Literary Women.
_SECTION I.—HANNAH MORE._
“Great as her fame has been, I never considered it equal to her merit.
Such a fine and complete combination of talent and goodness, and of
zeal and discretion, I never witnessed. All her resources, influences,
and opportunities, were simply and invariably made to subserve one
purpose, in which she aimed to live, not to herself, but to Him who
died for us and rose again.”—
WILLIAM JAY.
_LITERATURE._
Every piece of composition takes up, and must take up, as its basis,
some element or assumption of fact,—states, affirms, or denies
something; but unless it be animated by imagination, it is not
literature. The power of seeing and expressing the æsthetic element in
nature and life is that which entitles a composition to be regarded as
a literary product. It is this element which inspires, vitalises, and
gives immortality to a production, whether it be an address to a
mountain daisy, or a history of the world. Science may become obsolete
through the progress of discovery, polemics may become irrelevant
through the progress of society, but literature is ever new, and never
old; it is enduring as the great features of nature which are imaged in
it, and the manifold aspects of human life from which it derives its
chief value and fascination. The dominion of popular writing is being
increased at a most marvellous rate. Literature is now crowned as the
very chiefest monarch of these times. On many topics we differ, but
editors, authors, critics, and all the disseminators of literature, are
unanimous as to the necessity of the diffusion of knowledge. What a
mine of intellectual wealth has that admirable art, the art of
printing, now laid open to all! A lifetime would not exhaust those
treasures of delight supplied by English genius alone. Not only have we
men gifted with the highest attributes of mind, writing entertaining,
instructive, suggestive, Christian, and progressive books; but women in
every department of literature have taken up, not by courtesy, but by
right, a full and conspicuous place. Not a few of these authoresses
heard “that Divine and nightly-whispering voice, which speaks to mighty
minds of predestinated garlands, starry and unwithering,” and have
already received their reward.
_BIOGRAPHY._
Hannah More has been long conspicuous among the lights of the world.
She was the youngest but one of five sisters, and was born on the 2nd
of February, 1745, at Stapleton, near Bristol. Jacob More and Mary
Grace educated all their daughters with a view to their future
occupation as schoolmistresses. They had all strong minds, sagacious
intellects, and superior capabilities for the acquisition of knowledge;
but Hannah seems to have combined in herself the chief excellencies of
all their characters. Her mental precocity was extraordinary. When
about three years old, her mother found that in listening to the
lessons taught her elder sisters, she had learned them for herself. She
wrote rhymes at the age of four, and before that period repeated her
catechism in the church in a manner which excited the admiration of the
clergyman, who had so recently received her at the font. Her nurse had
formerly lived in the family of Dryden, and little Hannah took great
delight in hearing stories about the great poet. Before she had
completed her eighth year, her thirst for knowledge became so
conspicuous, that her father, despite his horror at female pedantry,
had begun to instruct her in Grecian and Roman history, classics and
mathematics. Under the tuition of her elder sister Mary, she commenced
the study of French. We are not aware that she ever visited Paris, but
some French officers were frequently guests at her father’s table, and
these gentlemen always fixed upon Hannah as their interpreter. Hence
that free and elegant use of the language for which she was afterwards
distinguished.
The superior talents, sound principles, and excellent conduct of the
Misses More attracted notice and found patrons; and whilst still in
their youth, they found themselves established at the head of a school,
which long continued to be more flourishing than any other in the west
of England. Miss Hannah sedulously availed herself of the instructions
of masters in the Italian and Spanish languages. For her knowledge of
the physical sciences, she was largely indebted to the self-taught
philosopher, James Ferguson; and it is probable that her admirable
elocutionary powers were the result of lessons received from Mr.
Sheridan. In 1764, Sir James Stonehouse, who had been many years a
physician in large practice at Northampton, took holy orders, and came
to reside at Bristol, in the same street with the Miss Mores. Sir James
discerned Miss Hannah’s gifts, fostered her genius, directed her
theological studies, and remained through life her firm friend.
In 1767, she accepted the addresses of Edward Turner, Esq., of Belmont,
a man of large fortune, good character, and liberal education, but of a
gloomy and capricious temper, and almost double her own age. She
resigned her partnership in the school, and spared no expense in
fitting herself out to be his wife. Three times in the course of six
years the wedding-day was fixed, and as often postponed by her
affianced husband. Miss Hannah More’s health and spirits failed; she
could see no rational prospect of happiness with a man who could so
trifle with her feelings, and at last found resolution to terminate the
anxious and painful treaty. His mind, however, was ill at ease till he
was allowed to settle upon her an annuity of £200, having offered three
times that sum. At his death he also bequeathed her £1000. Her hand was
again solicited, but refused. Possibly her experience prompted her
sisters to spend their days in single blessedness.
One of the most important events in the life of Miss Hannah More, was
her first visit to London, in 1773. At that time, neither the habits of
people deemed religious, nor the scruples of her own mind, interdicted
her from visiting the theatre, and listening to Shakespeare speaking in
the person of that consummate actor, David Garrick. The character in
which she first saw him was Lear, and having written her opinion of
that wonderful impersonation to a mutual friend, who showed it to him,
the scenic hero called upon her at her lodgings in Henrietta Street,
Covent Garden. He was delighted with his new acquaintance, and took a
pride and pleasure in introducing her to the splendid circle in which
he moved. In six weeks she became intimate with the rank and talent of
the time. One of the two sprightly sisters who accompanied her to
London, graphically describes her first interview with the great
moralist of the eighteenth century. Miss Reynolds telling the doctor of
the rapturous exclamations of the sisters on the road, and Johnson
shaking his scientific head at Miss Hannah, and calling her “a silly
thing!” she seating herself in the lexicographer’s great chair, hoping
to catch a little ray of his genius, and he laughing heartily, and
assuring her that it was a chair in which he never sat. Miss Hannah
More’s quickness of repartee, aptness of quotation, and kindliness of
heart, won the favour of the leaders of society. But in the glittering
saloons of fashion, when senators and peers paid her homage, she stood
quiet and self-possessed. In 1775, while the first rich bloom still
rested on the fruits of her London experience, she remarks: “The more I
see of the honoured, famed, and great, the more I see of the
bitterness, the unsatisfactoriness, of all created good, and that no
earthly pleasure can fill up the wants of the immortal principle
within.” None could more thoroughly weigh popular acclaim, and more
firmly pronounce it the hosannas of a drivelling generation than this
young school-mistress.
