BOOKS.

MRS. OLIPHANrS LIFE OF MONTALEMBERT.* MRS. OLIPHANT has had a difficult task before her in this book, and yet not perhaps quite so difficult as it seems. To present the great champion of the Church of Rome and liberty, of the Monks of the West and a free Press, of chivalry and the British aristocracy, of Ireland and England, in a delineation that should • Memoirs of Count de Moritalemberi. Peer of Prance, Deputy for the Deparement of Doula. A Chapter of Recent French Metory. By Mrs. Oliphant. 2 POHL London and Edinburgh : Blackwood. be not only in a moral sense at least self-consistent and dignified, like the living man, but also fully alive to the vital paradox, the piquant anomaly in the close association of the great and com- monly hostile principles thus compelled to agree amongst each other on a modus vivendi in the same nature, might have alarmed- even the vivid imagination of the skilful novelist to whom the. seeming inconsistencies of human character have furnished a life- long study. Yet the difficulty in the present day was not perhaps- quite so great as it seemed. No one appreciates better than Mrs. Oliphant the tendency of modern intellectual life to make- extremes meet and profit by the meeting. The Roman Catholics of to-day enter freely the camp of their enemies, to learn, if it may be, the true method of assault. The Liberal Press is apt to be far fairer to the ideas of a great Monastic system in which it has no living part, than the Conservative Press which finds in Roman. Catholicism a rival and a menace. The overweening power of demo- cracy has not unfrequently induced the intellectual chivalry of Europe to take up the defence of great historic institutions like the- British aristocracy in which chivalry was conspicuous by its ab- sence"; and the profound remorse which the former ill-treatment of Ireland and India has bred in the hearts of the noblest English states- men, has rendered it quite possible to combine an enthusiastic sym- pathy with the wrongs of conquered British dependencies with an even excessive admiration for the splendid atonements not unfre- quently offered by England to her former victims. Mrs. Oliphant is aware of this, and has given us a very attractive picture of the unique French nobleman whom she has made the subject of this book. Wedo not say that she has entered with equal force into all the- aspects of Montalembert's active and complex life. She sympathises- deeply with his spirit of knight-errantry in almost always pleading for the side of the vanquished, and narrates the almost singular ex- ception ,—his delight in the victory of the North over the Slave-power- in America,—in a tone in which we may perhaps be mistaken in- fancying that we detect an accent of regret. She admires Monta- lembert's chivalry to the full, and is not disinclined to sympathise- with his delight in the solidity and the historic grandeur of those- British institutions of which we have so totally altered the meaning. She evidently admires to the full the audacity and genuine love of battle which made Montalembert strike so often a ringing stroke- with the sharp end of his lance on the shields of his powerful democratic adversaries. It is, too, with the utmost sympathy that. she records the reason for his decision against becoming a priest, —" I love movement and bruit, and the world is on fire." She- enters into the picturesque side even of his Roman Catholic devo- tion. But she seems to find it very difficult to conceive his state- of faith in relation to the general movement of European thought ; or if she does not, she prefers to ignore it. Her sketch of Montalembert's connection with Lamennais through Lacordaire is wanting in the vivacity we should have expected ; and the last great and fierce controversy in which he was- engaged, in reference to Papal Infallibility, is touched with the- lightest possible hand. Oddly enough, we are inclined to attri- bute this indefiniteness in delineating one of the most interesting aspects of Montalembert's life to a certain languor of sympathy with Montalebert's passionate love of what he, at least, always. meant by liberty,'—not the cause of the masses, not the eager belief that the majority of men will find some way of liberating themselves from the sufferings which the power of a few inflicts- (which he did not believe to be possible), not what we now call 'the enthusiasm of humanity,'—but the principle that you must give all men the full sense of inward liberty in order either- that right may be done, or truth embraced, or God worshipped,— the principle that only spontaneous, as distinguished from con- strained, life can lead to the genuine triumph of either goodness-

or truth. In this sense of the word, 'liberty' has, we think, been, on the whole, even more keenly appreciated by aristocracies than.

