THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF COUNT TILLY.

THE name of Count ALEXANDER de TILLY is little known in England, unless indeed a discreditable anecdote told of him by COBBETT in one of his Registers, as having occurred at New York,

raay,still be remembered, Ile was nevertheless a remarkable cha-

meter in his life, and will henceforward be noted as the author of these very curious and piquant Memoirs*. With scarcely less ele- gance of style than Count ANTONY HAMILTON, with too great a similarity of subject, TILLY'S Memoirs are as well calculated as those of De GRAMMONT to make a lasting sensation in the world. They are superior in depth of thought; they show a greater reach of mind: in fact, they are a production of a later century—they could have only been written at the latter end of the last or the beginning of this; for such is the complexion of their philosophy In his portraits of character, TILLY is in the same manner supe- rior to his predecessor, if not in the felicity with which he marks their traits, yet in the analytical acuteness with which he accounts for and describes them. Women are too often the subjects of both, for each of the Memoirs are the lives of men de bonnes fortunes : in TILLY, however, the men come in for an equal share of atten- tion, and are considered under all their important relations with society.; while in De Griazamorrr we only hear of them as neces- sary parties in an intrigue. But TILLY was a man of education and intellect, as well as a man of gallantry, and fully as well ac- complished in the severer qualities of the citizen as in the more polished graces of the courtier. Count ALEXANDER de TILLY was born at Mans, the descend- ant of an ancient family, but not of extensive possessions. He entered life as one of the pages of the unfortunate MARIE ANTOI- NETTE, Queen of France : from this service he went into the army, which he soon deserted for the dissipated life of a courtier, spending his time between the gaiety of Paris and the splendours of Ver- sailles. Both before and after the Revolution, he made journies into England ; and when at length compelled to emigrate (Much he did not do till after the I 0th August), lie travelled not only over a great part of Europe, but he also visited the New World. Being permitted to return to France under the Emperor, he remained there till his fall: soon after the Restoration, he appears to have retired to Brussels ; where, weal/ of a life he had spent too fast, he put an end to his existence, about the year MS. The Memoirs are marked by a grand indifference to life, which the last act of the author shows not to be affected. The old man who visited the catacombs of Paris, is represented by the author of the " Hermit of the Chauss6e D'Antin" as hesitating, on ascending from their re- cesses, and saying to his young companion, who demanded the reason of his delay, " I was first thinking whether it was worth my while to go out." -We can suppose the Count de TILLY asking him- self every morning after breakfast, whether it was worth while to live through the day; and this not from a disgust at the misery or mis- fortunes of life, but from an absolute indifference to the pleasures of existence—not the gloomy megrims of the Englishman, but the palled appetite of the Frenchman, who having eaten his fill, gaily takes his departure at the end of the feast. The title of these Memoirs, not probably the one given to it by the author, but by his editor, represents the work as serving to paint the history of Manners at the close of the eighteenth century. We certainly know not where to look for a more lively or more intelligent picture of fashionable life in Paris—of its pleasures, its principles and sentiments, just previous to the Revolution, than in these entertaining volumes. The period was a most licentious one ; and we must warn our readers, that the picture of them cannot be fit for every eye. Count de Ttux is excessively candid ; he spares neither himself nor his friends : his work amounts to a series of confessions ; we wish they may only be read by those who desire to learn the history of the past. The proper feeling with which the Count relates his adventures will not entirely correct the injurious tendency of some of his narrations. It may be said that the indulgence of passion is proved in the very history of it to be productive of ultimate misery: if, however, the circumstances of the story are calculated to excite the inflammable temperament of youth, the mind is no longer in a condition to weigh conse- quences. Here is the mischief of exciting the imagination : the most saintly of tracts may thus do as much mischief as the pro- fanest of pamphlets. The Memoirs of TILLY afford ample food for the reflective man, but would prove very dangerous entertain- ment for the juvenile reader. To us they seem pregnant with in- struction: they depict all the traits which indicated the coming storm of the Revolution.

Among the abundance of stories, anecdotes, and characters, which present themselves as remarkable enough for quotation, we are at a loss to choose those which will give the best idea of the work. We need not, however, be very particular; we are quite sure the work will soon be well known in England; and in the mean time, we will pick out and translate a long single extract, which, while it presents a complete portrait in itself, is at the same time interesting from the nature of its materials. It describes first a strange duel, one of the parties to which is the Comte du TOME- viLLE, a young man of fashion in Paris just before the Revolu- tion. The story of the duel gives the author occasion to go into his character ; and affords a tolerable opportunity of judging of his talent for character-drawing.