Her religious views, which had always been decided, acquired, as years
rolled on, greater force and consistency. She never went to the theatre
after the death of her friend Garrick, in January, 1779—not even to
see her own tragedies performed. Step by step she was led to doubt
whether the life she was then living, although blameless, was in full
harmony with her own ideas of Christian truth. Whilst these questions
were agitating her mind, she produced, as a kind of index to her
spiritual state, a series of “sacred dramas,” which were even more
favourably received than any of her former publications. In 1786, she
withdrew from what she called “the world,” into the pleasant villages
of Gloucester and Somerset. In the parish of Wrington, she built a
cottage, which was called Cowslip Green. Here she laboured diligently,
and lived a life of active benevolence. When in her forty-third year,
she assumed the matronly style of _Mrs. More_, a fashion more prevalent
then than now. Among her most meritorious services, was the
establishment of Sunday and day schools, clothing associations, and
female benefit societies, throughout the mining district of the Mendip
Hills, where the people were almost in a state of semi-barbarism. It is
sad to have to record that these efforts, instead of receiving clerical
countenance and aid, were vigorously opposed by them. It is not
necessary to enter into the particulars of the commotion raised about
1799, by malevolent persons, against her schools, nor to do more than
allude to the unprovoked slanders and ridicule of literary rivals,
resolved at all hazards to rob her of her fame. For more than three
years, to use her own heart-felt words, she was “battered, hacked,
scalped, tomahawked.”
Many things determined Mrs. More to quit Cowslip Green. Perhaps the
most powerful was the purchase of a piece of ground in the vicinity.
Having selected a spot which commanded a view of the fine scenery of
the vale of Wrington, she built a comfortable mansion. With this
residence, her sisters were so pleased, that they disposed of their
property at Bath, and made Barley Wood their home, in 1802. The clouds
of obloquy had now broken up, and in the clear brightness which
succeeded, Mrs. More had thrown herself into fresh local charities, and
was engaged with new literary undertakings, when she received a severe
blow, in consequence of the death of Bishop Porteus, in 1809. A few
months before, he had paid a visit to Barley Wood. The bishop
bequeathed to Mrs. More a legacy of £100, and she consecrated to his
memory, in the plantation near her house, an urn, with an inscription
as unpretending as her sorrow was sincere.
The family circle which had remained unbroken for fifty-six years, now
approached inevitable dissolution. Mary, the eldest sister, died in
1813. Elizabeth, the second, sank to rest in 1816. Sarah, the third,
fell asleep in 1817. Martha, the fifth, departed this life in 1819. The
sisters had lived most happily together, and these bereavements were
felt by Mrs. More with all the keenness of her sensitive nature. The
poor people had been accustomed to look to Barley Wood as their chief
resource, and scarcely a day passed without the arrival of some
petitioner from the neighbourhood. For some weeks their visits had
ceased, and when Mrs. More asked the schoolmaster of Shipham the
reason, he answered, “Why, madam, they be so cut up, that they have not
the heart to come!”
Years rolled on, and Barley Wood once more became a place of general
resort. But its mistress was not destined to end her days in the home
where she had lived so long. The duties of housekeeping, when devolved
upon her in weakness and old age, proved too great a burden. When the
waste and misconduct of her servants became manifest, she tried to
correct the evil by mild remonstrance; but when at length discoveries
were made, calculated to represent her as the patroness of vice, or at
least as indifferent to its progress, she discharged her eight pampered
minions, and broke up her establishment at sweet Barley Wood. As she
was assisted into the carriage, she cast one pensive parting glance
upon the spot she loved best on earth, and gently exclaimed, “I am
driven like Eve out of paradise; but not like Eve, by angels.” On the
18th of April, 1828, she established herself at No. 4, Windsor Terrace,
Clifton.
In September, 1832, she had a serious illness, and from that period, a
decay of mental vigour was perceptible. At length, nature seemed to
shrink from further conflict, and the time of her deliverance drew
nigh. On the 7th of September, 1833, within five months of the
completion of her eighty-ninth year, she passed the barrier of time,
and joined that “multitude whom no man can number, who sing the praises
of God and of the Lamb for ever and ever.”
The shops in the city of Bristol were shut, and the church bells rang
muffled peals as the funeral procession of that child of a charity
schoolmaster moved along the streets to the grave in Wrington
churchyard. The mortal remains of the five sisters rest together under
a large slab stone, inclosed by an iron railing and overshadowed by a
yew-tree. A mural tablet in the parish church records their memory.
Mrs. Hannah More’s record is on high, and her virtues are inscribed on
an enduring monument: of her most truly it might be said—
“Marble need not mark thine ashes,
Sculpture need not tell of thee;
For thine image in thy writings
And on many a soul shall be.”
_SUCCESSFUL AUTHORSHIP._
Mrs. More as a woman of letters now demands our attention. Probably no
woman ever read more books, or to better purpose; had more extensive
opportunities of exercising the faculty of observation, or so
sagaciously improved it. Her command of language, erudite, rhetorical,
conversational, and colloquial, is commensurate with the noble
literature and tongue of Britain. In the days of her infancy, when she
could possess herself of a scrap of paper, her delight was to scribble
upon it some essay or poem, with some well-directed moral. One couplet
of an infantine satire on Bristol has been preserved:—
“This road leads to a great city,
Which is more populous than witty.”
