Lives of Celebrated Women

by Samuel G. Goodrich

Loath to appear in disgrace among the Genevese, and hoping, amid new scenes, to forget her griefs, she resolved to visit Germany. “Every step of the horses,” she tells us, as she left Paris, “was a pang; and, when the postilions boasted that they had driven fast, I could not help smiling at the sad service they did me.”

The enjoyment which she derived from the attention and kindness with which she was every where received, and from the vast field of knowledge which opened itself to her, was interrupted by the sad news of the illness of her father, followed quickly by intelligence of his death. She at once set off for Coppet. Her feelings, during the melancholy journey, are beautifully and naturally recorded in the “Ten Years of Exile.” This work, which was not published until after her death, is the most interesting of her writings, and the best as it respects style. It was commenced at Coppet, and feigned names and false dates were substituted for the real, for the purpose of misleading the government, whose perfect system of espionage 110 would otherwise have rendered fruitless her most careful endeavors at concealment.

Her fears for the consequences of a discovery were natural; for she expresses most freely her opinions of the character and conduct of the great ruler of France, which take their coloring from her feelings, highly excited by the persecution of which she conceived herself to be the victim. Here are also recorded her observations on the various countries which this persecution compelled her to visit. But the work is far more valuable and interesting from the traits which it unconsciously discloses of the character of the author herself; and any diminution of our preconceived ideas of the absolute dignity of her nature, is more than compensated by the abundant proofs of the kindness and honesty of her disposition.

Her first occupation, after the death of her father, was to publish his writings, accompanied by a biographical memoir. Her passion for him took a new turn. Every old man recalled his image; and she watched over their comforts, and wept over their sufferings. It mingled with her devotions. She believed that her soul communed with his in prayer, and that it was to his intercession that she owed all the good that befell her. Whenever she met with any piece of good fortune, she would say, “It is my father who has obtained this for me.”

In happier days, this passion sometimes was the occasion of scenes not a little amusing to the bystanders. Her cousin and biographer, Madame de Necker Saussure relates the following anecdote: She had 111 come to Coppet from Geneva in Necker’s carriage, and had been overturned on the way, but received no injury. On relating the incident to Madame de Stael, she inquired, with great vehemence, who had driven; and, on being told that it was Richel, her father’s coachman, she exclaimed, in an agony, “Mon Dieu! he may one day overturn my father!” and ordered him into her presence. While waiting his coming, she paced the room, crying out, “My father, my poor father, he might have been overturned;” and, turning to her cousin, “At your age, and with your slight person, the danger is nothing; but with his bulk and age—I cannot bear to think of it!” The coachman now came in; and the lady, usually so mild and indulgent with her servants, in a sort of frenzy, and in a voice of solemnity, but choked with emotion, said, “Richel, do you know that I am a woman of genius?” The poor man stared at her in astonishment, and she went on, yet louder, “Have you not heard, I say, that I am a woman of genius?” The man was still mute. “Well, then, I tell you that I am a woman of genius—of great genius—of prodigious genius! and I tell you more—that all the genius I have shall be exerted to secure your rotting out your days in a dungeon, if ever you overturn my father!”

To recruit her health, which was wasting with grief, she next undertook a journey into Italy. Hitherto she had appeared totally insensible to the beauties of nature, and when her guests at Coppet were in ecstasies with the Lake of Geneva, and the enchanting scenery about it, she would exclaim, “Give me a garret in Paris, with a hundred Louis a year.” But 112 in Italy she seems to have had a glimpse of the glories of the universe, for which enjoyment she always said she was indebted to her father’s intercession.

The delights which she experienced in that enchanting country are imbodied in the novel of “Corinne.” Her representation of its society evinces a want of intimate acquaintance with it, but it is a lively and true picture of the surface. In this work her peculiar talent as a novelist is richly displayed. In the characters of Comte d’Erfeuil, Corinne, and Oswald, we have not only examples of the most true and delicate discrimination, but vivid portraits of individuals, in whom are imbodied the most pleasing peculiarities of their respective nations. A purer morality displays itself in Corinne; the result, rather than the object, of the book. She does not seek, by logical demonstration, to enforce a moral axiom, but the influence of the spirit which emanates from the whole is purifying and elevating.

Madame de Stael was forbidden to approach within forty leagues of Paris; but, after hovering about the confines of the magical circle, she at last established herself within it, at a distance of only twelve leagues from the city. So long as she was contented to remain in obscurity, in the society of a small circle of friends, and to maintain a strict silence on the subject of politics, her violation of the imperial mandate was overlooked. But the publication of Corinne put an end to the indulgence, and she was ordered to quit France.

The tedium of her life at Coppet was somewhat relieved by the visits of her friends, and of distinguished foreigners. She was occupied, too, by her 113 work on Germany, which was completed in 1810. To superintend its publication, she took up her abode at the permitted distance from Paris, at the old chateau of Chaumont-sur-Loire, already notable as the residence of Diane de Poitiers, Catherine de Medicis, and Nostradamus.

She submitted her book to the censor, and expunged such passages as were objected to. She now deemed herself safe in publishing it. Ten thousand copies were already printed, when an order was issued by Savary, minister of police, for the suppression of the work. The impressions were seized, and, the ink being obliterated by a chemical process, the paper was returned to the publisher. The manuscript was demanded, and the author ordered to quit France in twenty-four hours; but, upon her remonstrance, the time was extended to eight days. “Your exile,” says Savary, “is the natural consequence of the course of conduct you have constantly pursued for many years. It is evident that the air of France does not agree with you.” The true reasons for the suppression of her work were not assigned, but were turned off with the remark that “It is not French; and that the French are not yet reduced to seek for models in the countries which she admired.”