Chapter III: Part 3

In June, 1784, Mr. Adams took up his residence in London. His situation and that of his wife was far from being a pleasant one. The hostile feelings towards Americans, engendered by so many years of warfare, and exasperated by the mortification of ill-success, had not subsided. The loss of his North American colonies was severely felt by the king, who had too much good sense, however, to suffer his feelings to appear in his intercourse with the new minister; but the queen, who, though exemplary in the discharge of domestic duties, was weak-minded, proud, and petulant, could not conceal her bitterness, and her conduct towards Mrs. Adams was hardly civil. Perhaps, however, the account of it given by the latter is colored by her own prejudices against the royal family, which, throughout her life were expressed in the strongest language, and which, towards the king, at least, were entirely unjust. Her presentation at court could not but be somewhat embarrassing and awkward to all parties. The manner in which it passed shall be related in her own words. "The ceremony of presentation is considered as indispensable. One is obliged to attend the circles of the queen, which are held in summer once a fortnight, but once a week the rest of the year; and what renders it very expensive, is, that you cannot go twice the same season in the same dress, and a court dress cannot be used any where else. I directed my mantua-maker to let my dress be elegant, but as plain as it could be, with decency; accordingly it is white lutestring, covered and full trimmed with white crape, festooned with lilac ribbon and mock point lace, over a hoop of enormous extent; a narrow train of three yards, which is put into a ribbon on the left side, the queen only having a train-bearer. Ruffle cuffs, treble lace ruffles, a very dress cap, with long lace lappets, two white plumes, and a blond lace handkerchief--this is my rigging. I should have mentioned two pearl pins in my hair, ear-rings and necklace of the same kind. * * * 'Well,' methinks I hear you say, 'what is your daughter's dress?' White, my dear girls, like her mother's, only differently trimmed; her train being wholly of white crape, and trimmed with white ribbon; the petticoat, which is the most showy part of the dress, covered and drawn up in what are called festoons, with light wreaths of beautiful flowers; sleeves white crape, drawn over the silk, with a row of lace round the sleeve, near the shoulder, another half way down the arm, and a third upon the top of the ruffle, a little flower stuck between; a kind of hat cap, with three large feathers, and a bunch of flowers; a wreath of flowers upon the hair. * * * We were placed in a circle round the drawing-room, which was very full, I believe two hundred persons present. The royal family have to go to every person, and find small talk enough to speak to all, though they very prudently speak in a whisper. The king enters, and goes round to the right; the queen and princesses to the left. The king is a personable man, but with a red face and white eyebrows. The queen has a similar face, and the numerous royal family resemble them. When the king came to me, Lord Onslaw said, 'Mrs. Adams;' upon which I drew off my right hand glove, and his majesty saluted my left cheek, then asked me if I had taken a walk to-day. I could have told his majesty that I had been all the morning preparing to wait upon him; but I replied, 'No, sire.' 'Why, don't you love walking?' says he. I answered that I was rather indolent in that respect. He then bowed and passed on. It was more than two hours after this, before it came my turn to be presented to the queen. She was evidently embarrassed when I was presented to her. I had disagreeable feelings too. She, however, said, 'Mrs. Adams, have you got into your house? Pray, how do you like the situation of it?' whilst the royal princess looked compassionate, and asked me if I was not much fatigued. Her sister, Princess Augusta, after having asked your niece if she was ever in England before, and her answering, 'Yes,' inquired of me how long ago, and supposed it was when she was very young. And all this with much affability, and the ease and freedom of old acquaintance. * * * As to the ladies of the court, rank and title may compensate for want of personal charms; but they are, in general, very plain, ill-shaped, and ugly; but don't you tell any body that I say so; the observation did not hold good, that fine feathers make fine birds." Referring to this same occasion in a subsequent letter, she says, "I own that I never felt myself in a more contemptible situation than when I stood four hours together for a gracious smile from majesty, a witness to the anxious solicitude of those around me for the same mighty _boon_. I, however, had a more dignified honor, as his majesty _deigned to salute me_."