At this period, she was wont to make a carriage of a chair, and then to
call her sisters to ride with her to London, to see bishops and
booksellers. In 1762, before she had completed her seventeenth year,
she wrote a pastoral drama, “The Search after Happiness,” which was
published in 1773, and in a short time ran through three editions. In
1774, she brought out a tragedy, “The Inflexible Captive.” The
following year it was acted at Exeter and Bath, with the greatest
applause, in the presence of a host of distinguished persons. In 1776,
she offered Cadell, the publisher, her legendary tale of “Sir Eldred of
the Bower,” and the little poem of the “Bleeding Rock,” which she had
written some years previously. She received forty guineas for them. In
1777, her tragedy of “Percy” was produced at Covent Garden theatre. The
success of the play was complete. An edition of nearly four thousand
copies was sold in a fortnight. The theatrical profits amounted to
£600, and for the copyright of the play she got £150 more. In 1779,
“The Fatal Falsehood” was published, and notwithstanding several
disadvantages, was well received. In 1782, she presented to the world a
volume of “Sacred Dramas,” with a poem annexed, entitled “Sensibility.”
They were extremely popular with the arbiters of taste, and sold with
extraordinary rapidity. In 1786, she published another volume of
poetry, “Florio: a Tale for Fine Gentlemen and Fine Ladies,” and “The
Bas Bleu; or, Conversation.” These received a welcome as enthusiastic
as if England had been one vast drawing-room, and she the petted
heiress, sure of social applause for all her sayings and doings. In
1788, appeared “Thoughts on the Importance of the Manners of the Great
to General Society.” It was published anonymously, but the writer was
soon recognised, and the book obtained an enormous sale. In 1791, she
issued a sequel to this work, under the title of “An Estimate of the
Religion of the Fashionable World.” It was bought up and read with the
same avidity as its predecessor. In 1792, she produced a dialogue,
called “Village Politics.” Thousands of copies were purchased by the
Government for gratuitous distribution, and it was translated into
several languages. In 1793, she published her “Remarks on the Speech of
M. Duport,” which brought her in more than £240. In 1795, she commenced
“The Cheap Repository,” consisting of tales, both in prose and verse.
The undertaking was continued for about three years, and each number
attained to a very large sale. In 1799, appeared her “Strictures on the
Modern System of Female Education.” Seven large editions were sold in
twelve months. In 1805, was produced, “Hints towards forming the
Character of a young Princess,” for which she received the thanks of
the queen and royal family. In 1809, she published “Cœlebs in search of
a Wife,” two volumes. The first edition was sold in a fortnight, and
eleven editions more were demanded in less than twelve months. In 1811,
“Practical Piety” made its appearance, in two volumes. It was worthy of
its large sale and great celebrity. In 1812, her “Christian Morals” was
brought out, in two volumes, and met with good reception, although not
equal to that of her two last works. In 1815, she published her “Essay
on the Character and Writings of St. Paul,” two volumes; a work which,
in the estimation of competent judges, more than sustained her previous
reputation. In 1818, at the request of Sir Alexander Johnston, she
wrote a dramatic piece, “The Feast of Freedom,” for translation into
the Cingalese language, to be performed by a native choir, at
anniversary celebrations of the 12th of August, 1816. In 1819, she
published her “Moral Sketches of Prevailing Opinions and Manners,
Foreign and Domestic, with Reflections on Prayer.” The first edition
was sold in one day, and realized £3000. The collection of her writings
is comprised in eleven volumes octavo.
Her books bear testimony to her many talents, good sense, and real
piety. There occur, every now and then, in her works, very original and
very profound observations, conveyed in the most brilliant and inviting
style. Her characters are often well drawn, her scenes well painted,
and she could be amusing in no ordinary degree when she liked. Although
we have no hesitation in admitting her into the long list of canonized
bards, yet it must be confessed that her literary renown is chiefly
derived from her prose works. She has been censured for the frequent
repetition of the same thought in different words. Superficial readers,
as well as hearers, require such a mode of composition. Iteration is
not tautology.
The great success of the different works of our authoress enabled her
to live at ease, and to dispense charities around her. She realized by
her pen alone, more than £30,000. Upwards of 50,000 copies of her
larger works were sold, while her tracts and ballads were circulated
over the country by millions. We venture to affirm that her books were
more numerous, that they passed through more editions, that they were
printed in more languages, and that they were read by more people, than
those of any other authoress upon record.
_CHARACTER OF MRS. MORE._
Genius is not often combined with a strong physical constitution. Mrs.
More was no exception to this rule; for although her general health was
about the average, she often composed under aches and pains which would
have entirely deterred others from the use of the pen. Her figure was
graceful, and her manners captivating. The eye, which her sisters
called “diamond,” and which the painters complained they could not put
upon canvas, coruscated, and her countenance sparkled, when engaged in
conversation. She knew that in all companies, she was a principal
object of attention, yet she never wore a jewel or trinket, or anything
of the merely ornamental kind, during her whole life, though much of
that life was spent in the society of the great and high-born.
In glancing at her intellectual character, the first thing that strikes
us is its versatility—a fact proved by this, that she frequently
appears in different compartments. Thus she was at once a poetess, a
dramatist, a fictionist, a moralist, a religious writer, and a
conversationalist. No wonder that she often received messages from His
Majesty King George the Third, from the Queen, and other members of the
royal family; and that her friendship was eagerly sought by coronets
and mitres. Mr. Roberts, one of her biographers, says:—“All the powers
of her mind were devoted to the solid improvement of society. Her aims
were all practical; and it would be difficult to name another who has
laid before the public so copious a variety of original thoughts and
reasonings, without any admixture of speculation or hypothesis.”
