ence of matter, and at the same time as little considered. Superficial thinkers who read them will say to themselves, "It needed no ghost to tell us that!" but the truly discerning will value them as the exponents of the artist's character and purposes. Those who have hearts themselves will need no panegyrist to point to the greatness or the value to art, of those few sentences about the divine Rafaelle; but there are a sort who will prefer to fancy themselves wiser by reading long pages of technicalities, that never come to the purpose. Mr. Jenkinson, in the Vicar of Wakefield, instructs George how to make a figure among connoisseurs of this calibre : "You will do very well if you observe two rules always remark that the picture would have been better if the artist had taken more pains, and secondly, always praise the works of Pietro Perugino."

Had only the principles which might be deduced from the few passages respecting painting, in the opening chapters of this story, (we have not quoted half of them,) been brought out, illustrated, invested, with the care a person would have used toward them to whom they were his whole stock in trade, we should have had volumes instead of paragraphs. But the author of Monaldi was too rich in ideas of his art, and its works, to care to husband his thoughts; neither could he be profuse or ostentatious in the display of them. He simply introduces them because they are essential to the development of his ideal character, whom he, naturally enough, made a painter. And the result is, that they are in reality far more effective than they could have been in the garb of formal criticism.

For they come to us under the modifying influences of the author's imaginative power. That is to say, the tone and keeping of the tale, the expression which seems to clothe the face of him who is all through talking with us, his character as here written down, gives a force and meaning to his words which otherwise they could not have. We know better how Rafaelle must have appeared to him, from the manifestation he has given of himself. We learn to see with his eyes. Hence this tale is fuller of instruction for artists than a cold, ill-natured, or low-minded book could possibly be, though it were stuffed

with acuteness and technical learning. The lustre of the painter's radiant soul shines over it; the silent power of his imagination bears us along with him through a more noble and refined life, than we could venture to image to ourselves in this dusty road of ordinary existence. We rise from reading him with a feeling that the old boyish notion of a gentleman was not so wholly absurd as the bad world would make us believe. We feel our confidence refreshed, the manly pride invigorated, the resolution established. Come not near us now, thou dark phantom of Care, nor you, ye bitter mockeries of the Past! For here is a charm, that is proof against your most deadly influences-the impierceable armor of the spirit of youth. We feel as we read, that the glory and the dream shall not pass away; and that, though we have fallen, yet will we not be utterly cast down, for underneath this gloomy, actual day, there is a greener earth and a serener heaven, where souls who have tasted the fern seed of high conceits, may walk invisible, apart from their muddy vesture of decay!

And what is most excellent in the imagined phase in which this work is conceived and wrought, is that it is not a condition put on, or with difficulty assumed, and widely differing from the writer's actual state, but it seems a part of his real life. He must have passed his days in the habit of thinking and feeling he here exhibits as author. For so, and not otherwise, could he have attained this peculiar, marked, simple elegance of style, thought, and tone, upon which we have been commenting. His daily walk and conversation could not have been far below the level of this volume-lofty and pure as it is. Had it been so, we should have had a greater impetuosity and less certainty; we should not have had more of a tendency to fine bursts and relapses, and less perfection in every part. The fire of genius, instead of burning with a steady glow, would have now flamed up, now died away into a fitful glimmer.

But there are many observers who cannot see any fire except that which is wrathfully blazing. They judge of genius by the immediate difficulties it overcomes, and think that alone powerful which bears up its possessors for short periods with

66

THE work, the title of which is prefixed to this article, has attracted much notice in Europe, as imbodying the opinions of a man of acknowledged genius, on a subject of great and lasting interest. M. De Lamartine offers his book to the public, not as a complete history of the events he relates, but as a sketch in which some of the causes and effects of the French Revolution are rapidly developed; and the particular agency of a small, but powerful party, in the struggle of a nation for its rights, forms the chief subject of investigation. This recital," says the author, "has none of the pretensions of history, and should not affect its gravity." We own we do not see much reason for this disclaimer: M. De Lamartine's work, as far as it extends, is a history in the fullest sense of the word; men and events are drawn, not with the indistinctness of outline and expression which marks a mere sketch, but with the lights and shadows of a finished picture. Every material circumstance, from the flight of the King to the fall of Robespierre, finds its place in this record; and each prominent individual, from Mirabeau to Marat, is portrayed with vigor and seeming truth. The style, though brilliant, is occasionally clouded by metaphysical subtleties; it partakes, too, of that dramatic character, which may sometimes lead to the substitution of fiction for fact, but has always the merit of keeping the reader's attention alive, and of imparting to the narrative an interest that seldom flags.

