صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

covered, he ordered himself to be driven to Paris, which Count Reinhart, when I saw him for the first time, is five or six miles from St. Denis. Young de Bour-was thirty, and I, thirty-seven years of age. He engoing and another gentleman accompanied him, but tered public life with a large fund of acquired know although he spoke with usual animation upon the or- ledge. He knew five or six languages, and was famidinary topics, he never once alluded to the occurrence liar with their various literature. He might have which a few minutes before, had nearly deprived him of rendered himself celebrated, as a poet, as a historian, or life. This proceeded from his habitual caution. He would not trust himself to speak of the event, at such a moment. It was the reserve of the diplomatist. Speaking, in his discourse, of the qualities appropriate to a Minister of Foreign Affairs, he ends by saying "in short, he should not cease, one moment in the twenty-four hours, to be Minister of Foreign Affairs."

[blocks in formation]

as a geographer; and it was in this last capacity that he became a member of the Institute at its creation.

At this epoch, he was already a member of the Academy of Sciences of Gottingen. Born and educated in Germany, he had published in his youth, some poetical efforts, which had honored him with the notice of Gessner, of Wieland, and of Schiller. At a later period, obliged by the state of his health to have recourse to the waters of Carlsbad, he had the good fortune, to meet frequently with the celebrated Goethe, who appreciated his taste and his acquisitions, so well as to desire to be kept informed by him of every thing which produced any sensation in French literature. M. Reinhart promised to oblige him: engagements of this kind between men of a superior order, are always reciprocal, and soon become bonds of friendship; those which were formed between M. Reinhart and Goethe, gave

Gentlemen: I was in America when you were good enough to elect me a member of the Institute, and to at-rise to a correspondence, which is about to be printed tach me to the class of moral and political sciences, to which, since its origin, I have the honor to belong.

in Germany.

It will be learned from thence, that having arrived at that time of life, when it becomes necessary to decide upon a profession, M. Reinhart reflected deeply upon himself, upon his tastes, his position and that of his family, before coming to a determination; and then, what was remarkable at such a time, to a career which might have made him independent, he preferred one in which it was not possible to be so. He gave the preference to the diplomatic career, and he did well; adapted to all the employments of this profession, he filled them all successively, and all with distinction.

Upon my return to France, my first care was to attend its sittings, and to express to the persons who then composed it, many of whom have bequeathed us just regrets, the pleasure which I felt at being one of their colleagues. At the first sitting at which I was present, I had the honor of being appointed secretary. The minutes, which for the space of six months, it was my duty to record, with all the care of which I was capable, exhibited perhaps, in too great a degree, the indications of my diffidence; for I was called upon to describe a work with which I was by no means familiar. This I will hazard the opinion here, that he had been work, which had doubtless cost one of our most learned happily prepared for it by his early studies. That colleagues, much time and labor, was entitled: "A of theology, particularly, in which he had distinguished Dissertation upon Ripary laws." About the same time, himself at the seminary of Denkendorf, and in that of I also read, at our public meetings, several papers, which, the Protestant Faculty at Tubingen, had given him a thanks to the indulgence accorded to me, were inserted force and at the same time a suppleness of logic, which in the memoirs of the Institute. Since that period forty is to be observed in all the productions of his pen. To years have elapsed, during which time, this Tribune has escape the apprehension of yielding to an idea which been in a manner interdicted to me, first, by frequent might seem paradoxical, I feel myself obliged to recall absence; then, by occupations to which duty compelled here, the names of several of our great negotiators, all me to devote myself entirely; I should add also, by the theologians, and all distinguished in history for having discretion which difficult times exact of a public man; conducted the most important political affairs of their and at last, by the infirmities which age generally brings time; the cardinal chancellor Duprat, equally versed in with it, or, which it never fails, at least, to aggravate. the civil and canon law, who settled with Leo X the basis But to-day, I feel it a desire and a duty, to pre-of the Concordat, of which several dispositions are still in sent myself here, for the last time, that the memory force: cardinal d'Ossat, who in spite of the efforts of of a man known to all Europe, of a man whom I loved, several great powers, succeeded in reconciling Henry IV and who, from the formation of the Institute was our to the court of Rome, the collection of whose letters is colleague, might receive a public testimony of our esteem still prescribed to young men destined to public busiand regret. His position and mine, enable me to pro-ness: cardinal de Polignac, theologian, poet and nego. claim, at least partially, his merits. His chief, I will tiator, who, after so many disastrous wars, was ena not say his only title to renown, consists in a correspondence, of forty years, necessarily unknown to the public, and which, probably, it will never see. "Who, I said to myself, will speak of it, within this precinct, if it be not I, who received the greater part of it, to whom it was always so entertaining, and sometimes so useful in the ministerial duties which I fulfilled under three reigns......so different?"