DUELS AND CHARACTER OF TIIE COMTE DU TOUCEVILLE.

" I was preparing to quit Paris, when a friend who was much attached to me proposed to go and see I know not what piece, which at the time had a great run at one of the theatres in the Boulevards: he offered me a place in a box in company with a lady with whom he was desperately in love, and whose personal charms were more worthy of his attachment than either her mind or her disposition. However that may be, I ac• cepted the offer, and there we went. A moment after we had sated our- * Memoires du Comte de Tilly, pour servir a l'Histoire des 111ceurs de Is Fin du 18 Sikelc, ;3 tom. tSvo. Faris, 182d.

selves, the next box was opened, and two gentlemen and two ladies, whom I did not know, entered. One of the men indulged himself in immoderate bursts of laughter, and began in a loud voice to make very severe obser- vations on women of immoral conduct and bad principles, who, he said, were the pests of society, and who, after deserving transportation for their crimes, retreated to the convents of Paris, of which they were the dis- grace, as they had been of the world. Being placed very near to this mo- ralist, I took the liberty of requesting that he would speak in a lower tone : he consented with a tolerably good grace, and I thought the affair was at an end; but having left the box between the acts, I was very much surprised on re-entering when the Comte du Touceville told me that he should have need of me after the play, being under the necessity of chas- tising this person, who had just insulted him grievously. After these few words, he left me with his weeping beauty to tell his footman to fetch his sword.

" The play ended, we put the lady into a carriage : I must do her the justice to say, that she was in a consternation at being the Helen of the combat. She informed me briefly that this Hector was a country squire, who in their province had been deeply enamoured of her, but that, as she assured me, according to custom, their intercourse had been of the most honourable and virtuous description. Let this be as it may, there was an extensive field behind the boulevard of the temple which was intersected in every direction by deep ditches : our adversary informed us that we might there rip up extremely at our ease. He begged for ten minutes to call upon a friend in the neighbourhood, of whom he might get a sword. M. du Touceville approached him to know with whom he had the honour to try his skill. My name,' answered he, is of little consequence to you; it is tolerably well known here. The truth is, that I have insulted you ; that far from repenting, I would do it again; and that, ruined and betrayed, I have nothing better to do than to take your life or to lose my own.' I scarcely could contain myself on hearing such detestable logic, and seeing the air of insolence, or rather of madness, with which he spoke. As to M. du Touceville, be was calm as innocence, and in truth he had very little to answer for in spilling the blood of such a one. This amiable gentle- man having brought no second with him, I remarked it to him ; his an- swer, in the tone of a Bobadil, was, that he never did ; that he had had twenty affairs in the course of his life without implicating any one ; and that be would soon show me, if I liked, that there was no difficulty in fighting without seconds at all. After saying this, he separated from us in all haste, having the goodness to inform its that he should very soon be hack. Touceville, with something like the solemnity of a tragedian, said, This man is dead, and here is his tomb,' pointing to a precipice some steps from us, of from eighty to a hundred feet in depth. The gentle- man did not keep us waiting, he quickly returned with a sword under his arm, of a length certainly forbidden by all the laws of honour. Count du Touceville prevent& me from entering into any conversation, stripped himself with the rapidity of lightning, showing his chest to his antagonist, who did the same. It was sufficiently light, but under the pretext of see- ing better, my friend led him insensibly to the edge of the abyss of which I have spoken. At some feet from its brink commenced the fight, as fierce and as skilful as can well be imagined; but Touceville making a voile with wonderful agility, caught him with his back to the pit ; and, as if he had only waited for that moment, plunged his sword into his bosom up to the guard ; then seizing him at the same instant with both his hands with the fury of a lion, he lifted him off the ground and hurled him down the pre- cipice. I confess I was petrified with fright, and could not repress a cry at seeing him tumbling headlong down the descent with the sword still sticking through his body. Let us leave hit ' says the conqueror, ' he has no more need of help.' Seizing tbe sword which the incognito had let fall, he added, 'This is an ill-spent evening, and a bad exchange for him ; let us be gone.'

