The Crusades united for the first time the warring States of Europe in a common purpose and a common enterprise. It accustomed the overburdened people to the thought of a higher authority than that of the special tyranny under which they happened to be born, and so prepared the way for the growth of larger ideas of authority and citizenship. The power of Feudalism was measurably weakened by the disasters which overtook successive expeditions led by the flower of chivalry, and this result made possible the unfolding of the monarchical principle which was to play so important a part in the political development of Europe. In short, the wide disturbance which these successive expeditions to the East introduced, loosened perceptibly the iron framework of feudal tyranny which held European society bound and helpless, and by gradual disintegration prepared the soil for the seeds of popular institutions.
H. W. M.
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE.
We are not of those who think that readers are without curiosity as to the position in life, actions, and fortunes of the authors who afford them instruction or pleasure; the eagerness with which the birthplaces of men of genius are sought for and commemorated; the fondness with which their most trifling actions are dwelt upon; and the endless collections that are made of their conversations and sayings, prove that this cannot be the case.
In a prefatory memoir, we can scarcely go into so many details of the life of Michaud, as, perhaps, the subject deserves. Michaud was not a mere author, whose history may be read in his works. He lived at a momentous period, and was no idle spectator of passing events; a complete life of Michaud would, indeed, swell to a history of France from 1790 to 1839.
Joseph François Michaud, born at Albens, in Savoy, on the 19th of June, in the year 1767, was descended from a family that traced its nobility beyond the tenth century. One of his ancestors, Hugh Michaud de Corcelles, was deservedly distinguished by the emperor Charles V. The father of Joseph was obliged to leave his country, in consequence of what is termed by his biographer, a piece of boyish rashness, but which we prefer relating to any of the warlike deeds of the abovenamed Hugh. Whilst on a shooting party, he sought refreshment in a cottage, and found the mistress of it in the greatest distress; for, at the moment of his entrance, officers were bearing away her humble furniture, for the paltry sum of sixty francs. He offered to pay the amount if they would come with him to his home; but they refused, and continued their operations in his presence. This irritated him to such a degree, that he threatened to make use of his gun; and, at length, struck one of them so severe a blow with the stock of it, that the fellow died immediately. He retired to a place near Bourg, in Bresse, where he married; and he afterwards established himself as a notary and commissary at Terrier, in that province. An early death left his widow burdened with a numerous family, of which Joseph was the eldest. Notwithstanding this calamity, he received an excellent education at the college of Bourg, and acquired great credit as a rhetorician and a composer of French verses. His studies and some juvenile travels completed, it became necessary for him to fix upon a mode of getting a living; and the narrowness of his mother’s resources confining his efforts to trade, he went into the house of a bookseller at Lyon, attracted, no doubt, by the affinity between the bookseller and the man of letters. He remained here till 1790, when the passage of the rich, influential, and intellectual Countess Fanny de Beauharnais through that city, aroused all the provincial muses to make their offerings to the great lady. Among the poets, Michaud was so successful, that he thought himself warranted in following her to Paris, with the view of pursuing a literary career under her auspices. Immediately on his arrival, he laid the contents of his poetical portfolio before the public, and soon became the associate of Cerisier, in the Gazette Universelle, and with Esménard, in the Postillon de la Guerre. His opinions and early associations led him towards the Royalist party, to which the accession of his talents was very acceptable. He may be said to have been faithful to his colours, through all the disasters of the unhappy cause he had embraced; for, in spite of imprisonment, banishment, and repeated concealments, we find him, in 1799, publishing two satirical pamphlets against Buonaparte, by the orders of Louis XVIII. One of his escapes was so well managed, and so opportunely effected, that we will offer an account of it to our readers. He had been sent prisoner to Paris, walking between two mounted gendarmes, who were directed not to spare him, and if fatigue relaxed his speed, they were to refresh him with the flat sides of their sabres. As he entered