bled, by the treaty of Utrecht, to preserve to France, the conquests of Louis XIV. It was also in the midst of theological books, that his father, then bishop of Gap, commenced the education of M. de Lyonne, whose name has acquired a new lustre by a recent and important publication.

The names which I have just cited, appear to me sufficient to sustain the influence which, in my opinion,

was exerted upon M. Reinhart by the early studies | ministry, and that even while leading it to his opinion, to which he had been directed by paternal care.

his success must remain in the shade; for he knew, that he ought to shine with a reflected light alone; but he knew likewise, that no small share of consideration

The various and solid knowledge, which he had acquired, caused him to be called to Bordeaux, to fulfil the honorable and modest duties of preceptor in a Protes-is naturally attached to so pure and modest a life. tant family of that city.

There, he naturally found himself in relation with several of the men, whose talents, errors and death, threw so much éclat upon our first legislative assembly. M. Reinhart, was easily persuaded by them to attach himself to the service of France.

I will not constrain myself to follow him step by step, through the vicissitudes which marked his long career. In the numerous employments confided to him, of an order sometimes superior, sometimes inferior, there seems to be an incongruity, an absence of catenation, which is difficult to conceive, at present. But at that period as little prejudice was attached to places, as to persons. In other times, favor, sometimes discernment, called men to eminent stations. At the period of which I speak, every position was conquered. Such a state of things soon leads to confusion.

The spirit of observation of M. Reinhart did not stop there; it had led him to discover how rare is the combination of qualities necessary to a minister of foreign affairs. A minister of foreign affairs should be endowed with a sort of instinct, which giving him prompt notice, prevents him, before discussion, from ever compromitting himself. He requires the faculty of appearing open while he is impenetrable; of being reserved with an air of carelessness; of being politic even in the choice of his recreations: his conversation must be simple, various, unexpected, always natural and sometimes ingenuous; in a word, he should never cease, for one moment in the twenty-four hours, to be minister of foreign affairs.

Nevertheless, all these qualities, rare as they are, might not suffice, if good faith did not furnish them with a guarantee of which they almost always stand in need. Thus we see M, Reinhart, first Secretary of Legation No, I must pronounce it here, in order to destroy a at London-occupying the same place at Naples-Mi- prejudice which generally prevails, diplomacy is not nister Plenipotentiary near the Hanseatic towns, Ham-a science of cunning and duplicity. If good faith is burg, Bremen and Lubec-Head of the third division ever necessary, it is chiefly so in public transactions, in the depart ment of foreign affairs-Minister Plenipo- for it is this which renders them solid and durable. Retentiary at Florence-Minister of Foreign Relations-serve has been confounded with deception. Good faith Minister Plenipotentiary in Helvetia-Consul General at Milan-Minister Plenipotentiary near the circle of Lower Saxony-Resident in the Turkish provinces beyond the Danube, and commissary general of commercial relations in Moldavia-Minister Plenipotentiary near the king of Wirtemberg-Director of the Chancellery of the department of foreign affairs-Minister Plenipotentiary near the Germanic Diet, and of the free city of Frankfort,—and last of all, Minister Plenipotentiary at Dresden.

How many places, how many duties, how many interests, confided to one man, and that at an epoch, when talents seemed to be the less appreciated, as war appeared to take charge of every thing!