"I was very much of his opinion, but for the world I could not have left him without sending him assistance, persuaded as I was that it was useless. Du Touceville walked in a gloomy reverie. To his ferocity in the contest had succeeded a state of depression and almost of remorse, I supported him ; he could scarcely walk to the coach I conducted him to- wards : there 1 left him, to run for one of the sentinels of the watch. I in- formed the sergeant, whom I accidentally hit upon, after having slipped some silver into his hand, that I had heard some groans proceed from the spot I pointed out. I knew the uselessness of the step, and that the un- happy man had well merited his fate.

"As this work is especially dedicated to recollections, I will here give some idea of the character and life of the hero of this adventure. T - will throw a few flowers on the grave of one who was little understood by many, and to others only known for evil. I will not conceal his faults, by way of revenge upon the false charges that have been brought against him. This sketch of him may be useful to young men who enter into life with advantages they abuse, or ill-regulated passions by which they are governed. " M. du Touceville was the issue of an ancient family in Normandy, which, though not of the first distinction, yet belonged to the first houses of that province. His ancestors, up to his grandfather, had been Pro- testants, and this religion was the road neither to favour nor fortune. His father when very young had had a company of dragoons in the regi- ment of Conde; he quitted the service after having embarrassed his for- tune. He had been imprudent enough afterwards to accept I know not what inferior office in some court of judicature in a town -of Normandy : he had made a sort of bargain respecting it, and managed so ill as to find himself unequal to a place to which he was in all respects superior : the most disgusting part of the business was, that he was obliged to quit it. I speak of this circumstance connected with the father, because after- wards it was made a subject of reproach against the son, when there was an attempt made to rum him. Ile had been brought up a page to the Prince of Conde, and was not vexed at its being supposed that he. had been attached in a manner more direct to the Duchess of Bourbon, to WilOSO court he belonged at his first entry into the world.

" He had an agreeable countenance, and, above all, noble. He had two pretensions which were the ruin of him, because they gave an idea of a character dangerous as well as trifling, ferocious and futile : these were, celebrity for the number of his duels, and for success in his affairs of gallantry. He had had several duels on his hands ; some of them made a noise : one of the first was with Count de Durfort, he who was after- wards an officer of the Body Guard, and who adhered to the Revolution from its first dawn. This quarrel took place at a ball at the house of Madame d'Espagnac, at the Invalids, where half Paris happened to be assembled. It was about a scat, and was arranged ; but the next day the ladies declared that it was an affair of e:areme indecorum : ' that they had said things not of this world ;" that it was unheard of;' ' that they had not fought, that they were dishonoured,' and persons of whom no notice could be taken.' Of course there was no resisting arguments of such force ; these ladies had every satisfaction, for the two victims of their gossip met, assuring each other of their prodigious esteem, and that they had no complaint to make, but that they felt it necessary to

kill one another for love of a sex which was the arbiter of law and re- putation, whenever they took upon themselves to decide. This took

place in the presence of M. Foufai, who afterwards died by so tragical a death : the two gentlemen pierced one another reciprocally by what the professors of the art term a coup fourre, which kept them both in their beds for several weeks, after having left them nine days between life and death the least wounded was bled at least seven or eight times. " I observed that he had had several duels, andthat this pretension had some foundation. As to his bonnes fortunes the ease is less clear, though

he himself did all in his power to persuade people of its truth. Ile had mistresses, it is true, and he changed them often ; but as in this matter the quality is of more importance than the number, and since as his

were in general country frights, separated wives, ladies lodging we Pre- dense sang-, a la Conception, figure-dancers at the opera, subaltern ac- tresses, I have often come to the conclusion, and I have told him so, that

in this way, one case excepted, he had done nothing of consequence. His manners were a strange mixture of romance, the theatre, the court (for he had seen it), and of low society into which circumstances had thrown him, which little qualified him to succeed with either women of nature or women of the world. He was ignorant of all the art of managing female society, and spoke of it in a manner truly provincial. It was the same with the arts, poetry, music, which he loved without understand- ing them. I have observed that, possessed as he was of a sufficient quan- tity of taste and judgment, he was never vulgar but when he was in love. " Madame de Vierville of the Palais Royal was his relative. It was she who introduced him to the society of the Duke of Orleans and Madame de Montesson, at whose house he used to perform parts in comedy very indifferently : but as he thought that he played particularly well, it was all the same thing for him, though not also for the rest. Hence an infinity of verses which he knew by heart, which he quoted on all occasions, taking great care, like many actors by profession, to spoil them, to ruin the measure by expletives, or by substituting one word for another : never had a man less car.