by democracies, which last, when they speak of liberty, very naturally think rather of a change of circumstances tending to rid' them of the troubles from which they suffer, than of the freer movement of their own minds and wills. Montalembert's deep-

belief in the sacredness of liberty of the latter kind was quite un- accompanied by any real belief in the need for a reconstruction of the physical conditions of the lives of the masses. This he called socialism, and asserted that socialism at bottom "is man believing himself God in the sense that he believes himself capable of destroying evil and suffering." Mrs. Oliphant quotes from a very characteristic letter to Lacordaire vehemently attacking "modern" ideas, which fairly illustrates our meaning :—

" I do not in the least admit your principle, that in order to influence one's age it is necessary to hold it in esteem. It seems to me that the example of all saints and great men worthy of imitation proves exactly the contrary. From St. Augustine down to F4Sn4lon, Catholic writers have never ceased to inveigh against their age. It was only in the eighteenth century that philosophers began to profess that admiration for humanity in general, and for their epoch in particular, which in the present day is pushed to the height of folly, and of which God forbid that I should ever become an accomplice. So far as you are concerned, the axioms in which you condense your sentiments upon the social ques- tion as connected with the religious question, seem to me irreproachable; but do they go to the bottom of the difference which separates us? I do not think so. All these principles, which you regard as always and in all places Christian (to wit, equality before the law, the throwing open of public posts to all who are qualified to fill them, the payment of taxes by all, the right of being judged by national tribunals), whence do they come if it is not from the hands of aristocratic England? and who but the English aristocracy alone have maintained them in Europe? In another place you speak of the new French people, which alone possesses true vitality nowadays, the vigorous child of an old race, dm. I too believe in its vitality and vigour, but with less confidence. I am persuaded that God has many misunderstandings and many difficulties in store to moderate the pride which is one of the leading principles of that vitality, and that its final triumph will be attended by many afflictions and insults for Catholics and honest people ; and for this reason I anxiously -desire that you should maintain an affectionate but impartial neutrality in respect to that triumph. The greatest honour that I can do to modern democracy is to compare it to the invasion of barbarians which overthrew the Roman Empire. They too destroyed a corrupt society ; they even had ahead indirectly in founding the magnificent edifice of Christendom in the middle ages."

"When Montalembert took for his battle-cry "God and liberty," what he meant was, God and the freedom by which alone you can really choose God,—God and the absence of any artificial constraints between the soul and virtue, between the soul and truth. He hated slavery as an artificial restraint standing between the soul and both; he hated Erastianism, deeming it an artificial constraint standing 'between the soul and truth ; he hated imperialism,—the assump- tion of representative capacity by one man in his own interest— as partaking of the nature of both ; he hated the propagandist radicalism, as imposing on behalf of the interests of the masses precisely the same kind of vulgarising restraints which imperialism imposes on behalf of the interests of the Emperor ;—in short, his political aim in life was the system which would yield the greatest play to all sincere individual faculty, whether spiritual, moral, or

