and her features large and irregular; she never wore a bonnet, even when she appeared in feminine costume, which was not always the case; and yet through all these concealments, the most casual observer felt sure that she was, in its truest sense, a gentlewoman, well-informed and well-bred, with great feeling and tenderness of heart. But she is celebrated principally as a remarkable printer. She had set up a printing-press at her home, and practised the art so successfully that the works and collections printed by her are much sought after. During her stay at Lyons, she visited the printing establishment of M. Ballanche, and after a careful scrutiny of the type, presses, &c., to the astonishment of the workmen she suddenly tucked up her dress, turned back her sleeves, and with wonderful quickness and accuracy set up a page of matter, not omitting a peculiar rocking motion which was in fashion among the compositors of the time. Her daughter was the wife of Matthieu de Montmorency, which connexion formed an additional link of sympathy and interest with Madame Recamier.

His

But the most important event of Madame Recamier's residence at Lyons, and the one which had the greatest and most lasting influence on her life, was not the amusement which she found in social and artistic circles, not the occasional visits of friends from Paris, or the constant reception of letters from devoted admirers-each of whom was more or less celebrated and distinguished—but the introduction to M. Ballanche, whom she saw there for the first time. He was still young, but had already published some works showing great talent and research, and was then suffering under the disappointment of a marriage which had been broken off a short time previously. appearance was something extraordinary; his face was deformed, part of his jaw had been taken away, and he had been trepanned; besides which, his manners were constrained and embarrassed, so that the ugliness of his looks and the awkwardness of his demeanor formed a strange and uncouth whole, though more startling perhaps than actually repulsive. Such was the man who was pre⚫sented to Madame Recamier, and who, as though nature had not rendered him sufficiently unattractive, when he came to pay his first visit to her had his shoes covered with varnish of so horrible an odour that Madame Recamier was made quite ill, and was compelled to tell him the cause. He apologized with naïve humility, and, retiring into the ante-room, returned without shoes, and so remained during his visit, somewhat to the astonishment of her other visitors.

And thus began one of the truest, most lasting, and most faithful attachments which even Madame Recamier ever inspired; and certainly one of the three names with which hers is most inextricably linked, and the one, perhaps, from which it borrows its purest lustre, is that of M. Ballanche, the plain, uncouth printer of Lyons.

But we will quote from M. Guizot a sketch of this friendship, and give his testimony to its value and truth.

He says,—“In the history of human friendships I scarcely know a more beautiful one, or one which does more honor to both, than that of Madame Recamier and M. Ballanche. No attraction or motive of the very slightest worldly tinge could recommend the humble printer of Lyons, I will not say to the regard, but even to the notice, of the beautiful Parisian. M. Ballanche was ugly, his condition humble; he was unknown, generally silent and awkward, sometimes to an embarrassing extent; all his merits were hidden under a strange or ungraceful disguise, and could only be known through his writings or in perfectly intimate relations. Madame Recamier recognised them immediately; she felt that there was an exalted mind, a beautiful soul, and an inexhaustible power of devotion, as pure as it was tender. Almost from the first day when she made his acquaintance she treated M. Ballanche with that intelligent and sympathetic distinction which attracts the most reserved and reassures the most timid. From the first day, therefore, M. Ballanche was taken heart and soul. In one of his letters he says, 'It sometimes happens to me to be astounded at your kindness; I had no reason to expect it, because I know how silent, dull, and sad I am. But with your infinite tact you must have comprehended all the good you could do me. You who are pity and indulgence itself, you saw in me a sort of exile and you compassionated one exiled from happiness. Permit me to feel for you what a brother may for a sister. I long for the moment when I can offer you with this fraternal feeling, the homage of what little I can do. My devotion shall be entire and unreserved. I wish for your happiness at the expense of my own. There is but justice in that, for you are worth more than I am.' These were not phrases of a first or passing emotion. M. Ballanche kept his word; during thirty-five years his devotion to Madame Recamier was, as he had said, entire and unreserved. He exacted nothing, he complained of nothing, he entered into all the sentiments of Madame Recamier, and counselled her when needful with complete frankness, but without the pious anxiety of Matthieu de Montmorency, for he had no thought of converting her; she was already, he believed, a celestial creature, an angel, the ideal which he passed his life in contemplating, in admiring, and in loving, as Dante contemplated, admired, and loved Beatrice when he passed through Paradise. 'My entire destiny,' he wrote to her, 'consists, perhaps, in letting some trace remain upon earth of your noble existence. You know well that you are my star. If you were to enter your white marble tomb they might hasten to dig me a grave, to which in my turn I should repair. What could I do on this earth?" One cannot note without surprise this love so utterly free from all pretension, from all desire, from all jealousy and yet of which we cannot mistake the powerful truth. And what renders to Madame Recamier perhaps still greater honor than the having inspired such a sentiment is, that in accepting it completely, she did not abuse it, and repayed it very unequally

