SCHLEGEL.-DEATH OF NECKER.

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narrow, and more polished than that of modern men of learning in Germany. He was by no means wrapped up in the dead world, though he went as deeply, if not more deeply, into its ashes than any contemporary scholar, adding to his classical attainments a profound knowledge of Sanscrit, then the most difficult Oriental language to acquire, owing to the absence of grammars and the small number of texts published; yet in spite of these obstacles Schlegel made one of the earliest translations of a Sanscrit work, and published an edition of the original which still holds the first place. But he had sufficient enlargement of mind to appreciate the excellence of modern literature; his acquaintance with modern languages was great; he wrote French just with the same facility as his native tongue, and had a thorough knowledge of English and Italian, and of the whole literature of Europe. To these acquirements -common, perhaps, in the present day, but at that time very rare he added great critical ability, and a love of art as well as of literature.

Madame de Staël seized the opportunity which her acquaintance with this eminent man afforded her to place her son under his tuition; but Auguste de Staël seems to have inherited his father's Swedish solidity rather than his mother's brilliant talents; and the grandson of Necker, the son of the author of "Corinne," and the pupil of Schlegel, passed in society, when he grew up, as an ordinary mortal. We can not wonder: it is a rare thing to find genius and high intellect in three successive generations of the same family: it seems as if the mental energy exhausted itself after arriving at its prime in a parent. How many a wise man begets fools; how many a clever brain is succeeded by a dullard; and how often, as in the case of Chesterfield, the utmost care and anxiety in a parent fail to make a child what its father has been !

The death of Necker, in 1804, recalled Madame de Staël to Coppet. She was too late to witness the last moments of her idolized parent; and her desolation was complete. In this father and his fame her early life had been wrapped up. The tenderness between this parent and this daughter is often touching. In his later years she had been his adviser and aider; and in his last illness he had written-in vain of courseto the first consul to assure him that his daughter had no share in his own obnoxious work, and to implore, in mercy, the canceling of her sentence. She testified her love and reverence in a manner which was the best in her power, and soon after his death wrote the story of the well-finished life, raising him on the highest pedestal of her admiration.

Madame de Staël was now nearly forty years of age; but

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ITALY AND "CORINNE."

years with her increased her charms, which were those of intellect and conversation. Her beauty, if we may so call it, was of a kind which improves with time. All depended on the expression, and this seemed to gather animation as her mind developed, and the events of her varied life gave fresh fire to the soul within. Every thing fitted her at this time to shine in the society of her beloved Paris, but this she was denied. She was not only an exile, but alone in the world. Her mother had gone first, then her husband, and, lastly, the one relation whom she loved best. All that was left to her was France; and as Paris was forbidden ground, that country was shut up to her.

Under these circumstances she set out for Italy accompanied by Schlegel, her son's tutor, whose antiquarian knowledge made him a most valuable companion in that land which is a tomb beneath a palace. Her romantic character was fitted to receive all the impressions which that land can give, sad and solemn as they are; her health needed the soft air of the south: the warmth and enthusiasm of the Italian character charmed her after the stolid cogitativeness of the Germans; and as she had before done among the latter, she now among the former made those keen observations which were to give to her best novel the charm that delighted all Europe on its appearance.

She

In the following year she returned to France; but, not willing to brook a fresh struggle with the master of a hundred legions, she remained in quiet obscurity at Auxerre, where her son Auguste, then a boy of sixteen, was put to school. even ventured, now that she thought she was forgotten by her persecutor, to within twelve leagues of the proscribed city. She then published "Corinne," a book of travel in the guise of a novel, of which she herself was the heroine. It made the greatest sensation all over Europe. As an instance of this, we are told that in Edinburgh the professors of the university used to stop one another in the street to ask how far each had read of the great new work.

Though politics were scarcely touched upon in this novel, Napoleon was annoyed by its success. "No matter what she writes," said he, "political or not; after reading her, people hate me." Perhaps he was jealous of his enemy's intellectual powers, just as Louis Quatorze was of those of Madame de Sévigné. She must be a partisan of his or nobody. It was not easy to quench Madame de Staël, but the great man did what he could, and on the 9th of April, 1807, the anniversary of her father's death, she received a fresh order of exile.

This decided her to go to Vienna that she might complete

MADAME DE STAEL'S " PENNY POST.”

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her observations on Germany. Here she passed about a year, well received, in spite of her proscription, by both the court and "the society." But she could not put up with the stolid Teutons, heavy even in their vices, their tedious etiquette, their everlasting dinners, their elaborate dressings, their stupid pride, and their utter want of wit and all that refinement of mind, which, even more than wit, characterizes the better class of French society.

She passed the next two years at Coppet, completing her work on Germany, in tranquil retirement, and shunned by all those neighbors who dreaded to draw down the wrath of the great man in the gray coat at Paris. When the work was ready, she drew nearer to Paris, and pitched her tent this time in the beautiful historical château of Chaumont-sur-Loire, the proprietor of which, a friend and connection of her family, was in America. His return obliged her, with her sons and daughter, to move to a little farm called Le Fossé, which was lent to her by her friend M. de Salaberry.

Here, as we have mentioned in the memoir of Madame Récamier, she was joined by that celebrated beauty, who had for many years been her intimate friend. She also collected round her some few others of her oldest and best friends, Adrien and Matthieu de Montmorency, who afterward figured so prominently under the Restoration; Benjamin Constant, true to his name with her, though not with politics; M. de Barante, and others. The society of these old friends, whose political sentiments and common hostility to the empire united them in a bond of sympathy, was easy enough, and their conversation must have been brilliant. All of them except Madame Récamier were authors; all had taken a prominent part in the events of their day; all were thinkers and talkers.

A strange fancy took them, however, for the manner of passing their afternoons. After dinner they seated themselves round a table, and, in complete silence, wrote to each other charming little notes containing the ideas that were passing in their minds. The "Penny Post" as they called it, so completely absorbed them, that they did not interrupt it, even when strangers came in. Thus, on one occasion a gentleman of the neighborhood, a sturdy hunting man, who passed his life in the woods, entered from the chase in his usual costume, with his huge horn wound round his body, as it is worn to this day in France. He stared in amazement at the silent literary party and could make nothing of it. Madame Récamier good-naturedly thought to set him at his ease, and wrote him a little note, such as a Parisian would have died to possess from the celebrated beauty. The sportsman, however, shook