Memoirs of the private life of my father

Introduction

AT the moment when the stroke of death has fallen on Mad. de Stael, many of her friends are naturally impelled to offer a last tribute to the memory of a woman whose intellectual qualities, however rare and predominant, formed but a small part of her real intrinsic excellence.

Earnestly as I desire to see this sacred duty fulfilled, the more I struggle to perform the part which friendship dictates, the more painfully am I taught to feel that it exceeds my strength. When I would retrace the details of a life alternately devoted to the acquisition of glory, and the alleviation of misfortune, events press on my mind with such tumultuous rapidity, that, forgetful of the allotted task, I surrender all my faculties to the influence of impressions — never to be renewed on earth — unconscious for what purpose, I still hold the pen, I suffer hours to elapse without the power to embody in words even one of those sentiments which appear to me to challenge from all mankind spontaneous sympathy and unequivocal approbation.

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AVhen I re-peruse her works, of which I once proposed to offer a critical analysis to the public, 1 am involuntarily arrested by each of those expressions which, whilst she lived, were touching from their eloquence without suggesting any sinister presage, but which, now that she is no more, are recalled by her friends as terrible prophecies too fatally accomplished. When at length by a painful effort I have succeeded in writing a few' lines, which but imperfectly commemorate even one of her least excellencies, I am overwhelmed with the bitter reflection, that this testimony of friendship was not offered to her who is its object : reduced to a state of weakness, in which it was dangerous to excite or even to indulge those emotions of affection which appeared to form the elements of her existence, it was judged necessary to divert her attention to indifferent subjects; and though all her friends were emulous in their zeal and unremitted in their attentions, none ventured to speak of their peculiar feelings — all submitted to the restraint of silence — and now that she is snatched from us by death, we are, if I may use the expression, sinking under the weight of those words which we were compelled to suppress till that fatal moment when utterance (to my feelings at least) appears to be a kind of profanation.

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It will be in vain to expect in these pages either regular details, or a connected series of ideas, or even the complete expression of that sentiment with which Mad. de Stael never failed to impress all who were admitted within the circle of her intimate affections. It is for those only who keep the public in view, to collect the facts of which that active, animated, brilliant life was composed. To her friends. Mad. de Stael is the first, the only object of interest. It is for her alone they write ; incapable of submitting to any other principle of criticism than the desire to have merited her approbation, they seek not the living breath of praise; they are ambitious only to indulge the persuasion, that their tribute might have been grateful to that heart which is no longer sensible to pity or to sympathy, but which was formed to cherish with responsive tenderness, the last faithful record of eternal friendship.

The two predominant qualities of Mad. de Stael were tenderness and pity. Like every child of genius she had an unextinguishable passion for glory; and, in common with all noble minds, participated in the ardent love of liberty. Yet, these two master principles, however imperious whilst no superior feelings opposed them, no longer preserved the ascendant when they entered into competition with the

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happiness of those she loved, or when the sight of human misery recalled to her recollection that there was an object still dearer than success, a pursuit more sacred than glory. Such dispositions were little calculated to secure her tranquillity during the stormy season of the Revolution, in which, from the political position of her father, she must have been inevitably compelled to take a part, even though she had not been carried along the stream by the native energy of her character and the ardour of her sentiments. After the ephemeral triumph which each faction alternately won and lost without having confirmed by justice what was wrested with violence, Mad. de Stael, although she bad seceded previous to their last defeat, was constantly enrolled among the vanquished party.

It has been kindly suggested, that to silence the murmurs of discontent, to draw from a whole nation a free, spontaneous homage to the daughter of Necker, I ought studiously to confine my remarks to her private qualities, or literary talents, consigning to oblivion whatever was connected with the political subjects incessantly agitated and contested during five-andtwenty eventful years ; but having always observed that Mad. de Stael held her honour pledged to the avowal of noble and magnanimous sentiments, I cannot believe she would

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Vll sanction such timid counsels, and for that reason shall reject them. At the same time I may be permitted to remark, that she ought to be pardoned for her love of liberty, even by its inveterate foes, when it is recollected, that to the proscribed of every class she became a zealous partizan, and that she was more active in lending support and administering consolation to their adversity, than she had ever been in resisting their power or attacking their principles: to unfortunate emigrants her house was an asylum ; they found a resource in her fortune and owed their safety to her activity : it was not enough that she lavished her bounty, that she offered a place of refuge which her courage rendered inviolable. She even sacrificed to them that time which was to her the most valuable of human possessions, every moment of which was dedicated to the pursuit of glory and to the preparation for another triumph.