You will not expect it of me, gentlemen, to recount in detail and in order of date, all the labors of M. Reinhart in the different employments, which you have just heard enumerated. This would require a book.

I am to speak to you only of the manner in which he comprehended the functions which he had to fulfil, whether as a head of division, minister or consul.

Although M. Reinhart had not then the advantage, which he enjoyed some years later, of studying excellent models, he already knew, how many and how diverse qualities, should distinguish a head of division in the department of foreign affairs. A delicate tact had taught him that his habits should be simple, regular, retired; that, a stranger to the turmoil of the world, he should live for business alone, and vow to it an impenetrable secrecy; that, ever ready to give information on men and things, he should always have present in his memory, the whole series of treaties; know historically their dates; discern with accuracy their strong and feeble points, their antecedents and their consequences; recollect in fine the names of the principal negotiators, and even their family relations; yet that while employing this knowledge, he should take care not to alarm the pride of the

never authorises deception, but it permits reserve, and reserve has this peculiarity, that it augments confidence.

Governed by the honor and interest of his country, by the honor and interest of his prince, by the love of liberty founded upon order and upon the rights of all, a minister of foreign affairs, if he understands his position, is thus placed in the noblest situation to which an elevated mind can aspire.

After having been a skilful minister, how many things must yet be known to be a good consul! for the duties of a consul are infinitely various; they are of a character totally different from those of the other functionaries of foreign affairs. They demand much practical knowledge for which a particular education is necessary. Consuls are in a situation to be called upon to exercise towards their countrymen, to the extent of their jurisdiction, the functions of judges, arbitrators and mediators; they are often civil officers; they perform the task of notaries, often that of naval administrators; they determine questions of sanatary regulation; it is they who, by their stated communications, can give a just and complete account of the state of commerce, navigation and manufactures of the countries in which they reside. Accordingly M. Reinhart, who neglected nothing in order to assure himself of the accuracy of the information, which he was able to communicate to his government, and the justice of the decisions he was called upon to make, as a political or consular agent, or as naval administrator, had made a profound study of national and maritime law. This study had led him to the belief, that a time would come, when by contrivances skilfully prepared, a general system of commerce and navigation might be established, in which the interests of all nations should be respected, and with such a basis, that war could not alter the principle, even though it should suspend some of its consequences. He was also skilled to resolve with certainty and prompti

tude all questions of exchange, of arbitration, of the conversion of currency, weights and measures, and all this without a single remonstrance ever having been addressed, against the information which he gave, or the decisions which he pronounced. It is true, indeed, that the personal consideration which accompanied him throughout his career, gave weight to his intervention in the transactions referred to his examination or arbitration.

But extensive as the knowledge of a man may be, however large his capacity, a perfect diplomatist is rare; yet M. Reinhart would perhaps have been one, had he possessed one more faculty: he saw and comprehended clearly; pen in hand, he described admirably what he had seen or heard. His style was copious, easy, lively and pointed; hence of all the diplomatic correspondence, there was none to which the Emperor Napoleon, who was necessarily and by right difficult to please, did not prefer that of Count Reinhart. But this same man who wrote admirably, expressed himself with difficulty. To develope itself, his mind required more time than could be obtained in conversation. In order that his internal language might readily reproduce itself, it was necessary that he should be alone and unaccompanied.

In spite of this real inconvenience, M. Reinhart succeeded always, in doing and doing well too, every thing with which he was charged. Where then did he find the means of success? Whence came his inspirations?

He derived them, gentlemen, from a true and profound sentiment which governed all his actions-from the sentiment of duty. The efficacy of this sentiment is not sufficiently understood. A life devoted entirely to duty, is very easily disengaged from ambition. The life of M. Reinhart, was one devoted entirely to the duties which he had to perform, without ever exhibiting a trace of personal calculation, or of pretension to precipitate advancement.

