jealousy, and indeed his noblest feature was his disinterestedness. Stupidly rather than wantonly, he threw away the chance of securNEW SERIES.-VOL. L., No. 1.

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ing himself the support of an invaluable ally.

Of Mirabeau so much has been said and written that there is little new to be added on the subject. Madame de Staël, who was present at the first meeting of the States General, was fascinated by his leonine bearing, his broad shoulders and shaggy hair. She could not take her eyes off the man. Yet his reception was by no means favorable. His vicious reputation had gone before him, and he was naturally detested by his fellow-nobles. Morris says that he was hissed, though not loudly. When he died, his dealings with the Court were generally unsuspected. Lady Blennerhassett says that only three men had been taken into his confidence, and two of these were Narbonne and Talleyrand. He well knew how to choose his confidants, for the discretion of both, unless under extreme temptation, could be trusted. Madame de Staël had no reason to love him, and she shrank instinctively before his cynical strength of will. But she shared the feelings and the fears of those who surrounded her; she felt that great possibilities of saving the State had vanished with him; nor could she refrain from the language of regretful enlogy :

"The powerful impression he had made on Madame de Staël, the strong sympathy he had extorted from her, grew still more intense, when the curtain had dropped upon this life, clasped in the embrace of the passions like the snakes of the Laocoon. Still under the impression of the loss, she glorified the man, 'who had been strong enough to speak of order without the fear of despotism, of the security of all without fostering the suspicion that he was thinking of exceptions in the interest of the few.' The great oak was fallen; and now nothing could be said of what was to come."

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Morris, who had no personal reasons to fear him, liked him as little, and judged him even less favorably. He had said, apropos to a motion on the national credit, This man will always be powerful in opposition, but never great in administration. His understanding is, I believe, impaired by the perversion of his heart." He went with all the world to look on at the funeral.

"It has been an imposing spectacle. It is a vast tribute paid to superior talents, but no great incitement to virtuous deeds. Vices, both degrading and detestable, marked this extraordinary creature. Completely prostitute, he sacrificed everything to the whim of the moment. Cupidus alieni, prodigus sui:

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Lafayette was in all respects the reverse of Mirabeau, though both were for a time almost supreme by the favor of the people. Lafayette had known nothing of a jeunesse orageuse, and was naturally inclined to be the champion of order; while Mirabeau had cynically get respectability at defiance-had ruined himself almost beyond redemption-and deemed all means were good for his personal ends. Mirabeau, as Morris said, was grand even in his vices; whereas Lafayette, though naturally chivalrous, was essentially small, and raised to power as the creature of circumstances. The one was resolutely imperious of will, and would have insisted on the control of the Court that had bought him; the other must have been plastic beyond all our previous belief, and morbidly susceptible to each breath of the popular caprices. There is nothing more curious in the volumes of Morris than the account of those interviews of his with Lafayette, to which we have already made allusion. Lafayette unbosoms himself in moments of depression. He tells Morris that he is only anxious to step down from his high place, though Morris does not believe that for an instant. On the other hand, Morris stretches the privileges of friendship to lecture Lafayette on his vacillating attitudes, with a contempt he scarcely affects to conceal. He says:

"I have known my friend Lafayette now for many years, and can estimate at the just

value both his words and his actions. He

means ill to no one, but he has the besoin de briller. He is very much below the business he has undertaken, and if the sea runs high,

he will be unable to hold the helm."

We might multiply reports of their eccentric interviews. We give a single one by way of example. In November 1790,

"He asks my opinion of the situation. I give it sans ménagement, and while I speak he turns pale. I tell him that, as to himself, his personal situation is extremely delicate; that he nominally but not really commands his troops; that I really cannot tell how be is to establish discipline among them, but that unless he can accomplish that object, he must be ruined sooner or later. . . .

He says that he is only raised by circumstances and events, so that when they cease he sinks, and the difficulty comes in how to excite them. I take care not to express, even by a look, my contempt and abhorrence, but simply observe that events will arise just enough of themselves, if he can make a good use of them, which I doubt, because he cannot place any confidence in his troops."

Madame de Staël's Life, Lafayette really On one occasion, however, as related in showed resolution. It is true he was spurred to it by a double motive, for both threatened. Morris, who, for the most his ascendancy and his life were seriously part, was behind the scenes, was puzzled, with other people, by the Duke of Orleans's sudden departure for England, in the autumn of 1790, on a mysterious mission. Morris shrewdly suspected the mission to be a mere pretence, and, as it appears, he was quite right. The General had waited on the Duke and said

"Monseigneur, I fear that the head of a personage of your name will soon fall on the scaffold." Then, as the person so addressed turned pale, he added, "You have had the intention of having me assassinated. You may be assured that, an hour after me, a similar fate awaits yourself." As the Duke asserted his innocence, the General answered, "That he was bound to accept his word of honor; nevertheless he had such convincing evidence in his hands, that the Duke must either quit France in four-and-twenty hours, or be brought before a court of justice !"