doubtless but always sincerely and seriously. She showed M. Ballanche a friendship and confidence which procured him a happy place of his own amid her circle of brilliant adorers. She took great care of his modest amour-propre, his dignity, his success, and his interests; she aided considerably, in 1842, in procuring his admission into the Academie Française, and when in 1847 he was attacked by pleurisy, which proved fatal, Madame Recamier, who had just undergone an operation for cataract, and required perfect rest, gave up all precautions, came and established herself at the bedside of her dying friend, did not leave him while he still breathed, and through weeping, as her niece tells us, lost every chance of recovering her sight."

Early in the year 1813, Matthieu de Montmorency paid a visit to Lyons, and prevailed on Madame Recamier to seek change of scene by fulfilling her long-talked of project of a journey to Italy. He accompanied her as far as Chambéry, and from thence, she, her little niece, and her maid, under the escort of a German gentleman who was about to visit the south, proceeded by easy stages towards Rome, where she spent the spring and summer. Here she made the acquaintance of Canova, the sculptor, and he, as well as his brother the Abbé Canova, passed many of their evenings in her society, while she would no less frequently visit the studio, and watch the progress of Canova's work. While in Rome she received letters from the Duchesse de Luynes announcing, first the serious illness, then the death of her daughter-in-law, Madame de Chevreuse.

In the month of July, M. Ballanche came for one week to Rome, travelling day and night, so that he might not waste one hour in rest which could be spent with Madame Recamier. The first evening of his arrival she took him to see the Coliseum and St. Peter's, in company with Canova. While the latter was muffled in a cloak for fear of the night air, and was rallying Madame Recamier on the courage with which French women braved such risks, M. Ballanche walked beside them in perfect silence, his hands clasped behind him, and without his hat. "Where is your hat, M. Ballanche?" at last exclaimed Madame Recamier. 66 Oh, I had forgotten," said he ; "I lost it at Alexandrie;" and until thus reminded he had never remembered it was necessary to procure another.

We can guess how deep and intense must have been the joy of these few days, passed in the presence of her who was so much to him, by an extract from a letter he wrote on his journey home, -describing the reaction of his feeling :

"I must not let myself be overpowered by ennui; I am alone, the weight of solitude weighs horribly upon me; permit me, Madame, to solace myself by a few words with you. I can do nothing in these intervals of life; I have no taste for reading; the sight of a beautiful scene or monument is but a mechanical movement of my eyes and a fatigue to my thoughts. I do not care for it. I wish I could cut out of my life these moments of weariness and

emptiness. I am between Rome and Lyons: it appears to me that I am completely taken out of my own existence."

During the great heat of summer, Madame Recamier retired to Albano, where Canova had apartments, the best part of which he placed at her disposal, and here, with her little niece, she passed a tranquil and happy time, enjoying to the full the enchantment of the season and the place, while every Sunday the Signora Francese played the organ in the parish church for mass and vespers.