Of other sources of annoyance Mrs. Adams thus speaks: "Some years hence, it may be a pleasure to reside here in the character of American minister; but, with the present salary, and the present temper of the English, no one need envy the embassy. There would soon be fine work, if any notice was taken of their billingsgate and abuse; but all their arrows rebound, and fall harmless to the ground. Amidst all their falsehoods, they have never insinuated a lisp against the private character of the American minister, nor in his public line charged him with either want of abilities, honor, or integrity. The whole venom is levelled against poor America, and every effort to make her appear ridiculous in the eyes of the nation."

It would have been difficult to find a person better adapted than Mrs. Adams for the trying situation in which she found herself. In other times, a woman of more yielding temper, who could adapt herself more readily to those about her, would, perhaps, answer better. Love of country was engrained in her; for her "the birds of Europe had not half the melody of those at home; the fruit was not half so sweet, nor the flowers half so fragrant, nor the manners half so pure, nor the people half so virtuous." Three years' residence in England produced no change of feeling. In anticipation of a return to her home, we find her writing thus: "I shall quit Europe with more pleasure than I came to it, uncontaminated, I hope, with its manners and vices. I have learned to know the world and its value; I have seen high life; I have witnessed the luxury and pomp of state, the power of riches, and the influence of titles, and have beheld all ranks bow before them, as the only shrine worthy of worship. Notwithstanding this, I feel that I can return to my little cottage, and be happier than here; and, if we have not wealth, we have what is better--integrity."

Soon after Mr. Adams's return, he was elected vice-president of the United States, and took up his residence, at least during the sessions of Congress, first at New York, and afterwards at Philadelphia. The "court" of General Washington was much more to the taste of Mrs. Adams than that of George III.; the circle at the first "drawing-room," she tells us, was very brilliant; that "the dazzling Mrs. Bingham and her charming sisters were there; in short, a constellation of beauties."

The next eight years of her life, during which her husband held the office of vice-president, were passed with few incidents to disturb her happiness. Another generation, the children of her daughter, who was married to Colonel Smith, were receiving the benefits of her instruction and experience.

A residence at Philadelphia was not favorable to her health, which, never having been very firm, about this period began decidedly to fail. The bracing air of Quincy was found to be more congenial. For this reason, she was not with her husband at the time when his official duty required him to announce himself as the successor to General Washington; and to this circumstance we are indebted for the following letter,--written on the day on which the votes were counted by the Senate,--in which, says her biographer, "the exalted feeling of the moment shines out with all the lustre of ancient patriotism, chastened by a sentiment of Christian humility of which ancient history furnishes no example:"--

"QUINCY, _February 8th, 1797_.

"'The sun is dressed in brightest beams,
To give thy honors to the day.'

And may it prove an auspicious prelude to each ensuing season. You
have this day to declare yourself head of a nation. 'And now, O
Lord, thou hast made thy servant ruler over the people. Give unto
him an understanding heart, that he may know how to go out and
come in before this great people; that he may discern between good
and bad. For who is able to judge this thy so great a people?'
were the words of a royal sovereign, and not less applicable to
him who is invested with the chief magistracy of a nation, though
he wear not a crown, nor the robes of royalty. My thoughts and my
meditations are with you, though personally absent; and my
petitions to Heaven are, that the 'things which make for peace may
not be hidden from your eyes.' My feelings are not those of pride
or ostentation. They are solemnized by a sense of the obligations,
the important trusts, and numerous duties, connected with it. That
you may be enabled to discharge them with honor to yourself, with
justice and impartiality to your country, and with satisfaction to
this great people, shall be the daily prayer of your