This religion of duty, to which M. Reinhart was faithful all his life, consisted in an exact submission to the instructions and orders of his principals; in an unceasing vigilance which, united to great perspicacity, never left them in ignorance of what it was requisite they should know; in a scrupulous veracity in all his communications, were they pleasant or disagreeable; in an impenetrable discretion; in a regularity of life which invoked confidence and esteem; in a decorous bearing; in fine, in a constant attention to give to the acts of his government that color and those explanations which were called for by the intent of the affairs in which he participated.

Although age had indicated to M. Reinhart the time for repose, he would never have asked to retire, such was his fear of exhibiting a lukewarmness to serve in a career which had been that of his whole life. It was necessary, that the royal beneficence, always so attentive, should anticipate him, by giving to this great servant of France, the most honorable station, in calling him to the Chamber of Peers.

Count Reinhart did not enjoy this honor sufficiently long; he died, almost suddenly, on the twenty-fifth of December, 1837.

M. Reinhart was twice married. He left a son by his first marriage, who has entered upon political life. The best wish that can be made for the son of such a father, is, that he may resemble him.

THE BLIND DAUGHTER.

BY ELORA.

Around a cottage-door

Bright honey-suckles twined, And roses, of the richest bloom, Were lavish of their sweet perfume,

To charm the evening wind. Not yet the sun had left the sky, Though the pale moon was rising high.

Soft fell the purple light

On flower and guardian tree;
It wandered o'er the moss-grown eaves,
And played among the dancing leaves,
Like a spirit-silently;

At last it found a resting place
Upon a pale and quiet face.

Alas, for earthly joy!

Death had been busy there ;-
And yet so lightly did he pass,
He had not bent one blade of grass,

Or stirred the summer air.
But ah, too surely aimed his dart
Against one true and loving heart!

Smooth o'er the marble brow

Reposed the glossy hair,
While here and there a tress of gray,
Amid its jet, like silver ray,

Tokened of grief and care.
But on the lips there lingered yet
The seal which parting love had set!
No sound shall wake her more

Whether of joy or woe:

All vainly doth her loved one weep,
She heeds not in her dreamless sleep,
Whose tears of sorrow flow.
Ah happy, that she doth not see
Her daughter's hopeless agony.

Woe, for that weeping girl!

Hers is a mournful lot.
For though her eyes like violets bright,
Are beauteous in the starry light,

Like them, she seeth not.

Hark! while her tears of anguish flow,
She speaks in broken music low.

"Oh, God! It cannot be

I could bear all but this!

I have not murmured that these eyes
Looked not upon the glorious skies,
Thy home of light and bliss.

I asked no more to make me blest
Than in my mother's arms to rest.

"Her voice was always soft

I never knew it chide;
And often when I'd hear them tell
The color of some floweret's bell,
I felt a tender pride,
In thinking it was like a word
Of music, from my mother heard.

"I loved to kiss her brow

Her lip, her cheek, her hand ;To twine my fingers in her hair, Far-floating o'er her shoulders bare, Loosed at my gay command. And I was happy, till there came The blight of sickness o'er her frame! "Then burst the tempest forth!

Her voice grew faint and lowEach day I felt she was more weak-Until at last she could not speak, Or I her wishes know, Vainly I bent my eager ear

She tried to tell-I could not hear!

"Her friends came kindly in,

They tended her with care; They answered to her asking eye With ever-ready sympathy

Whilst I sat idle there.

Yes, I, who loved her more than all, Sat useless by the cottage wall.

"But when at last they told

My mother soon must die, When I stood breathless by the bed, And some one came to me, and said, For the last time her eye, Loving and as an angel mild, Was gazing on her darling child;

"Maddened and sick at heart,

I strained my sightless eyes;
But all was dark-no blessed ray
To show me where my mother lay
Fell from the pitying skies.

1 could not mark each change that came
In warning o'er her gentle frame.

"I thought my heart would break,

Knowing she looked on me-
That o'er each feature of my face
She lingered with a dying gaze—
A gaze I might not see!

Silent I stood-as turned to stone-
Waiting to hear her parting groan.

"I felt her hand grow cold

It tightened in its grasp ;—
My tears were frozen in my heart,
Until at length they tried to part

Her fingers from their clasp.
Then with a storm of anguish vain,
They gushing fell like summer rain.

