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he has no liking either for the one or the other.” She could not yet pardon the author of her exile.

In a series of articles published in the Moniteur, Sismondi endeavoured to prove that the Acte Additionnel offered sufficient security for the liberties of France, and that the interests of the people now required that they should support the Emperor. Napoleon was pleased by these articles, and the more so because they were written by one who had never experienced his favor nor courted his protection. As a token of his satisfaction, the cross' of the Legion of Honor was offered to Sismondi ; but he declined it, " that by preserving his approbation disinterested, it might have more power.Napoleon then invited him to l'Élysée Bourbon, the palace which he occupied at that time, as he wished to converse with him. Sismondi went, and the Emperor talked to him in private for nearly an hour, speaking with great frankness of his own position and projects, of Italy and Switzerland, and even of literature, and receiving the free but respectful remarks of his guest with perfect good-nature. Immediately after leaving him, Sismondi wrote down in his private journal all that he could recollect of the conversation, and this record is now published. We can extract but a small part of it.

“ He asked me how we were pleased with our constitution at Geneva. I told him that the theory of it was very bad, but that it did not act badly, and that we were very much attached to our independence. The Genevese,' said he, have the spirit of wisdom, and the habit of liberty ; but is it, then, an hereditary aristocracy which has been established there ?'

“ I gave him rapidly an idea of our constitution. On this subject he spoke to me of I. J. Rousseau; he said he did not like him much, he found much pretension in him, and a style constantly on the stretch. I said to him, that it resembled that of a living author, Chateaubriand, whose style was brilliant, but without simplicity. · Yes,' said he, he aims at effect; one feels that he is occupied about his phrases, and that beneath these there is no maturity of thought. I have not read the whole of the Genius of Christianity ; it is not in my way; it is a system which I do not believe; but, for example, in what he has written against me there is no thought, nothing solid, it is all for effect; however, he is certainly a man of talent.' I told him that I preferred his talent and his character to that of another celebrated man of his time, M. de Fontanes. “Ah, as to him,' said he,' he is entirely on the system of reaction; he conceives nothing but the ancient

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régime; he sees all that in his imagination, and he has not a
mind which can apply itself to real things.' He then spoke to
me of English novels, of Richardson and Fielding, and asked me
some questions about the Italian and Spanish novels, in the same
line as Gil Blas, or in that of Pigault le Brun. I showed my sur-
prise at his knowing these things. It is because I read a great
deal in my youth; I worked hard, and read many novels also.
In my youth I was much more discreet than I am now; till my
first campaign in Italy, I dared not look a woman in the face ; I
should not say so much for myself now. During that time, also, I
went through a course of law, and when afterwards we were
working on the Code Civil, the councils of state were quite sur-
prised to find that I knew their business. I told them it was be-
cause I had studied it.' 'Ah, cried I, that is what makes great
men; it is having successively applied their mind to every thing;
it is because they have struggled hand to hand with difficulties ;
it is what princes want, and which renders them at this time so
incapable of extricating themselves from such perplexing diffi-
culties. Ah, it is the fault of the system,' replied he ; but it
is irremediable. The Duke of Orleans is the only one of the
French princes who has been put to this proof; during his exile
he ceased to be a prince, to become a man, therefore he is the
only one who has profited by adversity. So they say.' But he
then broke off the conversation on that subject. He spoke to me
of the popes, who had at all times prevented the Italians from
becoming a nation. I said to him, that people had had at first,
a great opinion of Pius VII., but that he showed afterwards that
he had the obstinacy of a monk, and not the courage of a great
man.' "Yes, his firmness has been much boasted of; I had the
air of persecuting him; he said to me himself that he was, that
he wished to be, a martyr to the faith. But, answered I, how is
that, holy father? you are well fed, well clothed, lodged in a
palace, and you call that martyrdom; but you are not disgusted
with life.' Then he laughed. Again returning to the praises of
the French nation, and comparing them to another nation, he
called the French we (nous autres) with quite a national feeling.
We had already walked nearly three quarters of an hour ; at the
two last turns he was much heated, he took off his hat, and his
forehead was bathed in sweat. At last he turned towards the
palace, we entered his room, he said he was charmed to have
made acquaintance with so distinguished a man. He bowed to
me, and I retired."

pp. 59-61.
The battle of Waterloo followed, and Sismondi retired to
Geneva, unwilling to witness the completion of measures
which tended to the degradation and misery of a country

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which he loved as much as his own. Madame de Staël received him, on his return, with as much kindness as ever, but his friends at Geneva looked coldly upon him ; with all their esteein and respect for his motives, they could not soon forget his momentary adhesion to the cause of the Emperor. Conscious of the purity of his own intentions, and of his steadfast attachment to the cause of freedom, Sismondi did not attempt to justify himself, but sought refuge in his work. “ I have always endeavoured to forget myself,” he said ; " and, thanks to my studies, I can live in other ages than

But he never suffered the habits of a recluse or the tastes of a student to deaden his sympathies, or lessen his interest in public affairs. He was no politician, not even a political gossip ; but whenever a crisis arose in the affairs either of his own country or of any other, in which he thought the interests of humanity or the well-being of the poorer classes were concerned, his voice and influence were sure to be exerted to the utmost. He wrote warmly against the slave-trade in 1817, he advocated powerfully the emancipation of Greece six years afterwards. 66 The love of the human race was in him so sincere, so lively, so universal, that it had the power of giving him the greatest delight and the deepest affliction. It governed him to such a degree, that it affected the theories of his mind as well as the dispositions of his soul.'