The moral capacity is the imperial crown of humanity. Veneration,
benevolence, conscientiousness, hope, faith, are the brightest jewels
of this crown. In Mrs. More, the moral sentiments were superior even to
the intellectual faculties. She exactly discerned the signs of the
times, and adroitly adapted her writings to the necessities of her
generation. All of them are more or less calculated to benefit society,
and never did personal example more strongly enforce preceptive
exhortation, than in the instance of this eminent and excellent woman.
_SECTION II.—ANNE GRANT._
“We have no hesitation in attesting our belief that Mrs. Grant’s
writings have produced a strong and salutary effect upon her
countrymen, who not only found recorded in them much of national
history and antiquities, which would otherwise have been forgotten, but
found them combined with the soundest and best lessons of virtue and
morality.”
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
_LETTER-WRITERS._
A good deal of literary fame has been won by letter-writing. It were
easy to name authors whose letters are generally considered as their
best works, and who owe their position in British literature, to those
pictures of society and manners, compounded of wit and gaiety, shrewd
observations, sarcasm, censoriousness, high life, and sparkling
language, for which their correspondence is remarkable. We might refer,
in proof of our position, to a celebrated peer, who was the most
accomplished man of his age. In point of morality his letters are not
defensible. Johnson said that they taught the morals of a courtesan
with the manners of a dancing-master. But they are also characterised
by good sense and refined taste, and are models of literary art. The
copyright was sold for £1500, and five editions were called for within
twelve months. Authoresses have also been distinguished for the
excellence and extent of their epistolary correspondence. We might
adduce as an example a noble lady, who to her myrtle-crown of beauty,
and her laurel-crown of wit, added the oaken-leaved crown,—the _corona
civica_,—due to those who have saved fellow-creatures’ lives. For
graphic power, clearness, and idiomatic grace of style, no less than as
pictures of foreign scenery, and manners, and decisiveness about life,
her letters have very few equals, and scarcely any superiors. There can
be no doubt as to the utility and importance of letter-writing, yet few
seem to cultivate with care this department. But let us rejoice, that
though the excuses and apologies of the majority prove that they are
not what we conventionally term good correspondents, yet there are some
splendid exceptions, who are aware of the importance of this art as a
means of promoting social affection, and moral pleasure and profit, and
whose style scarcely yields in simplicity, playfulness, and ease, to
the eminent examples already cited.
_BIOGRAPHY._
Anne Macvicar, was born at Glasgow, on the 21st of February, 1755. She
was an only child. Her father, Duncan Macvicar, she describes as having
been “a plain, brave, pious man.” He appears to have been brought up to
an agricultural life, but having caught the military spirit, which in
that day was almost universal among the Scottish Highlanders, he became
an officer in the British army. Her mother was a descendant of the
ancient family of Stewart of Invernahyle in Argyleshire. She was a
Lowlander only by the mere accident of her birthplace. Nursed at
Inverness, the home of her grandmother, the earliest sights and sounds
with which she was familiar, were those of Highland scenery and
Highland tongues.
In a paper containing a rapid view of her childhood, she says, “I began
to live to the purposes of feeling, observation, and recollection, much
earlier than children usually do. I was not acute, I was not sagacious,
but I had an active imagination and uncommon powers of memory. I had no
companion; no one fondled or caressed me, far less did any one take the
trouble of amusing me. I did not till the sixth year of my age possess
a single toy. A child with less activity of mind, would have become
torpid under the same circumstances. Yet whatever of purity of thought,
originality of character, and premature thirst for knowledge
distinguished me from other children of my age, was, I am persuaded,
very much owing to these privations. Never was a human being less
improved, in the sense in which that expression is generally
understood; but never was one less spoiled by indulgence, or more
carefully preserved from every species of mental contagion. The result
of the peculiar circumstances in which I was placed had the effect of
making me a kind of anomaly very different from other people, and very
little influenced by the motives, as well as very ignorant of the modes
of thinking and acting, prevalent in the world at large.” These
singular influences directed her to authorship in the first instance,
and gave much of its interest to what she wrote.
When eighteen months old, she was brought back to Glasgow, that her
father might have a parting look of her before leaving his native
country for America, in the 77th regiment of foot. His wife and
daughter remained in Glasgow, in the eastern extremity of the town.
Probably from hearing her mother describing the New World as westward,
Anne Macvicar set out one Sunday evening, when only two years and eight
months old, and walked a mile to the west of the Trongate. A lady saw,
with some surprise, a child neatly dressed in white, with bare head and
bare arms, walking alone in the middle of the street. She asked her
where she came from; but the only answer was, “from mamma’s house.”
Then she inquired where she was going, and was told in a very imperfect
manner “to America, to seek papa.” However, while the lady was lost in
wonder, a bell was heard in the street, and the public crier had the
pleasure of restoring the young traveller to her mother.
In 1758, she arrived with her mother at Charleston, and soon after they
were settled at Claverock, where Mr. Macvicar was stationed with a
party of Highlanders. Here she not only learned to read, but to love
truth and simplicity. Her father meanwhile being engaged in active
service.
In 1760, he returned from the campaign, and they went to Albany, on the
Hudson River, where she saw the Highland soldiers dragging through the
streets the cannon destined for the attack on the Havannah. She thus
describes an excursion about this time up the Hudson in boats. “We had
a most romantic journey; sleeping sometimes in the woods, sometimes in
forts, which formed a chain of posts in the then trackless wilderness.
We had no books but the Bible and some military treatises; but I grew
familiar with the Old Testament; and a Scotch sergeant brought me
‘Blind Harry’s Wallace;’ which by the aid of such sergeant, I conned so
diligently, that I not only understood the broad Scotch, but caught an
admiration for heroism, and an enthusiasm for Scotland, that ever since
has been like a principle of life.”