The Duke prudently elected to go, and petitioned the king to find him a pretext, and probably Lafayette recollected that at one time there had been a serious idea of

making Monseigneur Lieutenant-General of the kingdom.

We hear a great deal in both books of the Bishop of Autun, who was saved through the Terror by his unfailing tact, by the zeal of his devoted feminine friends, and by the prudence which kept him back from urging his pretensions to place,-for his capacity was soon recognized by the cabinet-makers and wire pullers who were casting about for "Saviours of Society." He was a frequenter of the innermost circle at the Swedish Embassy; he was in constant and cordial relations with Morris. Rivarol had predicted that he might be anything he pleased, and he had been appointed by the Assembly, on the 14th July, one of the members of the committee to draw up the constitution. But like all men of fine susceptibilities, he was ner

vous; and with all his tact, in February 1791, he was already in mortal apprehension, though he had better cause for alarm afterward. Morris writes :

"Go to the Louvre; see Madame de Flahault. She is ill in bed; play sixpenny whist with her. The Bishop of Autun is horribly frightened for his life. When she got home last night she found in a blank envelope a will of the Bishop making her his heir. In consequence of some things he had dropped in conversation, she concluded he had determined to destroy himself, and therefore spent the night in great agitation and tears. M. de Saint Foi, whom she roused at 4 o'clock in the morning, could not find the Bishop, he having slept near the church in which he was to consecrate two Bishops newly elected. At length it turns out that, pursuant to repeated threats, he feared that the clergy would cause him this day to be destroyed, and had ordered the letter not to be delivered till the evening, meaning to take it back if he lived through the day."

It shows the high opinion Morris had formed of his talents, that on the day of Mirabeau's death, there is this entry in the diary :

"I tell the Bishop of Autun that he should step into the vacancy he has made, and to that effect preach the funeral sermon, in which he should make a summary of his life, and dwell particularly on the last weeks in

which he labored to establish order; then dwell on the necessity of order, and introduce properly the king."

Talleyrand did not care to bid for the perilous pre-eminence, nor did he put himself forward to preach the funeral discourse. But he did administer the last sacraments to the dying Mirabeau, and we know nothing in history more ludicrously shocking than that blasphemous profanation of the holy rites. It is interesting, throughout Madame de Staël's Life, to trace Talleyrand treading dexterously among naked sword-blades making friends with all parties in turn, -with Feuillants and Constitutionalists-Girondins and even Jacobins,

Narbonne, like Talleyrand, had saved his head by flight, shortly before the September massacres. Bollman, the Hanoverian, had given shelter to Narbonne the night before both started for England, passing the guards at the city gates in the character of Englishmen. Bollman cleverly sketches and contrasts Narbonne and Talleyrand in his correspondence with Varnhagen von Ense :

"Narbonne is rather tall, strong, and stout

in build, but there is something attractive, noble, and superior about him. His wit and the wealth of his ideas are inexhaustible. He is full of every social virtue. He inspires courage in the most despondent. He never ceases to charm, and when he chooses he can fascinate an individual or a whole society alike. There is only one man in France who comes up to him in this respect, and who, in my opinion, far outstrips him, and that is his friend M. de Talleyrand, formerly Bishop of Autun. Narbonne labors to please, and betrays his wish to do so. Talleyrand makes no effort, and he is always calm, dispassionate, and at his ease. Narbonne is more brilliant ; Talleyrand is more refined, pleasing, and neat in conversation. Narbonne does not by any means suit every one; the very fastidious do not care for him. He has no power over them. Talleyrand, without being less morally corrupt than Narbonne, can move even those who despise him to tears."'

Madame de Staël, compromised, suspected, detested, and continually denounced, having sheltered certain of her friends in the Embassy, having successfully begged the lives of others from Manuel, then a member of the Commune, had nevertheless lingered on in Paris, till her life, or at least her liberty, seemed in extreme danger. She had decided at last to leave, as it chanced, on the very morning of the 2d September. Her friends implored her to delay her departure, and not

She

to start in a moment of such intense excitement. It was characteristic of her high courage and generosity that she declined to comply. She had made an appointment to pick up upon the road another of the refugees, the Abbé de Montesquieu, and to take him with her to Switzerland, disguised as her servant. would not throw him over, and so her preparations went forward. She had determined to take her departure as befitted her rank, and got into her lumbering coach, drawn by six horses and laden with luggage, with servants in her liveries. The liveried servants and the aristocratic equipage were a rash and ostentatious defiance to the mob. The cracking of the postilions' whips attracted a crowd of old women, who threw themselves like so many furies upon the horses, screaming that the travellers must be kept backthat they were carrying off the nation's gold to the enemy. More formidable assailants were attracted by the shrill clamor, and the postilions were compelled to drive to the section of the quarter. Thence she was conducted to the Hôtel