At a period when the neighbouring states of France were reduced by a spirit of pusillanimity to the meanness of persecution, how often did she suspend her important labours to secure to the proscribed fugitive that asylum which he had reached with difficulty, and where he was again menaced with exile : with what ardour did she consecrate hours and days to be the advocate of those destitute beings who

INTRODUCTION.

were without a protector or a friend ! She was even eager to suspend the career of an irresistible genius, to render that genius the palladium of misfortune. It is not surprising that in some of her works this trait of character should be perceptible. Several of them were composed during the intervals she had snatched from a series of active and indefatigable beneficence ; and to those who were well acquainted with her whole life, it would not be difficult to discover, in every slight inaccuracy of style, the traces of a generous action.

If such was Mad. de Stael to those whose only claim on her benevolence was the common fellowship of suffering humanity, what was she not to those to whom she was united by the ties of friendship? How well were they assured that her thoughts answered to their thoughts? That she divined their wishes and participated in their painful or pleasurable emotions ? With what graceful flexibility she transported herself into even their momentary feelings — their most evanescent impressions ! With what felicity she developed their most vague ideas ! With what exquisite address she lent to them attractions or importance !

Even that rare talent of conversation which she almost exclusively possessed, that marvellous, that unrivaled talent, so much dreaded by

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IX the authors of oppression and the advocates of injustice appeared in these happy moments to have been alone created for her friends, to -whom, by a certain undefinable power and magical touch of intimacy, it gave even in solitude the vivid, the animated movements of the most brilliant society, and perpetually multiplied the sources of enjoyment. Even in separating from her the charm which she had shed over existence was not suspended. To her absent friends she was still in a manner present and companionable. Referring to her alone the ideas presented by new objects, they continued to enjoy her conversation, or rather, perhaps, adjourned a part of their sentiments and ideas to the happy moment when they expected to meet again.

It was not only in security and tranquillity that Mad. de Stael was the most amiable of women and the most endearing of friends ; in seasons of difficulty and danger she was equally constant and devoted. I appeal to all who have shared her affections, whether they did not repose in her friendship with that implicit faith which is due to a protecting Providence. Was any one, by unforeseen calamity, deprived of his property ? he knew where poverty would cease to persecute him. — Was he constrained to fly ? there was one asylum still open to receive him. — Was he plunged into a prison ?

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— he expected, with confidence, that Mad. de Stael should penetrate to those gloomy walls, to break his chain and gladden him with the tidings of deliverance.

Among the aflPections that filled her life, attachment to her father always held the first place. In speaking of him with all her eloquence, words seemed wanting to express her feelings. All her other sentiments were modified by this principle. Her love for France was sanctified by the reflection, that it was the country which her father had served, and it even became more fervent from her unappeasable desire to see that father justified in public opinion. Whilst he lived it was her earnest wish to conduct him to her native country where she believed his presence must dissipate every prejudice, and conciliate every party. After his death, it was rather the hope of vindicating his memory, than the anticipation of personal celebrity, that stimulated her eflforts and confirmed her exertions.

The writing of M. Necker’s life was her constant occupation. Even during that dreadful malady in which inexorable Nature seemed to have complicated and exhausted every species of suffering, it was her unceasing, and even her last regret, that she had been unable to complete the monument which filial love would have erected.

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I have just re-perused the brief memoirs prefixed to the miscellaneous works of her father. I may be deceived— but now, that she is no more, it appears to me that these pages are better calculated to discover her real merits, to secure to her the admiration, and even the love of those to whom she was unknown, than any of her other works, however rich in eloquence, however brilliant or seductive to the imagination. It is here that her soul is felt whilst her genius is developed; the delicacy of her perceptions— the astonishing variety of her impressions — her glowing eloquence — her strength of reason — her genuine enthusiasm — her love of liberty, and of justice — her impassioned sensibility — the melancholy which sometimes pervades even her purely literary productions — all is here consecrated to the effort of throwing light on one object, to the desire of illustrating one sentiment, to the hope of communicating one impression. It is the only instance in which she has concentrated in one point her strength, her energy, her imagination, her sensibility — all the intellectual and moral faculties of her capacious soul.

Hitherto, this work has not been considered in a proper point of view. Whilst the author lived, she was subjected to the influence of opposing opinions. Life is a power against

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which, SO long as it endures, are enlisted partialities and enmities, the contentions of interest, and the hostility of prejudice. But now that this power is broken, should not every thing assume a different aspect ? And if, as I must believe, the woman who has obtained so much glory, and performed so much good, is now the object of universal sympathy, and unlimited benevolence, I invite all who would offer homage to talent, or render justice to magnanimity, all in whom genius inspires admiration, or goodness awakens sympathy ; I invite them all to re-peruse the precious memorial inscribed on a father’s tomb, by that daughter who is now an inmate of the same grave. 1 invite to the perusal of this work all who would really know Madame de Stael, who can be but imperfectly discovered from her other works, and more imperfectly still in those which shall be hereafter written to illustrate her character. — Who, indeed, shall describe her? They who regret her feebly could not execute the task ; — by those whose grief is measured by an affection never to be erased, it might be fulfilled— but it cannot be attempted.

(From the Mercure de France,

M. M, BENJAMIN DE CONST ANT,