One incident of her stay at Albano left a painful impression in the midst of an otherwise calm and pleasant remembrance. A poor fisherman was condemned to death for supposed treasonable correspondence, and not knowing Madame Recamier's position with the Government, her intercession was sought. In spite of the hopelessness of her appeal she did her utmost, and pleaded hard with the French authorities; but in vain; she only received for answer that a person herself exiled had better not attempt to stop the course of justice. But we must pass over Madame Recamier's return to Rome, where she met many friends, old and new, and follow her to Naples, whither she proceeded in the December of 1813. On the journey, which she made in company with some English acquaintance, a mistake about post-horses occurred, by which they profited at the expense of some important traveller, so important as to be highly indignant at the presumption and impertinence which had dared to inconvenience him. A loud and angry voice was heard declaiming against "these insolent people who have robbed me of my horses." Madame Recamier, recognising Fouché's voice, came forward laughing, and said, "It is I, M. le Duc." Without appearing to notice the embarrassment which her appearance caused him, she entered into conversation with him, and discussed the aspect of political affairs with provoking composure. With some irritation,

he recommended her to be prudent as to what she did, and concluded by saying, "Remember, Madame, one should be yielding when one is weak;" "And one should be just when one is strong," was the reply.

Madame Recamier had some hesitation as to how far her presence at Naples would be welcome to her old acquaintance, the Queen; but she was assured that she might count on a friendly reception, and she found one which was even more than friendly; so constant, so kind, and so flattering were the attentions lavished on her by Caroline Murat. It was at an important crisis for the fate of Naples that Madame Recamier arrived there. Murat was still in doubt how far he should cling to his brother-in-law, in spite of the pressing offers of Austria and England, and both he and his wife appealed to her for advice and support. As usual, she spoke with honesty and disinterestedness, and lost nothing in the regard of the king and queen, although she spoke in vain.

During the absence of Joachim and the regency of the Queen, Madame Recamier had the great happiness of interceding for, and

procuring pardon for a prisoner sentenced to death.

A recollection

which was a constant source of delight to her, none the less for her fruitless efforts and bitter disappointment at Albano.

In the following Lent, she returned to Rome for the ceremonies of Holy Week. She was met by Canova with an air of delighted mystery, and requested to visit his studio on an appointed day.

"Mira, se ho pensato a lei!" said the sculptor, as he unveiled two busts, proud both as a friend and an artist of the homage which his genius had enabled him to offer to one whom he so deeply admired.

They were both likenesses, made from remembrance, of herself. The busts did not please her; she could not conceal her first impression, and Canova's mortification was extreme. The wounded vanity of the artist was more excusable than that of the woman, and it was never healed. On one of the busts he placed a crown of olive, and so changed, called it Beatrice, and under that name it is known.

Political events were growing more and more complicated, and Napoleon's fall drawing near. Madame Recamier passed a short time once more at Naples, and while there learned that the crisis was passed, the Bourbons restored, and her return to her home therefore possible. She paused in passing through Rome to witness the re-entry of Pius VII., and again at Lyons to see her sisterin-law, M. Ballanche, and her other friends. She was received with delight by them, and even with public enthusiasm at a fête given in honor of the Restoration. On the 1st of June, 1814, she re

entered Paris after a three years' exile.

(To be concluded in our next.)

PAST

A. A. P.

XLVII.-INSANITY, PAST AND PRESENT.

INSANITY, like other diseases, changes in its outward complexion with times and seasons. Every age and country stamps its own impress upon the manifestation of this malady, and gives its peculiar tinge and color to its development. Considered, till within the last few years as mysterious and undefinable, superstition both in ancient and modern times has ever exercised a powerful influence over the judgment when devoted to the investigation of the cause or cure of lunacy. Madness has been even made the object of worship, so strange are the idols before which man has bowed in adoration. The philosophers taught, that in some instances insanity was a Divine afflatus, and consequently a blessing. They deemed that mental alienation proceeded from two causes, the one derived from the malignant influence of a demon; the other, especially when the hallucinations partook of an ecstatic character, the actual expres sion of the Divine presence, and the maniac was either consulted as

VOL. VI.

Υ