She returned from Oswego to Albany in 1766; and, on her way back, a
Captain Campbell gave her a handsome copy of Milton; concerning which
she says, “I studied, to very little purpose no doubt, all the way down
in the boat; but which proved a treasure to me afterwards, as I never
rested till I found out the literal meaning of the words; and, in
progress of time, at an age I am ashamed to mention, entered into the
full spirit of it. If I had ever any elevation of thought, expansion of
mind, or genuine taste for the sublime or beautiful, I owe it to my
diligent study of this volume.” Facts prove that the growth of mind is
best promoted by that which at first it is capable of understanding
only partially. This is clear from what came out of Anne Macvicar’s
study of Paradise Lost. The most eminent woman in Albany at that time
was the widow of Colonel Schuyler. Her house was the resort of all
strangers, whose manners or conduct entitled them to her regard. Her
ancestors, understanding, and education, gave her great influence in
society, which was increased by the liberal use she made of her large
fortune. “Some time after our arrival at Albany,” writes our authoress,
“I accompanied my parents one evening to visit Madame Schuyler, whom I
regarded as the Minerva of my imagination, and treasured all her
discourses as the veritable words of wisdom. The conversation fell upon
dreams and forewarnings. I rarely spoke till spoken to at any time; but
of a sudden the spirit moved me to say that bad angels sometimes
whispered dreams into the soul. When asked for my authority, I
surprised every one, but myself most of all, by a long quotation from
Eve’s fatal dream infusing into her mind the ambition that led to
guilt. After this happy quotation I became a great favourite, and
Madame Schuyler never failed to tell any one who had read Milton of the
origin of her partiality.” At this time Anne Macvicar was hardly seven
years old.
Mr. Macvicar, like most Scotchmen, had the faculty of making money, and
with the view of settling in America had obtained a large grant of
land, and had purchased several valuable properties, the market value
of which was every day rising. Miss Macvicar was looked upon as an
heiress; but her father, falling into bad health, was obliged to return
to Scotland in 1768, bringing his wife and daughter along with him. He
had left America without being able to dispose of his property, and on
the breaking out of the revolutionary war, the whole was confiscated by
the republican government.
In 1773, her father was appointed barrack master of Fort Augustus, in
Inverness-shire. Here she first met the Rev. James Grant, a young
clergyman of refined mind, sound principle, and correct judgment. At
that time he was chaplain to the garrison, but in 1776, he became the
minister of Laggan, a neighbouring parish, and in 1779, was united in
marriage to Miss Macvicar. In that Highland parish, fifty miles from
Perth, and the same distance from Inverness, they lived contentedly in
the chosen lot of Agur.
Time flowed on characterised by the usual amount of shadow and
sunshine. In 1801, her husband was carried off by consumption; and she
found herself burdened with the care of eight children, to which was
added the pressure of some pecuniary obligations incurred by a too
liberal hospitality. The children inherited the same insidious disease.
Three sank under their mother’s eyes in infancy, and the eldest, who
held a commission in the army, died a few months before his father. Of
twelve sons and daughters only one survived her.
All her certain income was a small pension from the War Office, to
which she was entitled in consequence of her husband having obtained a
military chaplaincy a few years before his death. In these
circumstances, her first step was to take charge of a small farm in the
neighbourhood of Laggan; but this expedient soon failed.
In 1803, she unwillingly removed from Laggan to Woodend, now called
Gartur, two miles south-west of Stirling, a place of unrivalled beauty.
In 1806, we find Mrs. Grant residing in Stirling, so renowned in
Scottish history, and supporting herself and family by literature.
In 1810, Mrs. Grant removed from Stirling to Edinburgh, where she spent
the remainder of her life, distinguished in society for her great
talents, and esteemed for her many virtues. Her object in making the
capital her home, and the circle in which she mingled, are fully
described in her correspondence.
In 1820, she fell down a stair, which caused serious injury, followed
by long and severe suffering, and by lameness for the rest of her days.
In 1825, a pension, which at first amounted to only £50, but was
afterwards increased to £100 per annum, was granted her by government,
in consequence of an application in her behalf, which was drawn out by
Sir Walter Scott, and subscribed by the most distinguished literati in
Edinburgh; who therein declared their belief that Mrs. Grant had
rendered eminent services to the cause of religion, morality,
knowledge, and taste.
Notwithstanding many and heavy family trials, this strong-hearted woman
continued to correspond with her friends, and receive those who visited
her, until the end of October, 1838, when she was seized with a severe
attack of influenza. Her son was with her during her last illness, and
she was sedulously attended by a lady and servants. She died at her
house 9, Manor Place, on the 7th November, 1838, at the advanced age of
eighty-four years.
A few days afterwards, a mournful multitude followed her remains to the
cemetery of St. Cuthbert’s, then nearly new. She was buried near the
graves of four of her daughters. Her son erected a monument to her
memory.
_LITERARY CAREER._
We receive a vast amount of education from the localities in which we
live. From the sketch of her own life it is evident that Mrs. Grant was
well aware of the educative influence of scenery. Who can tell how much
she learned, during the ten years she lived beside the vast lakes, the
magnificent rivers, and the primæval forests of America; and the thirty
years spent amid the beauties and glories of the Highlands, apart from
all set teaching, away from all formal schools. It is good to see the
horizon one red line, pointing like a finger to the unrisen sun—to
hear the earliest notes of the birds—to trample on the emerald grass
and the blooming heather—to notice the “morning spread upon the
mountains,” peak telegraphing to peak that the king of day has just
entered the sky—to listen to such stories as lonely hills and misty
moors alone can inspire. In this sublime natural system of education,
Mrs. Grant had a large share. It stirred her warm imagination, and
nourished her poetic faculty.