A. A."

Never has this country witnessed such scenes as characterized the struggle between the two great political parties which divided the people during Mr. Adams's administration. As the representative of one of these, he was assailed with an asperity and malignity to which, happily, succeeding electioneering furnishes no parallel. Accustomed to take a warm interest in political events, it could not be expected that Mrs. Adams should cease to do so when her husband was the chief actor; nor is it surprising that she should have felt what she deemed the ingratitude of his countrymen in casting aside so long-tried and faithful a servant. Retirement to private life was to her a source of rejoicing rather than of regret. At her age, and with her infirmities, she was far happier at Quincy, overseeing the operations of her dairy, whilst her husband, like Cincinnatus, assumed the plough. She has left a record of one day's life; and from this we suppose other days varied but little. It is in a letter to her granddaughter, dated November 19th, 1812. "Six o'clock. Rose, and, in imitation of his Britannic majesty, kindled my own fire. Went to the stairs, as usual, to summon George and Charles. Returned to my chamber, dressed myself. No one stirred. Called a second time, with a voice a little raised. Seven o'clock. Blockheads not out of bed. Girls in motion. Mean, when I hire another man-servant, that he shall come for one call. Eight o'clock. Fires made. Breakfast prepared. Mr. A. at the tea-board. Forgot the sausages. Susan's recollection brought them upon the table. _Enter Ann._ 'Ma'am, the man is come with coal.' 'Go call George to assist him.' _Exit Ann._ _Enter Charles._ 'Mr. B. is come with cheese, turnips, &c. Where are they to be put?' 'I will attend to him myself.' _Exit Charles._ Just seated at the table again. _Enter George_, with, 'Ma'am, here is a man with a drove of pigs.' A consultation is held upon this important subject, the result of which is the purchase of two spotted swine. Nine o'clock. _Enter Nathaniel_ from the upper house, with a message for sundries; and black Thomas's daughter for sundries. Attended to all these concerns. A little out of sorts that I could not finish my breakfast. Note; never to be incommoded with trifles. _Enter George Adams_ from the post-office--a large packet from Russia, (to which court her son J. Q. Adams was then minister.) Avaunt, all cares! I put you all aside, and thus I find good news from a far country. Children, grandchildren all well. For this blessing I give thanks. At twelve o'clock, by previous engagement, I was to call for cousin B. Smith, to accompany me to the bridge at Quincy Port, being the first day of passing it. Passed both bridges, and entered Hingham. Returned before three. Dined, and, at five, went to Mr. T. G. Smith, with your grandfather--the third visit he has made with us in the week; and let me whisper to you, he played at whist. Returned. At nine, sat down and wrote a letter. At eleven, retired to bed. By all this you will learn that grandmother has got rid of her croaking, and that grandfather is in good health, and that both of us are as tranquil as that bold old fellow, Time, will let us be. Here I was interrupted in my narrative. I reassume my pen upon the 22d of November, being this day sixty-eight years old."[2]

From 1801 until her death, in 1818, Mrs. Adams resided at Quincy. Cheerful and retaining the possession of her faculties to the last, she enlivened the social circle about her, and solaced the solitary hours of her husband. She lived long enough to see the seeds of virtue and knowledge which she had planted in the minds of her children, spring up and ripen into maturity; to receive a recompense, in addition to the consciousness of duty performed, for her anxiety and labors, in the respect and honors which her eldest son received from his countrymen.

[1] For summoning juries.

[2] President Adams survived his excellent lady several years, and
died on the 4th of July, 1826, aged ninety-one. On the morning
of the jubilee, he was roused by the ringing of bells and the
firing of cannon. Being asked if he knew what day it was, he
replied, "O yes, it is the glorious 4th of July--God bless it!
God bless you all!" Just before he expired, he said, "Jefferson
survives;" but at one o'clock that very day, Jefferson rendered
up his spirit to his Maker. The family residence of John Adams
at Quincy is the residence of his distinguished son, John Quincy
Adams.

MRS. WASHINGTON.

Martha Dandridge was born in the county of New Kent, Virginia, in May, 1732. Her education was entirely of a domestic character, there being no schools in the region where she dwelt. As she grew up, she was distinguished for personal beauty, pleasing manners, and general amiability of demeanor. She frequently appeared at the court of Williamsburg, then held by the royal governors of Virginia, and became a general favorite.

At the age of seventeen, she was married to Daniel Park Custis, of her native county, and the new-married couple were settled at the White House, on the banks of the Pamunkey River. Mr. Custis devoted himself to agricultural pursuits, and became an eminently successful planter. They had four children, two of whom died at an early period. Martha arrived at womanhood, and died at Mount Vernon, in 1770, and John perished at the age of twenty-seven, while in the service of his country, at the siege of Yorktown, in 1781. Mr. Custis died at about middle age, leaving his widow, still young, yet possessed of an ample fortune. Beside extensive landed estates, she had L30,000 sterling in money.