Though M. De Lamartine disclaims for his work the dignity of historical character, it is certainly not with the view of escaping the responsibility of the historian. He has not burthened his work with references to authorities; neither appendix, nor notes, reveal the sources of his information; but he pledges his word, that he has

|

put nothing on record for which he cannot quote both chapter and verse, and if the truth of his statements be assailed, professes his willingness to defend it. It would have been better, wherever he differs from his predecessors in matters of fact, to have assigned at once the grounds of that difference. The instances cannot be so numerous or important, as to have much impeded the march of the narrative. Another error which, with due respect be it written, he seems to us to have committed, is the introduction in his book of matter which, though not adventitious, yet might better have been reserved for utterance on another occasion. He is now engaged in the history of the Constituent Assembly, a work in which his just and philosophic view of the influence of Voltaire and Rousseau on the spirit of their age, would appear, certainly, with more propriety.

The death of Mirabeau has been selected by the author, as the starting point of his story. This extraordinary man, notwithstanding his private vices, had in public life an integrity of purpose, which, united with his genius, might have enabled him to secure two objects apparently incompatible-the freedom of the people, and the authority of the crown. The correspondence found in the iron chest at the Tuilleries, proves, that he had pledged himself to the King, so to direct the current of revolutionary opinion, as to preserve to the throne its due share of political influence; but by what means he would have executed this purpose, must be left to conjecture. Mirabeau was not likely to miscalculate his strength: no man of his time possessed in an equal degree the faculty of lifting the veil from the face of the future, nor was there one among the statesmen of that age, who, like him, could mould circumstances to his will, and "pluck safety out of dan

ger."

His last words prove that he distinctly foresaw, that at his death, France would become the prey of factious fury, and firmly believed, that had his life been spared he could have averted the evil. On this subject, M. De Lamartine is a skeptic, and his doubts rest on the fact, that as far as they are known, the means relied on by Mirabeau seem disproportioned to the end proposed. This may be, yet the whole current of the world's story shows, that great effects arise from trifling causes; and we learn from the very narrative before us, that on more than one occasion, the Revolution might have been essentially modified by the action of a single determined will.

It was a part of Mirabeau's project, that the King should leave Paris secretly, join De Bouillé's army, and put himself in a position to negotiate on equal terms with his refractory subjects, while the orator himself should remain in the capital, and so operate on the fears and hopes of the National Assembly, as to promote a reestablishment of law and order on a basis too solid to be afterwards shaken. The plan was feasible, yet before it could be executed, he who gave it was carried to the grave, and the King forced to seek counsel and assistance from men who could bring nought to his service, save personal courage and devotion. The project of a flight was, however, adhered to; and on the 20th of June, 1791, the royal family, eluding the guards at the palace, set forth on its adventurous journey. Ill-combined movements on the part of the Marquis De Bouillé, together with the concurrence of fortuitous events, led to the failure of this attempt. Louis was arrested at Varrennes, and carried back to Paris-a sovereign, yet a prisoner. It was then, that for the first time, the word "Republic" was spoken not by the National Assembly, for a majority of its members still clung to the constitution they had created-but by the Cordeliers and Jacobins, two political clubs, which, even at this date, may be said to have governed France, since in their bosom were engendered those doctrines which, through the medium of affiliated societies, were soon spread and adopted in every quarter of the kingdom.

The National Assembly was, at this period, divided into three parties: the Monarchists, who blindly clung to old abuses,

|

and thoroughly detested the Revolution and its works; the Constitutionalists, who, full of faith in the newly formed government, wished for this thing of their making a length of life proportioned to its supposed excellence; and the Republicans, few in number, but ardent in temper, who saw in what had been done only a ground-work for further change, and looked to time and exertion for the realization of their hopes. The first party was led by Maury, Montlozier, Montesquiou and De Pradt; the second by Barnave, the Lameths and Duport; and the third recognized among its chiefs, one whose name was destined to obtain a terrible celebrity,-MAXIMILIAN ROBESPierre.

This

Indignant at the King's captivity, (and there were circumstances attending the arrest of Louis, calculated to rouse indignation,) the Monarchists determined to remain in the Assembly silent witnesses of what was to ensue, and show their disapprobation only by a refusal to speak or vote. was abandoning the field to the enemy; and the first effect of this ill-advised measure was, to encourage the Republicans to try how far the maxims prevalent in the clubs would find countenance and support in the National Assembly. On this occasion, Robespierre was the mouth-piece of his party, and was answered by Barnave, who, as leader of the Constitutionalists, held the doctrine, that the King's person was inviolable, and that his temporary absence could not justify, on the part of the Assembly, a measure so violent as that of deposition. This speech, the ablest that Barnave ever made, and which alone is sufficient to fix his reputation as a great orator, carried with it a large majority of votes, and for a time, all danger was averted of witnessing the death of a constitution which had just been called into life.

The Republicans were not dispirited by this check. The Press, that mighty engine of mischief as of good, enabled them to fill the public mind with angry suspicions. The King, the Queen, the most eminent members of the constitutional party, became objects of reiterated attack. sarcastic wit of Des Moulins, the subtle sophistry of Brissot, the crazy denunciations of Marat, found daily employment; and the result of these labors was soon visible in tumultuary meetings of the people, and

The