"Who now will lead my feet

Where whispering waters glide? Or sit with me beneath the trees, Sweet converse holding with the breeze, That roams the forest wide ? Or rest, amid the odorous bowers, To hear the murmurs of the flowers?

"Mother! we will not part

Death cannot long divide. But in a far-off world of light,

Where God shall gift thy child with sight

We'll wander side by side. Joyful I spring to thy embrace Secing at last thy blessed face!"

She paused-her eager ear

Had caught the warning sound Of voices and approaching feetShe waited not their steps to greet, But with a sudden bound Towards the bier, one cry she gave, And died with her she could not save! Philadelphia, 1838.

MISS SEDGWICK.

To Mr. T. W. WHITE,

Editor of Southern Literary Messenger. My Dear Sir:-Being at present much occupied with domestic duties, and never in the habit of writing for more dignified periodicals than souvenirs, and having nothing better to send you than the following passages, I should have foreborne, but that I wished to express to you my desire to comply with your request, and my very grateful sense of your repeated attentions in sending your valuable Journal to me, and that during this hot season I imagine quantity may sometimes be desirable to you (as filling up) independent of quality.

Believe me, my dear sir,

Very respectfully and gratefully, yours,
C. M. SEDGWICK.

Stockbridge, Mass. July 20, 1838.

PASSAGES

FROM A JOURNAL AT ROCKAWAY.

If there is any time at which the love of nature is felt to be an universal passion-a love to which all other loves should be sacrificed-it is at the coming on of Spring, when Nature is to our senses a manifestation of the Creator-a realization of that belief of ancient philosophy, that in nature the Almighty Spirit lived and moved and had it's being. Even the poor pent-up denizen of the city, cabined, cribbed, confined as he is, at this season, when nature visibly begins her beautiful processes-makes some demonstrations that the love of her is not dead within him: the trees he has planted, (God's witnesses amidst brick walls) the birds (albeit stolen from their natural habitations in the green wood) in their cages, and the carefully tended plants at the open windows are signs of this love.

Those who have passed their childhood where Nature's choicest temples are fixed-who may be said, in some humble sort, to have served at her altars, are most impatient at the actual discomforts as well as privations of a summer city life. I do not know that I ever experienced a more delightful sensation than that produced a few days since by a change from New York to Rockaway from frying in the city, to the life-giving breezes of this magnificent sea-shore. Perhaps neither heat nor cold should be positive evils to those in tolerable health; but who is stoical enough to be independent of them? No topic, not morals, politics, nor even religion, is, from the beginning to the end of life, so

often and so thoroughly discussed as the weather. It is the breath of life to old and young, to rich and poor, and when it comes so fiercely hot as during the last week, we suffer-and suffering there are few that do not complain. Besides, is it not a positive evil during the month of June, when the summer is in the freshness and beauty of her youth, the only month that in our northern region shadows forth a poet's spring, is it not an evil to be imprisoned in a city, to have your senses deprived of the nutriment prepared by Heaven to restore them to their natural ministry to the mind; for, do not the odors and the music of June (to say nothing of the strawberries!) awaken the dullest imagination?

A week in the city, in June, is then always a loss, but a week like the last, when the mercury, in our coolest apartments, stood at 80°, and in the warmest at a point that would not have seemed enviable to the wretches in the hottest circle of Dante's Inferno: after such a week's experience in town, the change to Rockaway makes one feel, as Dives might have felt if the gulph had not been impassable that divided him from Lazarus. For the last seven days not a drop of rain had fallen, the air was thick and heavy with impalpable dust, the very leaves on the trees seemed to feel it too hot to move-and the poor little caged birds that had been singing themselves and us into forgetfulness of our exile from Nature, were withdrawn from their airings, and were silently languishing in darkened apartments. We had cast off every garment that could be dispensed with; our flannels were forgotten friends. I was suddenly summoned here to join a very dear invalid friend, and I set off to do the most agreeable thing in the world with the delightful self-complacency resulting from the performance of a duty. The golden cup given to the miser in Parnell's apologue is an illustration of the profuseness, with which Providence throws golden pleasures into the scale of our duties. My companion was a charming school-girl, who enjoyed with a school-girl's relish the unexpected transition from her tasks to our excursion. As we hurried down Broadway to take the four o'clock rail-car at Brooklyn, the heat was intense. In the ferry-boat we felt the life-restoring sea-breeze that came sweeping up the bay; and when the cars began their flight, we were cooled down to the temperate point. At Jamaica, where we were transferred to Mott's waggon and entered on the pretty country road that leads to the beach, the wind was so cool that we wrapped our blanket shawls close around us, and here we have found them sitting with the windows down, and we feel as if we had jumped from a hot bath into a snow-bank.