"A piece of absurdity, a rumour true or false, but believed from his own silly pretension, had closed the doors of the Palais Bourbon against him : a duel in like manner excluded him from the Palais Royal, rather than his debts which were made the pretext, and which the Duke of Or- leans would have paid for him if he had consented to go to India with the brevet of Colonel. He had lost at Rainsy, I think, some money to Mes- sieurs de la Marck and de Gouvernet, which he did not pay : angry words ensued, and he gave a sword-wound to the latter, in whom the Prince took

such a great interest that he had even condescended to interpose in this paltry affair, sending for M. du Touceville into his cabinet, and. there, as he told me himself, reasoning with him like a father. The tone of insolence which du Touceville assumed ruined him with the Prince, especially after M. de Gouvernet's wound, which the Duke had done all in his power to avoid. He was desired for the future to confine himself to his apartments; which he did, after writing a letter which was far worse than ill-judged. He then tried Versailles, where he had been presented, al- though he had never been able to obtain an order of appearance (mitre de Wi)d) on account of the prejudices which the King had conceived against him. I know that it has been disputed (for what will not envy dispute) that he could make out his preures pour les curosses (his claim to nobility);

but I, who have seen the certificate of M. Cherin, (the court genealogist) and a letter from the Duke de Coigny, cannot have on that head a shadow of doubt.

"At Versailles for sonic weeks the Queen did not treat him particularly ill, but hatred never stopealf way ; every means of calumny and reproach was used to ruin him. They even brought up against him the story of his father's plan, and went so far as to deny his being a gentleman (gentil- homme). He was the last man in the world to bear patiently a charge of this kind, absurd as it was. He thus contracted a habit of talking ge-

nealogy, or of citing, long and loudly, the first houses of the realm as be- longing to his family : he went about a long time, armed with certificates

and heraldic proofs : the late Prince of Salm and myself made him ashamed of it, and he took our advice. This brings to my mind, that one day, knowing that I was going to sup with one of the best men in France, who was full of kindness for me, the old Prince de Bauffremont, Who, though he had not held offices of the highest importance, had merited them as much as any one else by his qualities, and more than any other by his birth, du Touceville told me that he met the Prince before, and begged that I would ask permission to take him with me : I did, and it was granted. "Some days after we arrived, and after a multitude of small compli- ments, Prince,' said du Touceville, the honour of being related to you makes the opportunity of finding you again particularly precious." Mon- sieur !!' said M. de Bauffremont. Yes, we are related among others by the houses of the Royal Family—Hyacinthe, Maximilian du Toucevillv, and Yolande of Bourbon' " 'Monsieur I ! !'

"'Yes, prince, my house and the house of Bourbon having frequently,— " Monsieur U!,

"The Prince of Monaco was then a particular friend of M. de Bauffre- mont. He never lost an opportunity of ridiculing any one in his life ; he would jeer his footman when there was nobody else in his way. Ile took it up, and interrupting them, said, Oh, Sir, you confuse M. de 13auffre- mont ; his house never could presume to belong to yours.' Some one was announced, the affair rested there, and he was the sole person present who did not perceive that he had been ridiculous. After his disasters at court, he sold his wardrobe, which must have been very handsome : he observed regarding it, with great humour, that a suit of black was good enough for the town. I was laughing one day at it with him, when he answered, with a theatrical air, I am like those kings who after having

exhausted the luxury of dress in the effeminacy of courts, become con- querors and put on their backs for ever the simple uniform of the camp! He did not keep to it, how-ever; and before he died I have seen him all over lace, especially when lie was in love, or out of money.

"It must not be supposed that he always talked in this manner. He knew how to be sometimes very amiable, and had often a great fund of good sense ; which was, however, always spoilt by a certain something which it is much easier to feel than describe. He was chivalrous to exaggeration : he had a mighty devotion to women in theory ; in practice, however, be sometimes failed, in spite of the extreme severity of his principles on this head. Full of compliment, or else excessively short, he understood nothing of irony, although he had a great disposition to raillery : the

quality, however, which he possessed in serious cases, in the highest degree of excellence, was the power of keeping silence, or, if I may express myself so, the aplomb of his attitude, when he chose to say little, or not to speak at all.

