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Stael did not hesitate to express openly her dissatisfaction at his rising power. Joseph Bonaparte, of whom she was fond, remonstrated with her. My brother," said he, "complains of you. Why,' said he, yesterday, does not Madame de Stael attach herself to my government? What does she want? The payment of the money due her father? She shall have it. remain in Paris? I will permit it. In short, what does she want?"" "The question is not what I want," replied Madame de Stael, "but what I think.”

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There was one thing which operated as a check on her, and that was, the fear of being obliged to leave Paris. The possibility of such a catastrophe filled her with wretchedness. Away from the society and the excitements of that capital, she was the victim of ennui: her own brilliant powers of mind furnished her with no protection; she had no internal resources for happiness. Hear her own confession: "In this point was I vulnerable. The phantom of ennui forever pursues me; fear of it would have made me bow before tyranny, if the example of my father, and the blood which flowed in my veins, had not raised me above such weakness."

The " dispensation of ennui" she viewed as the most terrible exercise of Bonaparte's power. But even her fear of it would not control the ruling passion: she continued to discourse on politics, though to a constantly diminishing audience, and to excite those with whom she possessed influence to oppose the measures of government, until the forbearance of that government was exhausted, and she received advice from the minister of police to retire for a short time into the

country. This she terms the commencement of a series of persecutions by Bonapartea reproach which is not deserved; for it could not be expected that any government, much less one whose power was not yet established, would submit to a constant opposition, which exhibited itself not only in epigrams, always a most powerful weapon in France, but, as she herself confesses, in direct political intrigues; the interference, too, being by one who had small claims to be called a Frenchwoman. She was the daughter of a Swiss, and the wife of a Swede, of which latter character she more than once made use to secure her own personal safety and that of her friends. What course could the government have adopted of a milder character? There was no personal violence, nor threat of any she was banished from the theatre of her hostile influence, and forbidden to circulate her works there.

Not long after the banishment of Madame de Stael from Paris, Bonaparte passed through Switzerland, on his way to Italy. Having expressed a wish to see Necker, the latter waited on him. After a two hours' conversation, the aged minister left Napoleon, fascinated, like all who approached him, by his powers of pleasing, and gratified, as well by this mark of respect, as by the permission which he obtained for his daughter to reside at Paris.

The publication of her work on "Literature restored Madame de Stael to popularity. Her salons were again crowded, but chiefly with foreigners, for she still remained upon bad, terms with the first consul. "She pretends," said he, "to speak neither of politics

nor of me; yet it happens that every one leaves her house less attached to me than when they went in. She gives them fanciful notions, and of the opposite kind to mine." Wounded vanity had no doubt a large share in producing her state of feeling. Upon him, as we have before seen, all her powers of fascination were exerted in vain. Indeed, he seems, in his treatment of her, to have been wanting in his usual tact. She was one day asked to dine in company with him. As she had heard that he sometimes spoke sarcastically of her, she thought he might perhaps address to her some of these speeches, which were the terror of the courtiers. She prepared herself, therefore, with various repartees. But Bonaparte hardly appeared conscious of her presence, and her consolation for the neglect was the conjecture that fear had been the cause of his forbearance.

The early attempts of Madame de Stael in novelwriting gave no promise of superiority in that department of literature. Four tales, published in 1795, were as weak in plan and in execution as they were deficient in moral taste. It is a sad illustration of the state of moral feeling in the community, that a mind, naturally so well-intentioned and powerful, could be so debased, especially of one who had, at all times, a deep sense of religion, and who had been educated in the strict principles of Calvin. "Delphine," which appeared in 1802, is marked by the same faults of a moral character, and its tendency was so marked, as to incur the censure even of French critics, "who dared," as Madame de Stael indignantly exclaims, "to blame a book approved by Necker." That the censure was

merited, no right-minded person can deny. The defence which Madame de Stael felt called upon to put forth is weak, inconclusive, and abounding in sophistries. The misfortunes of the heroine are, indeed, the consequences of her actions, but these results are made to appear her misfortune, and not her fault. Fascinated by the eloquence of the author, our hearts are enlisted on the side of the sufferer, whatever may be the decision of our judgment.

Though deficient in some of the requisites for a novelist, especially in dramatic talent, Madame de Stael was eminently endowed with one essential faculty that of delineating character. In Delphine, it was said the character of the author herself was exhibited, and that Madame de Vernon, in whom we have a perfect picture of social Machiavelism, was drawn from Talleyrand. "I am told," said he to her," that you have put us both in your novel in the character of women." Even if this had been the occasion of offence to the wily courtier, he was too sagacious to disclose it.

Madame de Stael was at Coppet, passing the summer, when her father published a work called “Last View of Politics and Finance." In this he points out the progress which Bonaparte was making towards despotic power. Irritated at this attack, the first consul forbade the return of the daughter to Paris, from whence she had conveyed such false impressions to her father. But, much as she loved her father, she could not content herself away from Paris. Genevese society contrasted sadly, in her estimation, with the brilliant circle of her Parisian friends. Hoping, amidst the excitements which attend the commencement of a war,

to be overlooked, she ventured, after the rupture of the peace of Amiens, to establish herself at the distance of thirty miles from her beloved capital. The first consul was informed that the road to her residence was crowded with her visitants. She heard that she was to receive an order to depart, and she sought to evade it by wandering from the house of one friend to that of another. It was at length received, and the intercession of Joseph Bonaparte, and other friends of the first consul, was of no avail.

Loath to appear in disgrace among the Genevese, and hoping, amid new scenes, to forget her griefs, she resolved to visit Germany.

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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