And here before my window is the "great and wide sea." What an image of eternity it is at this moment shrouded in mist! You hear it's mighty voice-you know it's reality, and that "therein are things innumerable ;" but beyond the line where human feet tread, you see nothing-There where the breakers fall, as upon the borders of human life, is all the din and uproar. Beyond, through that immeasurable distance, all seems repose; and seems so only because it is like eternity, hidden from our vision.

Monday, P. M.—I went alone to walk on the beach. There had been a storm, and the clouds that were wildly scudding over the heavens here and there, broke away,

and the sunbeams poured from the bright world above them and kindled in the east a rainbow that dropped its column of colored light into the ocean. I would commend any one afflicted with self-exaggeration to a solitary walk on a sea-beach. All selfism is lost in an overpowering sentiment of reverence. I had an almost painful feeling of illimitable power, but as I turned from the surf which was breaking magnificently, a sweet breath from the landward clover-fields met me, and filled my eyes with tears and my heart with sen sations like those that answer the voices of kindred, or are called forth by the little beam that greets us from the candle in our own home, when we return from a stranger's dwelling.

Monday evening brought me three letters. Where do letters not come except, as Johnson lamented, not to the grave? Chance could hardly throw together the productions of three more remarkable women than my correspondents-the least of them in the world's eye is the greatest, perhaps in the kingdom of heaven. has many high faculties, some almost preternatural powers that does not approach; clearer moral perceptions and loftier aspirations no one has. They are not unlike in that quality that, like a pure atmosphere gives vigor and effect to all others-naturalness. Neither has - the varied and enriching experience, the glowing imagination and the almost unlimited ac quisitions of Mrs. ➖➖➖; but she has a healthier and -; therefore a happier spirit. She has the spontaneous richness and goodness that are God's gifts, and as superior to any acquired talents or results of virtuous efforts as sunlight to lamplight, or the gracious showers from the clouds to the pourings from a watering-pot. Her mind seems, without an effort (for you see no fluttering of the wings) to rise to the highest altitude: and, kind and patient, without any apparent stooping, to come down to the least duty. While poor beating her golden feathers off against every limit as if limits were prison walls, is singing on every bough, feathering every nest as well as her own, and feeding every chance bird.

[ocr errors]

Tuesday. The gay season for watering-places has not yet come, and beside the untiring and ever-exciting view of the sea, there is little to vary life here; there are drives on the beach, and when the tide is up, round the pretty rural lanes of the interior, past the farmhouses, where you see plenty of pig-nurseries and hen coops, where generations are preparing for the alldevouring jaws of the New York market. Then we have those three great daily events of all wateringplaces, breakfast, dinner and tea, diversified by the liberality of Messrs. Blake & Mead, and the ingenuity of French cooks. And we have arrivals and departures. At this moment there is standing before the piazza a carriage built upon the model of an English mail-coach, with four grey horses, their master seated on the box with a friend; the coachman and footman in frock coats, shorts, and white top boots in the dickey, and the lady, her nurses and children, inside. The coach and harness are blazoned with stags' heads and other heraldic devi ces. Some impertinent whispers asking from which side of the house these anti-republican emblems are derived, are suppressed from respect to the unpre tending lady, who, with her pretty children, the picture of an American matron, is courteously smiling

« السابقةمتابعة »