"Overwhelmed by the blows of an adverse fortune, disinherited of the kingdoms of this world and their grandeur, he retreated into the country.

After some insignificant conquests on a very obscure theatre, he returned to Paris with sixty thousand francs (between two and three thousand _pounds), which he had borrowed of a German prince, who regarded him As another Vardes exiled from the Court of Louis XIV.: four hundred leagues off, one knows no better. He then took a house and establish- ment which supposed an income of a hundred thousand livres, and rushed into deep play. Toward the end of his life, which had been a stormy day lighted up by a few rays of sunshine, he made a journey into Brittany ; where he married a girl of family, who descended, he said, from a Chevalier of the Order, of the first promotion of Henry III. It was of little ,consequence to me, and I never sought into the truth of it. She brought him some fortune, which he returned to Paris to squander. In the end, After so many oscillations and vicissitudes, he was necessarily old before his time, and there remained little else to do but to die : it was the part which Nature long dictated to him: she received him into her bosom, after a pulmonary disorder of long duration, and sufficiently painful, but which, however, he defied, as well as death, with great magnanimity, saying to me only a few hours before, I resemble those great actors who quit the stage while they are still capable of pleasing the public. We live in deplorable times, (it was about the end of 1791), which will be followed by days still more frightful. I shall not see them. I shall not be a prey to the infirmities of old age. I shall not be extinguished by the slow agony of my wasted being. I have not been virtuous, but I have not been bad. If he who permitted us to be born, condescends to meddle with me, he will give me his pardon. I die like an honest man, without feebleness or imbecility,

Comme on mourait, eniin, dans Athimes et dans Borne.'

"It must be allowed that he died very opportunely—except, indeed, for his creditors, who had no other chance of getting any thing than by con- tinuing to trust him.

"I believe he had not reached his thirty-seventh year. I am almost certain that he died in debt to the amount of four hundred thousand francs (about sixteen thousand pounds). This was dying in very good time, and in a truly regular manner.

"I had just returned, after a considerable absence, when I found him at death's door. He was much touched at seeing me again. He spoke very philosophically of the small number of people who would regret him, and of the great number who had misunderstood him ; and recited these verses of the Abbe de Lille-

' Quel homme vers is vie, au moment du &part Ne se tourne et ne jette un triste et long regard, A l'espoir d'un regret ne sent pas quelque charme, Et des yeux d'un ami n'attend pas une l'arme ?'

"I promised that I would be this friend ; I kept my word.

"The portrait I have drawn of him up to this point is not flattering: that does not prevent him from having had very fine qualities which at- tached him to his friends. He was a true friend, sparing nothing to serve those whom he really loved; and that which is extraordinary is, that, fol- lowing scarcely ever good counsel himself, he scarcely ever gave bad ad- vice. His heart was excellent ; and although his conduct has not been irreproachable, I have known few men who could have been influenced to make more sacrifices, and meet more dangers in the face, than he by the simple use of the word honour. He wanted tact in many things, but the energy of his character always bore him out and redeemed him : his jealousy in matters of love was wild, and yet he was capable (as I have reason to know) to sacrifice it to friendship. His passions were so much the more ungovernable, that they sprang much rather from his head and his vanity than from his heart, naturally good, or from his disposition, which was extremely honourable whenever sus- ceptibility or pride did not lead it astray. In ancient France, he wanted nothing for rising to consideration and fortune, but some properties not easily attainable by a young man who makes his debut on the great stage of the world without guide or preparation : that is to say, sufficient strength of character to appear to have less of it ; sufficient talent to show only as much of it as is necessary ; sufficient good taste to be simple, and not to alarm people; and, in fine, sufficient solidity to be content with shining less. "I had known him in the days of his prosperity; I remained faithful to him in all his vicissitudes ; and during a friendship of twelve years I re- ceived some important services from him, some proofs of a desire to oblige without limits, and some marks of extreme affection. I have al- ways had much to praise in him—never anything to blame. It is only therefore simple justice that I have been attached to him during his life; and the heroism with which I saw him die, connecting itself as it does with so many recollections, renders, I confess, his memory precious to me. I will add, in order to be still more just, that he was, in almost every relation of life, superior to most of the men who, after having either known or met him, have feigned (a very common and very conve- nient practice) either to mistake or despise him."