Mrs. Custis was sole executor of her husband's will, and she appears to have been well qualified to discharge the duties which devolved upon her. She conducted her affairs with surprising ability, and the concerns of her extensive fortune seemed to thrive under her management. In 1758, Colonel Washington, then twenty-six years of age, became accidentally acquainted with the fair widow, and, after a brief courtship, they were married. This occurred in 1759. Soon after, they removed to Mount Vernon, which henceforward became their permanent residence.

Mrs. Washington had no children by this second marriage. Martha and John Custis were, however, fully adopted into the affections of her present husband. In discharging her various domestic duties, and rearing her children, time flowed smoothly on for almost twenty years. In 1775, Washington, being appointed commander-in-chief of the American army, proceeded to Cambridge, and did not return to Mount Vernon till after the peace of 1783, except in a single instance. In December, she proceeded to Cambridge, and joined her husband. Here she remained till spring, having witnessed the siege and evacuation of Boston. She then returned to Virginia.

During the war, it was the custom for the general to despatch an aid-de-camp to Mount Vernon, at the close of each campaign, to escort his wife to head-quarters. The arrival of Lady Washington, as she was now called, at the camp, was an event always anticipated with pleasure, and was the signal for the ladies of the general officers to join their husbands. The appearance of the aid-de-camp, escorting the plain family chariot, with the neat postilions in their scarlet and white liveries, was deemed an epoch in the army, and served to diffuse a cheering influence even amid the gloom which hung over our destinies, at Valley Forge, Morristown, and West Point. She always remained at head-quarters till the opening of the campaign, and she often remarked, in after life, that it had been her fortune to hear the first cannon at the opening, and the last at the closing, of the several campaigns of the war.

During the whole period of the revolutionary struggle, she preserved her equanimity, together with a degree of cheerfulness which inspired all around her with the brightest hopes of final success. The glorious results of the campaign of 1781 were, however, associated with an event most afflictive to her. John Custis, now her only child, had accompanied Washington to the siege of Boston, and had witnessed the most important events of the contest. At Yorktown, he was one of the aids of Washington, and lived to see the surrender of the British army on the 19th of October; but he died soon after of camp fever, which was then raging to a frightful extent within the enemy's intrenchments.

The war being closed, Washington returned to Mount Vernon. His time was now occupied in the peaceful pursuits of private life. He cultivated his lands, and improved his residence at Mount Vernon by additional buildings, and the laying out of his gardens and grounds. He occasionally diversified his employments by the pleasures of the chase. Much of his time, however, was occupied in discharging the grateful duties of hospitality. His fame was spread far and wide, and his home was crowded with guests, among whom were often seen illustrious strangers from foreign lands. During this happy period, Mrs. Washington performed the duties of a Virginia housewife, and presided at her well-spread board, with an ease and elegance of manner suited to her character and station.

The period at length arrived when Washington was again to leave his home, and enter upon public duties. Being elected president of the United States, he set out, in the spring of 1789, to join Congress at New York, then the seat of the general government. Accompanied by his lady, he proceeded to that city, every where received by crowds of people, showering upon him their most grateful homage. At Trenton, New Jersey, he was received in a manner which is said to have affected him even to tears. In addition to the usual military compliments, the bridge over the creek running through the town was covered with a triumphal arch, supported by thirteen pillars, entwined and ornamented with flowers and laurel, and bearing on the front, in large gilt letters, this inscription:--

"THE DEFENDER OF THE MOTHERS
WILL BE THE
PROTECTOR OF THE DAUGHTERS."

Here were assembled the mothers and daughters dressed in white, each bearing a basket of flowers, which were strewn before the chief, while they sang it chorus,

"Welcome, mighty chief, once more,
Welcome to this grateful shore;
Now no mercenary foe
Aims again the fatal blow,
Aims at thee the fatal blow.

Virgins fair and matrons grave,
Those thy conquering arms did save,
Build for thee triumphal bowers;
Strew, ye fair, his way with flowers,
Strew your hero's way with flowers."