intellectual. He wanted fair play for the religious and human affections, fair play for the conscience, fair play for the under- standing, and believed that the largest possible amount of all three would yield the most certain triumph to the Roman Church. And the ground of his resistance to the proclamation of the dogma of papal infallibility, which he had often virtually accepted in his earlier life, was, we suspect, his strong impression that its solemn acceptance by the Church would check the free play of that religious discussion by which, as he honestly believed, the .Church would gain everything and Use nothing. He was evidently prepared to submit bond fide to the decree, if the Council had voted it, before his death, but he dreaded and resisted it, from the sense that it would prejudice, as it no doubt has prejudiced, the un-Catholic world against the notion that the Church has full confidence in the moral and in- tellectual strength of her own case. Mrs. Oliphant, while delineat- ing with great vivacity the chivalric side of Montalembert's mind, —his spiritual enthusiasm, his loyalty of soul, his ardent affection, his almost Quixotic knight-errantry, his distinguished manner, his artistic taste, seems to us to enter far too little into the nature of -that love for liberty which appeared so oddly assorted with his reverence for authority and his somewhat disdainful pride in representing "the sons of the Crusaders." Mrs. Oliphant sketches the ardent and eloquent side of Montalembert better than his in- tellectual side. Nothing can be more fascinating than her picture of the affectionate, gracious, courteous boy, unless it be her pic- ture of the affectionate, gracious, courteous man, as he lay strug- gling against the inroads of the last fatal disease. We quote the last :— "From 1866 his life was fall of suffering, often very intense and -severe. 'I am still in a very sad and precarious state,' he wrote in the beginning of 1867, 'although there seems to be nothing more to alarm my physicians.' From that time, however, he never was able to escape -from the habits and restrictions of invalid life. Sometimes he was well enough to drive out, sometimes he was kept confined to his room or even his bed ; and the freedom of ordinary existence, with its inadvertent comings and goings, was over for him in this world. But while his bodily frame sank under so many pangs, his mind was clear and vigorous as ever. Daring the long lingeriugs of his illness, it was his custom to receive his friends in the afternoon at a certain hour, with all his old genial kindness and undiminished brilliancy. Perhaps he never shone more in conversation than he did in those moments of intercourse, when, forgetting and desiring to forget his infirmities and pangs, he threw himself in mind into the out-door world which he had left for ever, and Into the interests of others. The benignity of his courtly manners, his delightful power of sympathy and grace of kindness, came out with double force from the background of his weakness and suffering. At first his receptions were held in his library, where, surrounded-by all the materials and the evidence of his many labours, seated in his easy-chair or small sofa by the table at which he could no longer work, his ever cheerful looks, and ever animated conversation, made it impossible for the visitor to associate with him any painful idea of fatal prognostication. During the summer of 1867, when the last great French Exhibition was gathering strangers from every corner of the world, and Paris was splendid with royal visits, and all the luxurious pomp of the Empire, never more lavish or more splendid than at that moment, the drawing- room of his house in the Rue du Bac, which had grown to be a kind of anteroom to his presence-chamber, would be full of men whose names have a European fame, waiting for their moment of audience. Even now we seem to see the large cool salon, darkened to keep out the afternoon blaze of sunshine and tropical heat, and to hear the low but animated hum of talk, as those who had lived and laboured with him, and to whom

his absence made a blank in life, discussed the passing events of which they were convoying the news to him, and the other brethren in arms who had fallen more quickly than be. One such occasion comes vividly

before our mind, on which all the conversation was about Cousin, a name so often mentioned in these pages, who was lately dead,—he who

had helped to train the youth of Montalembert, who had advised and sometimes guided him, who had been one of his foremost opponents in active life, and who now had gone before him into the world unknown. Within the closed doors which opened now and then to admit or give exit to a visitor, Montalembert sat or reclined, his cheerful countenance lighted up with genial looks of kindness. Not one of his visitors, men in the midst of their lives, could be more interested in everything out of doors than he, or more ready to take up any new subject, to open his mind to all interests. His own condition he would pass over with the slightest mention. Sadly enough that condition pressed upon him when he was alone. It was evident that with the full force of his mind he kept it at arm's length, determined as long as possible to maintain the empire of the soul over the body, and to keep himself in full communion with the living men around. His own great sufferings never made him indifferent to the lesser sufferings of others. He was as ready to sym- pathise with wounded sentiment or earthly misfortune, as if he had not himself been suffering, without saying anything about it, a daily martyr- dom."

Mrs. Oliphant has quoted from M. Sainte-Beuve and others, very graphic descriptions of the orator, from which we may form some conception of the style of perhaps the first aristocratic orator in Europe :—