Paris in this forlorn condition, he was met by his zealous friend Giguet, whose sorrow only set his fertile brain to work to devise means for his escape. As Michaud was, during many days, conducted from his prison to the Tuileries, to undergo examination, Giguet at first thought that the best way would be to blow out the brains of the two gendarmes that escorted him; but this he rejected as unworthy of a man of genius. Choosing a point in Michaud’s passage that would answer his purpose, he stopped the party, and affecting to know nothing of the matter, and not to have seen his friend since his arrival in Paris, was eager in his inquiries as to how his health was, what he was doing, where he was going, and insisted upon his breakfasting with him. “No, no,” answered Michaud, “I have a little affair yonder, at the Tuileries, just a few words of explanation to give—only the business of a minute or two.—Begin breakfast without me, I shall be back presently.” “That won’t do; that won’t do; they do not despatch people so quickly as all that. Perhaps they won’t begin with you; let us have our breakfast first. I dare say these gentlemen (pointing to the gendarmes) have not breakfasted, and will have no objection to a cutlet and a glass of Bourdeaux wine! and here’s the best house in Paris, close at hand.” The gendarmes, after a little faint hesitation, suffered themselves to be seduced; and prisoner, guards, and friends were soon comfortably seated at table. They eat, they drink, they pass bumper toasts, and talk a little about everything; but most particularly about Bresse and the good cheer that was there always to be met with—but the pullets of Bresse! never was such eating as the pullets of Bresse! The mouths of the gendarmes watered at the bare description of them. “Parbleu, gentlemen,” cried Giguet, “since you have never partaken of our country pullets, I will undertake to convince you that there are none such in the eighty-three departments. We have plenty of time; you can eat a little bit more, and appetite comes with—— drinking (and he filled the glasses). Waiter, here! a Bresse pullet! no tricks, mind; it must be from Bresse—not from Mans. But, stop; Michaud, you understand these things better than anybody; have an eye to these fellows, go down into the kitchen, and see that they don’t cheat us. Good health to you, gentlemen.” Whilst they are drinking, Michaud rises, and is soon out of the house. Giguet had the art to keep the guards another half-hour at table, by saying his friend was only watching the cooking, for a Bresse pullet was worth nothing if not roasted à la Bresse; and when they discovered Michaud was not in the kitchen, he asserted it must either be a joke, or else he was ill, and gone home; and contrived to lead them a long useless search in a way directly opposite to that which he knew the late prisoner had taken. Michaud’s escape was a happy one; for that very day, the council had condemned him to death. Poor Giguet’s friendly zeal cost him nearly a month’s imprisonment, and placed his life even in jeopardy.
The career of Buonaparte was so successful, that, at length, further resistance seemed useless, and Michaud even wrote complimentary verses on the marriage of Napoleon with Maria Louisa, and upon the birth of the young king of Rome. But this submission to circumstances was no voluntary homage; he was still at heart faithfully attached to the Bourbons. For a length of time he resisted the tempting offers of the emperor, and one of his refusals, for its wit, if not for its patriotism, almost deserves to be placed by the side of Andrew Marvel’s. Fontaines, Buonaparte’s emissary, said to him: “There must be an end to all resistance; it is diminishing every day. Come, do as other men do. Look at Delille, for instance, he has just accepted a pension of six thousand francs.” “Oh! as to that,” replied Michaud, “he is so frightened, that he would accept a pension of a hundred thousand francs, if you were to offer it to him.” Posterity, perhaps, may be thankful that he was driven from politics to literature. During one of his necessary exiles, he had written his beautiful poem of “Le Printemps d’un Proscrit:” he afterwards became associated with his brother as a bookseller, and planned and executed the works of which we will furnish a list. Whatever opinion might be entertained of his talents, it is more than probable that without his implied submission to Buonaparte, he never would have obtained that object of the hopes of all French authors, the immortal fauteuil in the Academy. This honour he attained in 1813, and, upon the publication of his fourth volume of the “History of the Crusades,” had the gratification of signing himself “Knight of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem,” and “Knight of the Holy Sepulchre:” titles bestowed upon him, unasked, by the commanders representing the order of St. John of Jerusalem in France.