In the year 1843, a fancy fair was held at Paris, for the benefit of
the sufferers by an earthquake in the island of Guadaloupe. The
patronage of the Queen of the French, added to the strong sympathy
awakened by the catastrophe, filled the bazaar with a gay throng,
delighted to combine amusement with charity, and to chaffer for
baubles with aristocratic saleswomen. Amidst the multitude of tasteful
trifles, exposed for sale was a contribution from Queen Marie
Amélie--fifty books, printed at the royal press and elegantly bound.
They were fifty copies of a volume containing three charming tales,
and soon it was whispered that no others had been printed, and that
the author was a lady of rank, distinguished for grace and wit, but
whose literary talents were previously unknown, save to a limited
circle of discreet and admiring friends. At the queen's request, and
at the voice of pity, pleading for the unfortunates of Point-à-Pitre,
she had sanctioned the printing of fifty copies; these taken, the
types had been broken up. Such rumours were more than sufficient to
stimulate curiosity, and raise the value of the volume. Every body
knows that an author's title often sells a stupid book; should any
doubt it, we refer them to our friends Puff and Co.; how much greater
the attraction when the book is a clever one, written by a countess,
printed by a sovereign's command, and at a royal press. The market
rose instantly. Sixty francs, eighty francs, five napoleons, were
freely given; how much higher competition raised the price, we cannot
say; but we are credibly informed the improvement did not stop there.
The editor of the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ was not the last to hear the
history of the volume. He procured a copy, and esteeming it unjust to
reserve for a few what was meant for mankind, by limiting the produce
of so graceful a pen to the narrow circulation of fifty copies--he
laid violent hands upon one of the tales, and reprinted it in his
excellent and widely-circulated periodical. Although literally a day
after the fair, it was not the less acceptable and successful. The
tale, whose title is "Resignation," was attributed by many to the
amiable Duchess of Orleans, then in the first year of her widowhood.
The real authoress is the Countess d'Arbouville, wife of the
lieutenant-general of that name, granddaughter of Madame d'Houdetot,
and niece by marriage of Monsieur de Barante. Inheriting much of the
wit of her celebrated ancestress, and no small share of the literary
aptitude of her accomplished uncle, this lady, without aiming at the
reputation of a woman of letters, writes tales of very remarkable
merit. Whilst her husband, as governor of Constantine, wields the
sabre in defence of Algeria, the Countess, secluded in her boudoir,
beguiles her leisure and delights her friends by the exercise of her
pen. Last spring, it became known that she had completed the matter of
a second volume. Thereupon, she was so besieged by petitioners for the
favour of a perusal, that in self-defence, and out of regard to the
integrity of her manuscript, she was compelled to print fifty copies
for private circulation. Through the kindness of a Parisian friend one
of these has reached us. It contains two tales. The first, "Le Medecin
du Village," is a simple and touching story, highly attractive by its
purity of style and exquisite feeling. The circumstances under which
it was printed forbid criticism; otherwise we might cavil at its
introduction as unartistical, and at one of the incidents--the
restoration of an idiot boy of fifteen to unclouded reason--as
unprecedented and out of nature. But one dwells not on these blemishes
whilst reading the old doctor's affecting tale, which does equal
honour to the heart and mind of the authoress. We would gladly place
it before our readers in an English dress, but the indefatigable
Monsieur Buloz, ever watchful of the interests of his review, has
already pounced upon it. It had scarcely been printed, when he
transferred it to the pages of the _Revue des Deux Mondes_. We are
obliged, therefore, to content ourselves with the second tale, no way
inferior to its fellow, but whose greater length compels us to
abridge. This we would fain avoid, for even without such curtailment
it is impossible to render in another language the full charm of the
original, a charm residing in delicacy of style and touch rather than
in description or incident. We will do our best, however, and should
the attempt meet the eye and disapproval of Madame d'Arbouville, we
wish it may stimulate her to print her next work by thousands instead
of tens, that all conversant with the French tongue may have
opportunities of reading and appreciating the productions of so
pleasing a writer.