"Another description is given us by the Abb6 Dourlena t—' M. deMontal- embert's aotion is the external reflection of his eloquence. His gestures are sober, but easy, noble, dignified, and aristocratic. His head, slightly thrown back, gives to his attitude an aspect of provocation (en ton provo- cateur). A perpetual smile trembles upon his lips, and, changing from moment to moment, becomes by turns benevolent, disdainful, and satirical. His eyes, which are large and melancholy, show, in succession, with glances of energy, all the different sentiments which he expresses.' We will add to these the more graceful description of M. Sainte-Beuve He is always perfectly at his ease. Ho has few gestures, but he pos- sesses the most essential qualities which produce successful action. His voice, pure and enduring (d'une longue haleine), is distinct and clear in tone, with a vibration and accent very suitable to mark the generous or ironical meaning of his speeches. The son of an English mother, he has in his voice, through its sweetness, a certain rise and fall of accentuation which answers his purpose well, which lets certain words drop from a greater height and resound further than others. I ask pardon for insist- ing upon these particulars ; but the ancients, our masters in everything, and particularly in eloquence, gave a minute attention to them ; and a great modern orator has said, "A man has always the voice of his mind." A mind clear, distinct, firm, generous, a little disdainful, displays all these sentiments in its voice.'"

We wish Mrs. Oliphant had given us even more illustrations of this eloquence. Perhaps her hero's greatest oratorical triumph was that gained over the Constituent Assembly of 1848, in favour of what we regard as the greatest blunder and sin of that assembly, the Roman expedition ; and of this our author has given us some fine specimens. But, in some respects, his most remarkable speech was that on the excesses of the Swiss Government against the Roman Catholic Cantons after the dissolution of the Sonderbund. We can hardly illustrate better the air of slight disdain, of provo- cative satire, rightly attributed to him, than in his description of the modus operandi of the confiscations of cantonal property by the Federal party :—

"We have heard at various times of confiscations pronounced by tribunals, by judicial decrees, even by Commissions. But do you know how this thing goes on in Switzerland? A man arrives the day after the battle, when a town has been taken, pillaged, turned inside out ; he gets up on a chair or a table in the midst of the great square, and says to two or three loose characters, ' Are you the people of Fribourg and of the Valais ?.—They reply at once, Yee, yes.'—fie returns, Do you recognize me as your organ ?'—' Yes,' again.—He continues, Will you cause the expenses of the war to be paid by the rich?'—' Yes, yes, of course.' And immediately the decree is procured, to be subsequently ratified by the Diet and the reformed Councils. I am quoting literally what passed ; I am exaggerat- ing nothing. At Fribourg, and at Lucerne, and in the Valais, that was just so."

Or take his attack on Lamartine in the same speech,—Lamartine, who had written the history of the Girondists, with a defence of their policy. Lamartine had had, he said, too many imitators :— " Quite suddenly we saw a group of historians spring up, who came to make of the revolutionary scaffold the altar of patriotism. It is,—one must say it,—in this deplorable mingling of terrorist theory on the one side, of terrorist history on the other, and of radical practice in Switzerland over and above all that, that

one must find the source of that audacity by which you are, I do not say affrighted, but exasperated as I am. It is thus that the wolves learned that they had no longer any need to disguise themselves in sheep's clothing, but that they might speak out as wolves, and that they would only be applauded and asked to join in toasts to fraternity and humanity. And now, when this eloquent voice I have just spoken of, so disinterested, so patriotic,—I admit that,—but so culpable, begins to cry out all of a sudden, We don't want to reopen the Jacobin Club,' the answer to it is final, ` It is too late ; the Jacobin Club is already reopened, not indeed in fact and in the street, but in minds and hearts, and at all events in certain spirits led astray by sanguinary sophisms, and certain hearts depraved by those execrable romances which are decorated with the name of history, and in which the apotheosis of Voltaire serves as prelude to the apology for Robespierre.'"

That style of eloquence, with its scornful, provocative smile, re- minds one moat, in looking round amongst English orators, of that of the present Marquis of Salisbury. But there was more of the chivalric vein in D1ontalembert than in the great Saturday and Quarterly Reviewer of our own Legislature, more of delicate sentiment, more of romantic devotion, more of hope and faith. Lord Salisbury has the keenest possible sense of the hard utilitarian test by which British audiences try eloquence, and this not unfrequently lowers the tone of his oratory and narrows the scope of his thought. Montalembert, with much that reminds us of his style, was above all things "the son of the Crusaders." Chivalry was in his very nature, and it was only the strong foe whom he disdained. Mrs. Oliphant deserves the hearty thanks of politicians no less than of the lovers of biography for her very pleasant and graphic sketch of a character unique in modern history.