After the death of her excellent husband, Mrs. Grant had mainly to
depend for bread to herself and children, upon her own exertions. In
these circumstances she was led to try whether she could not better her
fortunes by the exercise of her literary talents, hitherto employed
only for her own amusement and the gratification of a few intimate
friends. Her first essay at poetry was scrawled in a kind of Miltonic
verse, when little more than nine years old. She wrote no more till she
wandered on the banks of the Cart, and afterwards at Fort Augustus, and
again upon her way home to Laggan, after spending some months at
Glasgow. All these scraps she gave away, without preserving a single
copy. But the friends among whom Mrs. Grant scattered her verses
carefully treasured them, and in 1803, her first publication—“The
Highlanders, and other Poems”—was announced to be published by
subscription; and so well did her friends exert themselves, that three
thousand subscribers were soon procured. This volume, though not
reviewed in the most flattering terms, was well received by the public;
and its profits enabled Mrs. Grant to discharge her debts. The
following description of the Highland poor, is from the principal poem
in the collection:—
“Where yonder ridgy mountains bound the scene,
The narrow opening glens that intervene
Still shelter, in some lonely nook obscure,
One poorer than the rest, where all are poor:
Some widowed matron, hopeless of relief,
Who to her secret breast confines her grief;
Dejected sighs the wintry night away,
And lonely muses all the summer day.
Her gallant sons, who, smit with honour’s charms,
Pursued the phantom Fame through war’s alarms,
Return no more; stretched on Hindostan’s plain,
Or sunk beneath the unfathomable main,
In vain her eyes the watery waste explore
For heroes—fated to return no more!”
“The Highlanders,” which gives the title to the book, is a poetical
regret at the hard fate that forced so many to emigrate. The other
poems are on a variety of topics, chiefly in illustration of the
manners of the people among whom she lived. Take the following stanza
on a sprig of heather:—
“Flower of the wild! whose purple glow
Adorns the dusky mountain’s side,—
Not the gay hues of Iris’ horn,
Nor garden’s artful varied pride;
With all its wealth of sweets could cheer,
Like thee, the hardy mountaineer.”
One of her songs, commencing, “Oh, where, tell me where?” written on
the occasion of the Marquis of Huntly’s departure for Holland with his
regiment, the 92nd, or Gordon Highlanders, in 1799, has become
generally known. We select the following verse as a specimen:—
“Oh, what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie wear?
Oh, what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie wear?
A bonnet with a lofty plume, the gallant badge of war,
And a plaid across the manly breast that soon shall wear a star;
A bonnet with a lofty plume, the gallant badge of war,
And a plaid across the manly breast that soon shall wear a star.”
The merit, however, of Mrs. Grant’s poems was really slight; but
success prompted another attempt at authorship. The result was her best
and most popular work, the “Letters from the Mountains,” which was
published in 1806, went through several editions, and was highly
appreciated among the talented and influential men of the day. No
person was so much astonished as herself on hearing that “Letters from
the Mountains,” divided with some other publications the attention of
readers. In October, 1807, she writes:—“Longman, who is doubtless the
prince of booksellers, has written me a letter, expressed with such
delicacy and liberality as is enough to do honour to all Paternoster
Row: he tells me that the profits of the second edition of the Letters
amount to £400, of which they keep £100 to answer for bad debts and
uncalculated expenses, and against the beginning of next year I get the
other £300.” Publishers, as a rule, deal liberally with popular
writers. “Memoirs of an American Lady, with Sketches, Manners, and
Scenery in America, as they existed previous to the Revolution,” were
published in 1808. She received £200 as profits from the New World.
“Essays on the Superstitions of the Highlanders of Scotland, with
Traditions from the Gaelic,” appeared in 1811; and in no degree
detracted from her well-earned literary reputation. A poem, entitled
“Eighteen Hundred and Thirteen,” was published in 1814. Afterwards her
pen was occasionally employed in magazine contributions. In 1821, the
Highland Society of London awarded her their gold medal for the best
essay on the “Past and Present State of the Highlands of Scotland.”
In the words of a competent critic, “The writings of this lady display
a lively and observant fancy, and considerable powers of landscape
painting. They first drew attention to the more striking and romantic
features of the Scottish highlands, afterwards so fertile a theme for
the genius of Scott.”
_CHARACTER OF MRS. GRANT._
Mrs. Grant was tall, and, in her youth, slender, but after her accident
she became rather corpulent. In her later years she was described as a
venerable ruin; so lame as to be obliged to walk with crutches, and
even with that assistance her motions were slow and languid. Her broad
and noble forehead, relieved by the parted grey hair, excelled even
youthful beauty. There was a dignity and a sedateness in her carriage
which rendered her highly interesting, and her excellent constitution
bore her through a great deal.
Her conversation was original and characteristic; frank, yet far from
rude; replete at once with amusement and instruction. For nearly thirty
years she was a principal figure in the best and most intellectual
society of the Scottish metropolis; and to the last her literary
celebrity made her an object of curiosity and attraction to strangers
from all parts of the world. The native simplicity of her mind, and an
entire freedom from all attempt at display, made the youngest person
feel in the presence of a friend. Her extensive correspondence, she
believed, had a tendency to prolong her life. She was fond of having
flowers and birds in her sitting room. Nature in all her phases,
aspects, and transitions, had charms for her. Notwithstanding her
increasing infirmities, and even with the accumulated sorrows of her
peculiar lot, she did not find old age so dark and unlovely as the
Celtic bard.
The cheerfulness of Mrs. Grant, and the lively appreciation she had of
everything done to promote her comfort, rendered her, to the latest
period of her prolonged existence, a delightful companion; while the
warm interest she felt in whatever contributed to the happiness of
others, kept her own affections alive. She was left a widow, without
fortune, and with a large family dependent upon her for their
subsistence. Surely if any one had a clear title of immunity from the
obligation to carry her cares beyond her own threshold, it was this
woman. Yet she devoted much of her time to benevolent efforts. If there
was any quality of her well-balanced mind which stood out more
prominently than another, it was that benevolence which made her study
the comfort of every person who came in contact with her. Many and hard
were her struggles for life, but she never lost confidence in Divine
goodness.