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de Ville, and the way lay across the Place de la Grève, where the blood of the victims of the 10th of August was scarcely yet dry. The drive lasted three hours at a foot's pace, amid the howls and murderous threats of the mob. The National Guard to whom she appealed for assistance, answered with scoffs and jeers. Fortunately she found a chivalrous friend in the gendarme seated with her in the carriage, who pledged himself to protect her at the risk of his own life. Getting out of her coach at the Hôtel de Ville, she made her way up the stairs through a forest of pikes. Neither the terrible ordeal she had gone through, nor the sanguinary associations of the place, had greatly shaken her nerves, when she found herself in the presence of Robespierre. Collat d'Hubois and Billaud Varennes were acting as secretaries to the "incorruptible one," who exercised despotic powers of life and death. Billaud Varennes, by the way, had not shaved for a fortnight, so his aspect was even more repulsive than it ordinarily was. The hall was crowded with the dregs of the populace, who were shouting Vive la Nation! The envoy from Parma, who chanced to be present, and to whom she naturally turned for assistance, chose to disclaim her. Indignation brought about a reaction from her alarm and discouragement. "As he would not apparently help me in this trouble, I determined to do the best for myself." She claimed her rights as wife of an Ambassador, and showed her passports. Her papers were pronounced irregular, and it might have gone hard with her, had not the friendly Manuel made his appearance, and once more come to her help. He spoke in her favor, and left the Commune to deliberate, while he led her and her maid into a side room. "From the windows they could see the murderers with their sleeves turned up, and bloody hands, returning with wild cries across the Place de la Grève." waited in suspense for six mortal hours, till Manuel returned, and partially relieved her mind. After dark he escorted her back to the Embassy, where she was to be detained till she procured fresh passports. They were brought her next morning by Tallien, who was commissioned by the Commune to accompany her to the barriers, where he resigned his place to the gendarme who was to travel with her to

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the Jura. A very singular incident had occurred while she was waiting the decision of the Commune. Her loaded carriage, standing at the door of the Assembly, might well have tempted the rapacious and lawless mob. To her astonishment, she saw a man in the uniform of the National Guard clamber on to it and defend it from all attacks. The individual accompanied Manuel when Manuel came to release her. to release her. He proved to be no less a personage than Santerre, the Commandant of the National Guard-" the detestable ruffian, as Boswell calls him, who showed Johnson and the Thrales over his brewery on their visit to Paris in 1775. He declared he had been actuated solely by gratitude for Necker's distribution of grain to the starving population of the Faubourg St. Antoine. Madame de Staël saw through the shallow pretext, for it was clear that, in those hours of massacre, he should have been at his post, protecting the victims who were being slaughtered in the prisons. The heroic woman did not profess to thank him, but merely told him that he might have been better employed.

With that dramatic and suggestive episode of the Terror, we may bring our notice to a close. But we must add, by way of postscript, a final quotation from Lady Blennerhassett, in which she sums up some of the most striking incidents of the tragedy. She is writing of the retrospect after the 9th Thermidor and the fall of Robespierre.

"On the vast battle-field he had spread over the whole of France, Madame de Staël counted a host of dead who had crossed her path as friends or enemies. Camille Desmoulins, the gamin of the Revolution, who had once fastened Necker's green cockade on his breast, and had invited to his wedding Robespierre, the gloomy guest who was afterward to join bride and bridegroom in death; Barnave, who had sought to extinguish in his blood the flame his words had kindled; Malesherbes, the honor of the magistracy, with whom a whole battle was lost; Danton, who had foreseen the day when Cato would be deemed a fool and Cæsar a necessary evil;' Victor de Broglie, Custine, and with them so many others, who had stood up under the colors of the Republic for the ideal of their youthful days,-all of them, the leaders and those they led astray, had fallen alike beneath the edge of the axe. Others, like Chamfort, Clavière, and Roland, had sought escape by the dagger, the Archbishop Loménie de Brienne and Condorcet by poison.

Even those who had led evil lives died heroic deaths. While the Abbé Emery was preparing her for death, Eglée, a

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Peace! let us hold our peace-her peace is ours ;
Here, as we wander through the woods alone,
Heart whispereth unto heart in happy tone,
What need, amid the newly-risen flowers,

To read "Resurgam" written on the stone!

Peace let us hold our peace !-our peace is hers;
Beyond our voices she hath found her rest;
The silent evening burneth in the west;

And by her own still-tongued interpreters
The peaceful message is made manifest.

Then leave the wind-flower quiet in the wood,
The primrose in its place beneath the hill;
Seeing she ceaseth not to work His will
Who looked upon her life, and saw 'twas good,
And to the woman's heart said, "Peace, be still!"

IN TIPPO0 TIB'S COUNTRY.

BY C. N. BARHAM.

LIFE in Central Africa is a serious business, but occasionally one sees its humorous side. I had left the missionary station

Mamboia, where I had been hospitably entertained, and with my band of bearers plunged into the forest. Knowing that

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