Arrived at New York, the president's establishment was formed upon a scale partaking at once of simplicity and dignity. "The house was handsomely furnished; the equipages neat, with horses of the first order; the servants wore the family liveries; and, with the exception of a steward and housekeeper, the whole establishment differed very little from that of a private gentleman. On Tuesdays, from three to four o'clock, the president received the foreign ambassadors and strangers who wished to be introduced to him. On these occasions, and when opening the session of Congress, he wore a dress sword. His personal apparel was always remarkable for being old-fashioned, and exceedingly plain and neat.

"On Thursdays were the congressional dinners, and on Friday night, Mrs. Washington's drawing-room. The company usually assembled about seven, and rarely staid exceeding ten o'clock. The ladies were seated, and the president passed round the circle, paying his compliments to each. At the drawing-rooms, Mrs. Morris always sat at the right of the lady president, and at all dinners, public or private, at which Robert Morris was a guest, that venerable man was placed at the right of Mrs. Washington. When ladies called at the president's mansion, the habit was for the secretaries and gentlemen of the president's household to hand them to and from their carriages; but when the honored relicts of Greene and Montgomery came, the president himself performed these complimentary duties.

"On the great national festivals of the fourth of July and twenty-second of February, the sages of the revolutionary Congress and the officers of the revolutionary army renewed their acquaintance with Mrs. Washington. Many and kindly greetings took place, with many a recollection of the days of trial. The members of the Society of Cincinnatus, after paying their respects to the chief, were seen to file off towards the parlor, where Lady Washington was in waiting to receive them, and where Wayne, and Mifflin, and Dickenson, and Stewart, and Moylan, and Hartley, and a host of veterans, were cordially welcomed as old friends, and where many an interesting reminiscence was called up, of the head-quarters and the 'times of the revolution.'

"On Sundays, unless the weather was uncommonly severe, the president and Mrs. Washington attended divine service at Christ Church; and in the evenings, the president read to Mrs. Washington, in her chamber, a sermon, or some portion of the sacred writings. No visitors, with the exception of Mr. Trumbull, of Connecticut,--who was then speaker of the house, and afterwards governor of Connecticut,--were admitted on Sunday.

"There was one description of visitors, however, to be found about the first president's mansion, on all days. The old soldiers repaired, as they said, to head-quarters, just to inquire after the health of his excellency and Lady Washington. They knew his excellency was, of course, much engaged; but they would like to see the good lady. One had been a soldier of the life-guard; another had been on duty, when the British threatened to surprise the head-quarters; a third had witnessed that terrible fellow, Cornwallis, surrender his sword; each one had some touching appeal, with which to introduce himself at the peaceful head-quarters of the president. All were 'kindly bid to stay,' were conducted to the steward's apartments, and refreshments set before them; and, after receiving some little token from the lady, with her best wishes for the health and happiness of an old soldier, they went their ways, while blessings upon their revered commander and the good Lady Washington were uttered by many a war-worn veteran of the revolution."[3]

In the autumn of 1789, General Washington made a tour to the Eastern States. Soon after his return, Mrs. Washington addressed a letter to Mrs. Warren, of Boston, giving an account of her views and feelings at that period, which, as it is interesting for the information it contains, and alike creditable to the head and heart of the writer, we present to the reader. It is dated December 26th, 1789.

"Your very friendly letter of last month has afforded much more satisfaction than all the formal compliments and empty ceremonies of mere etiquette could possibly have done. I am not apt to forget the feelings which have been inspired by my former society with good acquaintances, nor to be insensible to their expressions of gratitude to the president; for you know me well enough to do me the justice to believe that I am fond only of what comes from the heart. Under a conviction that the demonstrations of respect and affection to him originate in that source, I cannot deny that I have taken some interest and pleasure in them. The difficulties which first presented themselves to view on his first entering upon the presidency, seem thus to be in some measure surmounted. It is owing to the kindness of our numerous friends in all quarters that my new and unwished-for situation is not indeed a burden to me. When I was much younger, I should probably have enjoyed the innocent gayeties of life as much as most persons of my age; but I had long since placed all the prospects of my future happiness in the still enjoyments of the fireside at Mount Vernon.