_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.
_SECTION IV.—CAROLINA, BARONESS NAIRNE._
“For winning simplicity, graceful expression, and exquisite pathos, her
compositions are specially remarkable; but when her muse prompts to
humour, the laugh is sprightly and overpowering.”
CHARLES ROGERS, LL.D.
_WHAT IS POETRY?_
It is much easier to give a negative than a positive answer to this
question. All that we seem to have arrived at is, _Poeta nascitur non
fit_; and that no amount or kind of culture can bestow the divine
afflatus. Hesiod, in his “Theogony,” exhibits the Muses in the
performance of their highest functions, singing choral hymns to their
Heavenly Father, but gives no proper definition of poetry. Aristotle,
in his treatise on “The Poetic,” does not explain its essence, but
merely its principal forms. Dr. Johnson has attempted to define poetry
in these words: “Poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with truth, by
calling imagination to the aid of reason.” But it is well known that
poetry often unites pleasure to what is not truth. According to Dr.
Blair, “Poetry is the language of passion or enlivened imagination,
formed most commonly into regular numbers.” This seems a pretty near
approach to a true definition. Still it is defective, for there are
parts of poetry which are not included either under “passion or
enlivened imagination.” Competent critics will admit that a true
definition seizes and exhibits the distinctive element and speciality
of the thing defined; and tried by this test every definition we are
acquainted with fails in doing the very thing required—determining
what may be called the “differential mark” of poetry. Perhaps this
question, which has so long puzzled the literary world, may be
incapable of a categorical answer, but it seems to us essentially to
consist of fine thoughts, deeply felt, and expressed in vivid and
melodious language. Poets and poetesses see farther than other people,
feel more deeply, and utter what they see and feel better. All history
testifies that the poetry which has come down to us most deeply stamped
with approbation, and which appears most likely to see and glorify the
ages of the future, has been penetrated and inspired by moral purpose,
and warmed by religious feeling. Our great kings and queens of song,
are alike free from morbid weakness, moral pollution, and doubtful
speculation. Such only may hope to send their names down, in thunder
and in music, through the echoing aisles of the future. All lasting
fame must rest on a good foundation.
_BIOGRAPHY._
The maiden name of the subject of this sketch was Carolina Oliphant.
She was the third daughter and fifth child of Laurence Oliphant, Esq.,
of Gask, Perthshire, who had espoused his cousin Margaret Robertson, a
daughter of Duncan Robertson, of Strowan, and his wife a daughter of
the second Lord Nairne. The Oliphants of Gask were cadets of the
formerly noble house of Oliphant; whose ancestor, Sir William Oliphant,
of Aberdalgie, a powerful knight, acquired distinction in the beginning
of the fourteenth century by defending the castle of Stirling, against
a formidable siege by the first Edward. Carolina was born in the
mansion house of Gask, on the 16th of July, 1766. Her father was so
keen a Jacobite, that she, along with other two of his children, were
named after Prince Charles Edward. Even the Prayer-Books which he put
into his children’s hands had the names of the exiled family pasted
over those of the reigning one. He could not bear the name of the
“German lairdie and his leddy,” to be mentioned in his presence, and
when any of the family read the newspapers to him, the reader was
sharply reproved if their majesties were designated anything else than
the “K—— and Q——.” The antecedents of the family naturally produced
this strong feeling. Carolina’s father and grandfather had borne arms
under Prince Charles in the fatal campaign of 1745-6, which crushed for
ever the hopes of the Stuarts; and her grandmother had a lock from the
hair of the young Chevalier, which was given to her the day it was cut.
The childhood of Carolina Oliphant was thus passed amidst family
traditions eminently fitted to stir her warm imagination. Not only so,
the natural surroundings of her home were of the kind to nourish the
poetic faculty. It was the
“Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood,”
where green vales bedeck the landscape with verdure and beauty;
farmhouses stand half-way up the braes, shadowed with birches; and old
castles frown in feudal dignity. Amid such magic scenes, Miss Oliphant
grew into that loving familiarity with nature in all its various moods,
which imparts to her verses one of their many charms. She entered
eagerly into all the pleasures which the world can afford its votaries.
So energetic was she in her gaiety, that “finding at a ball, in a
watering-place, that the ladies were too few for the dance, she drove
home, and awoke a young friend at midnight, and stood in waiting till
she was equipped to follow her to the dance.”
But although no mere selfish, frivolous, fine lady, bent solely upon
her own enjoyments, yet it might be said of her, “one thing thou
lackest.” That best gift, however, was soon to be hers. The kingdom of
heaven was brought near to her, and through grace, unlike the young man
in the gospel, she did not turn away because of her possessions. “She
was on a visit to the old castle of Murthly, where an English clergyman
had also arrived. He was a winner of souls. At morning worship she was
in her place with the household, and listened to what God’s ambassador
said on the promise, ‘Him that cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast
out.’ That forenoon she was seen no more. When she appeared again her
beautiful face was spoiled with weeping. Beneath the eye of faith, how
does the aspect of all things change! She had caught a glimpse of the
glory of the Son of God, and burned with love to Him of whom she could
henceforth say, ‘Whose I am and whom I serve.’ Her pen, her pencil, her
harp, as afterwards her coronet, were laid at His feet, to be
henceforth used, _used up_ by and for the King.”
Many lovers had sought in vain the hand of Miss Carolina Oliphant, but
on June the 6th, 1806, she married her maternal cousin William Murray
Nairne, who was Inspector-General of Barracks in Scotland, and held the
rank of major in the army. His hereditary title was Baron Nairne, but
it was one of the titles attainted by the rebellion.
