state of wretchedness have I fallen, who am now weeping for Count Mirabeau! He had done us much harm, and at the moment he is about saving us, he dies!"

There are many estimable characters sketched in this book, but not one more so, than that of our old acquaintance, the president of the tiers-etat, and first mayor of Paris, John Sylvan Bailly. He, it is well known, enjoyed a distinguished reputation, and richly deserved it, as an eloquent orator, a learned astronomer, and a virtuous man. He was among those reformers who preceded the Jacobins, and who were really desirous of their country's welfare and a limited monarchy. He wanted reform rather than revolution, and he could scarcely have anticipated the anarchy which unhappily ensued, during which, he and all the good men who had taken a prominent part in public affairs, were sufferers. That he and they were blameable for the manner in which they carried their designs into execution; for their apparent disregard of all the existing institutions of their country; and for the intemperate haste with which they endeavoured to effect their purposes of reform, we are free to admit :-they have paid the penalty of their rashness, but posterity will do justice to their virtues. In Bailly's Memoirs, by his own hand, (which we are surprised our author has not mentioned) he says he had no idea of what was likely to happen till December, 1786, when, at a dinner party, he heard for the first time that the Notables were to be called. This made him reflect on the state of affairs, when he foresaw not revolution, but a series of important changes, which would, probably, be advantageous to the country. When he was told he would be named a deputy from Paris, he thanked his informer for his good opinion, but thought no more of it, till chosen ; and he says he mentions it only to show, that he was carried on by no exertion of his own to the stations he filled. He says he was attached to the tranquillity and mediocrity of his condition, and was of opinion the States-General could do very well without him. "Destitute of talents for oratory, (says he, modestly, though mistakenly) and overwhelmed with timidity, I thought it would not be difficult to find in another the same zeal and integrity, united with more suitable qualifications."

Our author bears witness to his eloquence and virtue. His sketch of him is as follows :--

"He was a member of the Academies of the Sciences, Inscriptions and Belles-Lettres, and also of the French Academy. He united to the treasures of knowledge the graces of an harmonious and elegant style : he joined the qualities of a superior man to those of the most amiable gentleman. He preferred retirement to society; but although he with

drew from our homage, he was followed into his solitude, and his name was on every tongue. There was no passage of his life which was not, at the same time, glorious and honourable. Grave and reserved in public, in private he made amends for it by an ingenuous gaiety: he was the best of human beings, and it gave him pain to believe in the wickedness of others: though repeatedly deceived, he suffered himself to be so again in a moment after. On one occasion, his wife endeavoured to put him on his guard against a person who, she rightly suspected, wished to impose on him, and he answered her, 'I should too much regret the loss of an opportunity of obliging an honest man, were I restrained by the fear of doing a service only to a scoundrel."

Bailly did not seek the revolution-it sought him when he was nominated a deputy to the States-General, and made him play a part in politics in spite of himself: but, from the hour in which he thought he might be useful to his country, he never refused to serve her. He consecrated to her "moments that were invaluable to science;" and when we deplored the suspension of his labours, "I am in the first place," said he to us, "in my whole soul a Frenchman, and if, as you say, I am learned, the duties which that quality imposes, ought to follow after those of a citizen if I can assist in making one good law, it is preferable to one hundred astronomical calculations."*

This is the true and holy spirit of patriotism; and it led the martyred Bailly to the scaffold. It is this spirit which exalts him whom it inspires, above even the conception of ordinary mortals. It tears from his heart the low and debasing interests of self, the love of money, the fear of danger, and fills their place with one ennobling and absorbing passion, the welfare of his country. It was this spirit, in a purity which has called forth the admiration of the world, and which we delight to recur to, that enabled our ancestors, under God, to deliver us from the tyranny of our British brethren; and we hope and trust that when the time shall arrive again to require it, it will be found to burn as brightly and warmly in the hearts of their posterity.

Of the Memoirs of Madame Campan, the queen's femme de chambre, our author speaks disparagingly. He says they are to be distrusted. Their being posthumous, is, of itself, an objection to their credit, unless it appears that they are wholly written in her own hand. These have undergone some strange alterations, for she always spoke of events in a manner totally different from what has been published; and one particular and extraordinary conversation which she reported to him, has been entirely omitted, as well as other very curious facts. The tone of the Memoirs too, is quite apologetical, which he thinks unnatu

Vol. i. p. 317.

ral for one who was decidedly, though secretly, revolutionary in her opinions. He distrusts her fidelity to the queen, and gives a striking proof of her treachery, which General La Fayette can, if he pleases, verify or contradict. He says—

"I saw, with pain, the queen give so much of her confidence to Madame Campan: I had a little suspicion of her sincerity, and thanks to my intimacy with the enemies of the court, I procured some light on the subject, which made me see clearly, what to others was in profound obscurity. This opinion of Madame Campan might, certainly, be esteemed calumnious, if that lady had really been what her Memoirs represent; but these, as I have already said, are not hers-the facts have been given, but with a new complexion. I am persuaded that the original, in her own hand, cannot be inspected, without discovering the remarkable difference between that and the book published.

"Madame Campan, at the period of which I speak, was imbued with the principles of the revolution. She dissembled as well as she could, and deceived the queen who confided in her: this princess did not even hesitate to intrust her with the secret of her intended flight; and, in consequence, M. de La Fayette was quickly informed of it; but far from profiting by it, to injure the royal family, he arranged every thing so that the attempt might succeed, and if it failed, it was from causes independent of his will." Vol. ii. p. 158.