"I little thought, when the war was finished, that any circumstances could possibly happen, which would call the general into public life again. I had anticipated that, from that moment, we should be suffered to grow old together in solitude and tranquillity. That was the first and dearest wish of my heart. I will not, however, contemplate with too much regret, disappointments that were inevitable, though his feelings and my own were in perfect unison with respect to our predilection for private life. Yet I cannot blame him for having acted according to his ideas of duty in obeying the voice of his country. The consciousness of having attempted to do all the good in his power, and the pleasure of finding his fellow-citizens so well satisfied with the disinterestedness of his conduct, will, doubtless, be some compensation for the great sacrifices which I know he has made. Indeed, on his journey from Mount Vernon to this place in his late tour through the Eastern States, by every public and every private information which has come to him, I am persuaded he has experienced nothing to make him repent his having acted from what he conceived to be a sense of indispensable duty. On the contrary, all his sensibility has been awakened in receiving such repeated and unequivocal proofs of sincere regard from his countrymen.

"With respect to myself, I sometimes think the arrangement is not quite as it ought to have been,--that I, who had much rather be at home, should occupy a place with which a great many younger and gayer women would be extremely pleased. As my grandchildren and domestic connections make up a great portion of the felicity which I looked for in this world, I shall hardly be able to find any substitute that will indemnify me for the loss of a part of such endearing society. I do not say this because I feel dissatisfied with my present station; for every body and every thing conspire to make me as contented as possible in it; yet I have learned too much of the vanity of human affairs to expect felicity from the scenes of public life. I am still determined to be cheerful and happy in whatever situation I may be; for I have also learned from experience that the greater part of our happiness or misery depends on our dispositions, and not on our circumstances. We carry the seeds of the one or the other about with us in our minds wherever we go.

"I have two of my grandchildren with me, who enjoy advantages in point of education, and who, I trust, by the goodness of Providence, will be a great blessing to me. My other two grandchildren are with their mother in Virginia."

In the spring of 1797, bidding adieu to public life, Washington took leave of the seat of government, and returned to Mount Vernon, prepared in good earnest to spend the remainder of his days in retirement. He accepted, indeed, the command of the army of the United States, soon after; but this did not draw him from his home. In 1799, he died, after a brief illness. His affectionate partner was at the bedside when his spirit departed. "It is all over now," said she. "I shall soon follow him. I have no more trials to pass through." About two years after, she was seized with bilious fever. Being perfectly aware that her end was at hand, she assembled her grandchildren at her bedside, discoursed with them of their duties in life, of the happy influences of religion, of the consolations it had afforded her in hours of affliction, and the hopes it offered of a blessed immortality; and then, surrounded by weeping relatives, friends, and domestics, the venerable relict of Washington resigned her life into the hands of her Creator, in the seventy-first year of her age.

Few women have figured in the great drama of life, amid scenes so varied and imposing, with so few faults, and so many virtues, as Martha Washington. Identified with the Father of his country in the great events which led to our national independence, she partook much of his thoughts, views, and counsels. In the dark hours of trial, her cheerfulness soothed his anxieties, and her devotional piety aided him in drawing hope and confidence from Heaven. She was indeed the fit partner of Washington, and, in her sphere, appears to have discharged her duties with a dignity, devotion, and consistency, worthy of her exalted destinies.

[3] American Portrait Gallery.

MADAME DE STAEL.

Jacques Necker, born of Protestant parents at Geneva, was sent, at the age of fifteen, to seek his fortune at Paris. After serving as a clerk in the banking-house of Vernet, he passed into that of the eminent banker Thelusson, where he displayed such a capacity for business, as to lead to his admission into the house as a partner. In a few years he acquired a large fortune, and withdrew from active business, but remained at Paris as minister of the republic of Geneva to the French court. His "Eloge de Colbert," which gained the prize in the French Academy in 1773, and his essay on the corn laws, first drew towards him the attention of the public, which finally settled upon him as the only person capable of preserving the country from that bankruptcy upon the verge of which it was standing; and Louis XVI., notwithstanding his religious bigotry, was compelled to appoint Necker to the office of director-general of the finances, in 1785, being the first Protestant who had held office since the revocation of the edict of Nantes.