A severe affliction was at hand for him in the loss of a friend who had contributed more than any one, except his mother, to his enjoyment and to the direction of his thoughts and character. In July, 1817, he was called to Coppet, whither had just been brought the body of her who had so long been its chief attraction, and who had been to him as a guide and a sister. No one out of her own family grieved more deeply than he for the death of Madame de Staël.

“ There is something confusing," wrote Sismondi to his mother, “ in a misfortune which has taken place at a distance; at first, one sees nothing changed around one, and it is only slowly and by degrees that one learns to know one's own grief. It is over, then, for me, this abode where I have lived so much, where I always felt myself so much and so happily at home!

that animating society, that magic-lantern of the world, which I there saw lighted up for the first time, and where I have learned so much! My life is grievously changed ; there

It is over,

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P. 39.

was no one, perhaps, to whom I owed more than to her. How I suffered on the day of her funeral! A discourse by the min. ister of Coppet at the bier, in presence of Madame de Broglie and Miss Randall kneeling before the coffin, had begun to soften my heart, to make me feel the full extent of my loss, and I could not restrain my tears.'

Four years afterwards he was called to suffer a still greater bereavement. While at Geneva, in September, 1821, the news arrived that his mother was dying at Pescia. He immediately set out, and travelled night and day to join her, but arrived too late. On the 30th of that month, feeling the approach of death, Madame de Sismondi had caused herself to be raised and carried to the window of her room, where, in sight of the rich landscape gilded by the setting sun, and with no regret but for the absence of her child, she expired. His father had died suddenly about eleven years before, and the only object of affection in his own family who now remained to Sismondi was a married sister, who resided at Pescia, to whom he was greatly attached, while he watched over the welfare of her children with constant and tender solicitude. His avocations, however, did not permit him to reside near them, and fortunately his own home now was not a solitary one. Two years before he had married Miss Jessy Allen, whose elder sister was the wife of his friend, Sir James Mackintosh. In her he had devoted and intellectual companion, who sympathized with him in his pursuits, while her accomplishments and sweetness of disposition were a constant source of cheerfulness and solace to him for the rest of his days.

He had purchased a country-house near Chêne, about three miles from Geneva, where he resided after his marriage. Except occasional journeys to France, Italy, and England, he passed the last twenty years of his life at this place, devoted assiduously to his literary employments, and entertaining many visitors, especially those who had been driven from their own homes by their exertions in the cause of freedom. The Genevese were proud of him, and many distinguished foreigners were drawn to his doors by his widely diffused reputation. The larger portion of the day was given to his studies and labor with the pen, the remainder to the exercise of walking, and to numerous correspondents in all the countries of Europe, and the evening always - No. 138.

6

VOL. LXVI.

וי

which he loved as much as his own. Madame de Staël received him, on his return, with as much kindness as ever, but his friends at Geneva looked coldly upon him ; with all their esteern and respect for his motives, they could not soon forget his momentary adhesion to the cause of the Emperor. Conscious of the purity of his own intentions, and of his steadfast attachment to the cause of freedom, Sismondi did not attempt to justify himself, but sought refuge in his work. “I have always endeavoured to forget myself," he said ; " and, thanks to my studies, I can live in other ages than my own.

But he never suffered the habits of a recluse or the tastes of a student to deaden his sympathies, or lessen his interest in public affairs. He was no politician, not even a political gossip ; but whenever a crisis arose in the affairs either of his own country or of any other, in which he thought the interests of humanity or the well-being of the poorer classes were concerned, his voice and influence were sure to be exerted to the utmost. He wrote warmly against the slave-trade in 1817, he advocated powerfully the emancipation of Greece six years afterwards. 6. The love of the human race was in him so sincere, so lively, so universal, that it had the power of giving him the greatest delight and the deepest affliction. It governed him to such a degree, that it affected the theories of his mind as well as the dispositions of his soul.”

A severe affliction was at hand for him in the loss of a friend who had contributed more than any one, except his mother, to his enjoyment and to the direction of his thoughts and character. In July, 1817, he was called to Coppet, whither had just been brought the body of her who had so long been its chief attraction, and who had been to him as a guide and a sister. No one out of her own family grieved more deeply than he for the death of Madame de Staël.

“ There is something confusing," wrote Sismondi to his mother, “in a misfortune which has taken place at a distance; at first, one sees nothing changed around one, and it is only slowly and by degrees that one learns to know one's own grief. It is over, then, for me, - this abode where I have lived so much, where I always felt myself so much and so happily at home! It is over, - that animating society, that magic-lantern of the world, which I there saw lighted up for the first time, and where I have learned so much! My life is grievously changed; there

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