Her wedded life was one of great happiness. Blest in the husband of her
fondest affection, and encircled with all the endearing delights of
domestic enjoyment, the union was a delightful one; the husband and
wife lived as joint-heirs of the grace of life; one in the family, in
the social circle, and in the house of God; singing the same song,
joining in the same prayer, and feasting on the same comforts. The sun
seldom rose on a happier habitation. An only child, William, was born
in 1808.
Mrs. Nairne seems to have judged correctly as to her true vocation.
Shocked with the grossness of the songs in popular use, she determined
to purify the lyrics of her country; and while doing this she contrived
carefully to conceal the worker. First she sent some verses to the
president of an agricultural dinner held in the neighbourhood. They
were received with great approbation, and set to music. Thus
encouraged, song followed song,—some humorous, some pathetic, but all
vastly superior in simple poetic power, as well as moral tone, to those
she was anxious to supplant. Soon her lyrics were scattered broadcast
over the land, carrying pure and elevated sentiments, and even
religious truth, into many a neglected home. Through the influence of a
lady, who knew her claims as a poetess, she was induced in 1821 to
contribute to a collection of national songs, which was being published
by Mr. Robert Purdie, an enterprising music-seller in Edinburgh. Her
contributions were signed “B. B.” and Mr. Purdie and his editor, Mr. R.
A. Smith, were under the impression that the popular authoress was Mrs.
Bogan, of Bogan. The songs of “B. B.” were sung in all the chief towns
by professed vocalists, and were everywhere hailed with applause.
Public curiosity was aroused as to the authorship, and the question was
debated in the newspapers, to the great alarm of the real authoress.
In 1822, George the Fourth, who had considerable intellectual ability,
and some virtues as well as frailties, although no man of Mr.
Thackeray’s abilities has set himself to look for the former, visited
Scotland, and heard Mrs. Nairne’s song, “The Attainted Scottish Nobles”
sung: this circumstance is generally supposed to have led to the
restoration of the peerage to her husband. At all events, in 1824, the
attainder was removed by Act of Parliament, and the title of his
fathers bestowed on Major Nairne.
On July the 9th, 1830, Lady Nairne became a widow. The trial was ill to
bear. But she had one availing consolation, she knew his star had set
on this world, to rise and shine in brighter skies: vital Christianity
was as visible in her departed husband, as the broad black seal that
death had stamped upon his brow. He had gone before to the presence of
that Saviour whom they had loved and served together.
Her son, now in his twenty-second year, succeeded to the title of his
father. With that wondrous solicitude which fills a mother’s heart
towards her only child, Lady Nairne had watched the training of her
boy; and she had a rich reward. He grew up no mere devotee of mammon,
or fashion, or fame, but a youth of good intellectual powers, high
moral qualities, and sound religious principles—all that a Christian
mother could desire. But alas! this gourd was doomed to perish also. In
the spring of 1837, the young baron suffered much from influenza, and
for the benefit of his health he went to Brussels, accompanied by his
mother. There he caught a severe cold, and after an illness of six
weeks, died on the 7th of December, 1837. Her heart bled for her son,
but no murmur escaped her lips. She was content that Christ should come
into her garden and pluck the sweetest flower. Yet she deeply felt her
loss. “I sometimes say to myself,” she wrote to a friend, “this is ‘no
me,’ so greatly have my feelings and trains of thought changed since
‘auld lang syne,’ and though I am made to know assuredly that all is
well, I scarcely dare to allow my mind to settle on the past.”
“Hast thou sounded the depth of yonder sea,
And counted the sands that under it be?
Hast thou measured the height of heaven above?—
Then mayest thou mete out a mother’s love.”
After this sad event Lady Nairne might have been seen taking her walk
in a cool anteroom, “passing and repassing the bust of her darling son,
and stopping as often to gaze on it, then replacing the white
handkerchief that covered it to keep it pure.”
In her old age Lady Nairne resided chiefly on the Continent, and
frequently at Paris; but the last two years of her life were spent at
Gask. Feeble in body and worn in spirit, on the verge of another world,
where praise or censure is nothing, her interest in the salvation of
souls was as fresh as ever. To the teacher of a school where children
were daily taught, she thus delivered her sentiments on the great
subject of education. “You say they like ‘The Happy Land’ best: is the
_gospel_ in it? Repeat it.” Her eager eye watched each line till she
should hear what satisfied her. She then said, “It’s pretty, very
sweet; but it might be clearer. Remember, unless the work of Christ for
them as sinners comes in,—the ransom, the substitution,—what you
teach is worthless for their souls.” On Sunday, the 26th of October,
1845, in the mansion house of Gask, she quietly sank to the rest she
had so long looked for, at the advanced age of seventy-nine years.
Not in the crowded cemetery of the city, where many of the wise,
mighty, and noble have been laid down to repose; but in the lovely
churchyard among the mountains of her own picturesque county, where the
“rude forefathers of the hamlet lie,” did a weeping crowd commit the
remains of Lady Nairne to the cold ground. The burial service was read
by the Rev. Sir William Dunbar, Bart.
_EXTRACTS AND CRITICISMS._
One good song is sufficient to secure immortality. Sappho lives in
virtue of a single song. What then shall we say of Lady Nairne who has
bequeathed more of these imperishable breathings to her country and to
the world than any Caledonian bard, Burns alone excepted. The lyrics of
Scotland were characterized by a loose ribaldry, she resolved to supply
songs of a higher type. Take the following verses as a specimen of the
good common sense, the cheerful practical philosophy, which, joined to
poetic imagery, made its way to the hearts of the people.
“Saw ye ne’er a lanely lassie,
Thinkin’ gin she were a wife,
The sun of joy wad ne’er gae down,
But warm and cheer her a’ her life.