The Abbé de Lamennais.--Cobbett.--O'Connell.--Napoleon.--
Robespierre.
I had last night the satisfaction of meeting the Abbé de Lamennais at
a _soirée_. It was at the house of Madame Benjamin Constant; whose
_salon_ is as celebrated for the talent of every kind to be met there,
as for the delightful talents and amiable qualities of its mistress.
In general appearance, this celebrated man recalls an original drawing
that I remember to have seen of Rousseau. He is greatly below the
ordinary height, and extremely small in his proportions. His
countenance is very striking, and singularly indicative of habitual
meditation; but the deep-set eye has something very nearly approaching
to wildness in its rapid glance. His dress was black, but had
certainly more of republican negligence than priestly dignity in it;
and the little, tight, chequered cravat which encircled his slender
throat, gave him decidedly the appearance of a person who heeded not
either the fashion of the day, or the ordinary costume of the
_salon_.
He, in company with four or five other distinguished men, had dined
with Madame Constant; and we found him deep sunk in a _bergère_ that
almost concealed his diminutive person, surrounded by a knot of
gentlemen, with whom he was conversing with great eagerness and
animation. On one side of him was M. Jouy, the well-known "_Hermite_"
of the Chaussée d'Antin; and on the other, a deputy well known on the
benches of the _côté gauche_.
I was placed immediately opposite to him, and have seldom watched the
play of a more animated countenance. In the course of the evening, he
was brought up and introduced to me. His manners are extremely
gentlemanlike; no stiffness or reserve, either rustic or priestly,
interfering with their easy vivacity. He immediately drew a chair
_vis-à-vis_ to the sofa on which I was placed, and continued thus,
with his back turned to the rest of the company, conversing very
agreeably, till so many persons collected round him, many of whom were
ladies, that not feeling pleased, I suppose, to sit while they stood,
he bowed off, and retreated again to his _bergère_.
He told me that he must not remain long in Paris, where he was too
much in society to do anything; that he should speedily retreat to
the profound seclusion of his native Brittany, and there finish the
work upon which he was engaged. Whether this work be the defence of
the _prévenus d'Avril_, which he has threatened to fulminate in a
printed form at the head of those who refused to let him plead for
them in court, I know not; but this document, whenever it appears, is
expected to be violent, powerful, and eloquent.
The writings of the Abbé de Lamennais remind me strongly of those of
Cobbett,--not, certainly, from their matter, nor even from the manner
of treating it, but from the sort of effect which they produce upon
the mind. Had the pen of either of them been wholly devoted to the
support of a good cause, their writings would have been invaluable to
society; for they both have shown a singular power of carrying the
attention, and almost the judgment, of the reader along with them,
even when writing on subjects on which he and they were perfectly at
issue.
Were there not circumstances in the literary history of both which
contradict the notion, I should say that this species of power or
charm in their writings arose from their being themselves very much in
earnest in the opinions they were advocating: but as the Abbé de
Lamennais and the late Mr. Cobbett have both shown that their faith in
their own opinions was not strong enough to prevent them from changing
them, the peculiar force of their eloquence can hardly be referred to
the sincerity of it.
I remember hearing a lively young barrister declare that he would
rather argue against his own judgment than according to it; and I am
sure he spoke in all sincerity,--much as he would have done had he
said that he preferred shooting wild game to slaughtering tame
chickens: the difficulty made the pleasure. But we cannot presume to
suppose that either of the two persons whose names I have so
incongruously brought together have written and argued on the same
principle; and even if it were so, they have not the less changed
their minds,--unless we suppose that they have amused themselves and
the public, by sometimes arguing for what they believed to be truth,
and sometimes only to show their skill.
As to what Mr. Cobbett's principles might really have been, I think it
is a question that must ever remain in uncertainty,--unless we adopt
that easiest and most intelligible conclusion, that he had none at
all. But it is far otherwise with M. de Lamennais: it is impossible to
doubt that in his early writings he was perfectly sincere; there is a
warmth of faith in them that could proceed from no fictitious fire.
Nor is it easily to be imagined that he would have thrown himself from
the height at which he stood in the opinion of all whom he most
esteemed, had he not fancied that he saw truth at the bottom of that
abyss of heresy and schism into which all good Catholics think that he
has thrown himself.
The wild republicanism which M. de Lamennais has picked up in his
descent is, however, what has probably injured him most in the general
estimation. Some few years ago, liberal principles were advocated by
many of the most able as well as the most honest men in Europe; but
the unreasonable excesses into which the ultras of the party have
fallen seem to have made the respectable portion of mankind draw back
from it, and, whatever their speculative opinions may be, they now
show themselves anxious to rally round all that bears the stamp of
order and lawful authority.
It would be difficult to imagine a worse time for a man to commence
republican and free-thinker than the present;--unless, indeed, he did
so in the hope that the loaves and fishes were, or would be, at the
disposition of that party. Putting, however, all hope of being paid
for it aside, the period is singularly unpropitious for such a
conversion. As long as their doctrine remained a theory only, it might
easily delude many who had more imagination than judgment, or more
ignorance than either: but so much deplorable mischief has arisen
before our eyes every time the theory has been brought to the test of
practice, that I believe the sound-minded in every land consider
their speculations at present with as little respect as they would
those of a joint-stock company proposing to colonize the moon.
That the Abbé de Lamennais is no longer considered in France as the
pre-eminent man he has been, is most certain; and as it is easy to
trace in his works a regular progression downwards, from the dignified
and enthusiastic Catholic priest to the puzzled sceptic and factious
demagogue, I should not be greatly surprised to hear that he, who has
been spoken of at Rome as likely to become a cardinal, was carrying a
scarlet flag through the streets of Paris, with a conical hat and a
Robespierre waistcoat, singing "_Ça ira_" louder than he ever chanted
a mass.
M. de Lamennais, in common with several other persons of republican
principles with whom I have conversed since I have been in Paris, has
conceived the idea that England is at this moment actually and _bonâ
fide_ under the rule, dictation, and government of Mr. Daniel
O'Connell. He named him in an accent of the most profound admiration
and respect, and referred to the English newspapers as evidence of the
enthusiastic love and veneration in which he was held throughout Great
Britain!
I waxed wroth, I confess; but I took wisdom and patience, and said
very meekly, that he had probably seen only that portion of the
English papers which were of Mr. Daniel's faction, and that I believed
Great Britain was still under the dominion of King William the Fourth,
his Lords and Commons. It is not many days since I met another
politician of the same school who went farther still; for he gravely
wished me joy of the prospect of emancipation which the virtue of the
great O'Connell held out to my country. On this occasion, being in a
gay mood, I laughed heartily, and did so with a safe conscience,
having no need to set the enlightened propagandist right; this being
done for me, much better than I could have done it myself, by a
hard-headed doctrinaire who was with me.
"O'Connell is the Napoleon of England," said the republican.
"Not of England, at any rate," replied the doctrinaire. "And if he
must have a name borrowed from France, let it be Robespierre's: let
him be called magnificently the Robespierre of Ireland."
"He has already been the redeemer of Ireland," rejoined the republican
gravely; "and now _he has taken England under his protection_."
"And I suspect that ere long England will take him under hers," said
my friend, laughing. "Hitherto it appears as if the country had not
thought him worth whipping; ... mais si un chien est méchant, si même
ce ne serait qu'un vilain petit hargneux, il devrait être lié, ou
bien pendu."
Having finished this oracular sentence, the doctrinaire took a long
pinch of snuff, and began discoursing of other matters: and I too
withdrew from the discussion, persuaded that I could not bring it to a
better conclusion.