Our author afterwards found Madame Campan in Bonaparte's family. The public voice accused her of having abandoned the interests of the queen for those of the revolution, which was, probably, true, for she spoke of her ancient mistress without much emotion, and satire oftener escaped from her lips than praise. She had a number of piquant and malignant anecdotes to tell, not one of which is to be found in her Memoirs. He regrets that they who superintended their publication, should have left out what she related, as well of the republic, as of the empire; for if these anecdotes could have been published entire, such as her son communicated to our author in 1814, we should, he says, have had some very curious details of the imperial family, for whom she had a more decided affection than she ever felt for the unfortunate queen.

Did our limits allow, we should take pleasure in showing from our author, the situation of Robespierre when his sanguinary power was felt to be slipping from him. His agony was like that of the wretch who is suspended by his hands over a precipice, suffering the bitter tortures of a dreadful death sometime before he falls! We should like too to mark the slow degrees by which Chenier, once an enlightened and humane man, was led by the unrestrained indulgence of party spirit, into the fatal gulph of crime, till he consummated the destruction of his virtues, and became a jacobin and regicide. The lessons might

be of service-but we must refer to our author for these interesting details.

During the reign of terror, our peer, though known to be a loyalist, was obliged, in order to save his life, to cultivate the good will of Robespierre; who, as an old acquaintance, professed for him some regard, and promised to watch over his safety. This promise, of course, he violated as soon as he found it inconvenient to keep it, and his protegé was saved by the interference of Chenier, and the sudden fall of the tyrant. Previous to this event, he accepted, though reluctantly, an invitation to dine with Robespierre at the Palais Royal, in company with Caritat, ex-marquis of Condorcet, Barbaroux, Herault de Schelles, and others, among whom were the men-tigers, Couthon and Marat, whose figures, dress and conversation, he still recalls with peculiar horror. He says their hateful persons exhaled a fetid odour which was natural to them; it made the heart sick, and seemed to be a warning given by nature to guard mankind against these two monsters. At this dinner, he became personally acquainted with these bloody jacobins and their designs, of which they made no secret. It is sufficient to say, their designs were executed to the letter, without harrowing the feelings of our readers by the recital. Our author has made a lively sketch of these different butchers of mankind, and we had proposed to exhibit them, but the subject is too shocking, and we refrain. We are tempted, however, to trespass a little upon their feelings, and bring this article to a close, by giving slight sketch of a personal adventure of our peer, which has quite a dramatic interest, and in which, one of these monsters, like the serpent in Eden, played a distinguished part.

One morning our nobleman's baker expressed to his assistant, (officieux, the title given by the republic to servants) a desire to see him, and as it would have been hazardous to refuse such a favour to one of the sovereign people, he was, of course, admitted and graciously received. The baker commenced his harangue very formally.

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Citizen, though we may love the republic, we may, notwithstand'ing, have a tender heart for the unfortunate. There is in my house a young citoyenne who is very miserable—her brother has emigrated, and her mother died of grief-her poor father is in the prison of Luxembourg, expecting every day his trial and condemnation. He was a lodger of ours for twelve years, and we never heard any harm of him— he was a peaceable man and a republican as we all are; but they say he has offended somehow, and he has been in prison for a month. His young daughter is in despair; she cannot procure his liberty, nor even get a sight of him. I have thought, as you are intimate with our incorruptible Robespeirre, you would not refuse to ask permission for the citoyenne to visit her old father?"

At these words the baker handed him a petition, addressed to the members of the committee of public safety, and a letter to himself from Albertine P-: the letter was in a simple but not inelegant style-its expressions poured from the heart, and excited his sympathy, and he could no longer resist when the baker added that she was but twenty-two years old, beautiful as an angel, and as modest as virtue herself. This he candidly allows destroyed the merit of his benevolence. He also learned that the family were not noble, but of the mercantile class: that they had retired from business with a competent fortune, though it was now very much impaired by the situation of the country.

Yielding to his good feelings, which were now excited, our young peer immediately called at the house of Robespierre. He was from home, but his brother, who was very closely associated with him, was present. The warmth with which the request was urged made him laugh. "Are you her lover?" said Robespierre. "I have never seen her," said the peer. "Then it is pure generosity," resumed the other: "but who has told you that these people are not conspirators?" "And why should they be conspirators? What interest have they? Are they great lords or priests? And must you always be armed with malevolence or distrust?" "Don't distress yourself; I only spoke thus for amusement: let us see what you want. I have nothing to do with this permit, you must address yourself to Fouquir-Tanville; and as he does not know you here is a line to him, which may soften him. As to the petition, leave it, and I will talk to my brother, and try to oblige you, if the prisoner is not too guilty."

He then handed our peer a note addressed to Fouquir-Tanville, with a preconcerted cypher, which was recognized by this demagogue, of whom he gives a frightful description. He obtained the desired permission and withdrew from the monsster's den. He carried it to the young Albertine P―, the 'baker conducting him. She received him as her deliverershe poured forth her thanks with a vivacity which so animated her beautiful figure, that he stood like one enchanted. She determined to fly to her father and readily granted the peer's request to accompany her, for then, she said, "she would, on the way, the better express her gratitude for this kindness." The expression sunk into his heart, and he already began to feel a young affection for Albertine glow in his breast. She took his arm, and after he had with difficulty succeeded in arresting the out-pourings of her gratitude, he turned the conversation on her VOL. VI.-NO. 11.

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