There resided with Madame Thelusson, as companion, a Swiss lady, named Curchod, the same who had the fortune to excite in the bosom of the historian Gibbon, for the first and last time, the passion of love. There is, however, no undue praise in the following description which he has given of her: "The personal attractions of Mdlle. Curchod were embellished by the virtues and talents of her mind. Her fortune was humble, but her family was respectable. Her mother, a native of France, had preferred her religion to her country. Her father, with the moderation of a philosopher, was content with a small salary and laborious duty in the obscure lot of minister of Cressy, a small village in the mountains of Switzerland. He bestowed a liberal and even learned education on his only daughter. She surpassed his hopes by her proficiency in the sciences and languages; and in her short visits to Lausanne, the wit, the beauty, and the learning, of Mademoiselle Curchod were the theme of universal applause. The report of such a prodigy awakened my curiosity; I saw and loved. I found her learned without pedantry, witty in conversation, pure in sentiment, and elegant in manners." After the death of her father, she supported herself and her mother by teaching young ladies at Geneva; from whence she removed to Paris.

The character of Necker gained her admiration, her respect, and her love. She married him; and, from that time, the great business of her life was to make him happy. To divert him after the cares of business, she sought to make her house agreeable. She had not the light and gay manners of a Parisian lady, but she had a native grace and sweetness, and a solidity of talent, which caused her society to be sought for by the learned and intelligent, and her drawing-rooms to be filled with the _beaux esprits_ of Paris.

Her only daughter, Anne Louisa Germaine, born in 1766, became her next object of solicitude. She wished that her education should be perfect; she wished her to know every thing, and thought that her mind could not be stored with too many words and facts; she introduced her, even in infancy, to the brilliant circle of her own friends, and learned men were almost her only companions. It was therefore with a transport of delight that the child received, at the age of eleven, a young girl, whom her mother wished her to make her companion, and who afterwards described her thus: "She spoke with a warmth and facility which were already eloquent, and which made a great impression on me. We did not play like children. She at once asked me what my lessons were, if I knew any foreign languages, and if I went often to the play. When I said, I had only been three or four times, she exclaimed, and promised that we should often go together, and, when we came home, write down an account of the piece. It was her habit, she said; and, in short, we were to write to each other every day. We entered the drawing-room. Near the arm-chair of Madame Necker was the stool of her daughter, who was obliged to sit very upright. As soon as she had taken her accustomed place, three or four old gentlemen came up, and spoke to her with the utmost kindness. One of them, in a little round wig, took her hands in his, held them a long time, and entered into conversation with her, as if she had been twenty. This was the Abbe Raynal; the others were Messrs. Marmontel, Thomas, the Marquis de Pesay, and Baron de Grimm. We sat down at table. It was a picture to see how Mademoiselle Necker listened. She did not speak herself; but so animated was her face, that she appeared to converse with all. Her eyes followed the looks and movements of those who talked; it seemed as if she grasped their ideas before they were expressed. She entered into every subject, even politics, which at this epoch was one of the most engrossing topics. After dinner, a good deal of company arrived. Each guest, as he approached Madame Necker, addressed her daughter with some compliment or pleasantry; she replied to all with ease and grace. They delighted to attack and embarrass her, and to excite her childish imagination, which was already brilliant. The cleverest men were those who took the greatest pleasure in making her talk." When she was not in society, she was kept constantly at her books. She wrote a great deal, and her writings were read in public and applauded. This system of education had its natural results. Praise, and reputation, and success in society, became as necessary to her as her daily food: her understanding, brilliant, but not profound, gathered knowledge by cursory reading and from conversation--not by hard study; hence it was superficial.

Her physical strength could not endure this constant straining and excitement of the mind. At fourteen, her physicians ordered that she should be removed to the country, and should give up all study. Madame Necker was deeply disappointed: unable to carry her system of education to the fullest extent, she abandoned it altogether; henceforth she took little interest in the talents of her daughter, and, when she heard her praised, would say, "O, it is nothing, absolutely nothing, in comparison to what I intended to make her." This carelessness on the part of her mother, developed in the young girl an ardent affection for her father, which she dwells upon in her writings with so much fervor. There existed between them the most unreserved and open communication of thought. He delighted in her talents, which she exerted for his entertainment, and to amuse his hours of leisure. Her superior success in this last particular even excited the jealousy of her mother, who sought by reproof to check the outpouring of her wit and imagination. Mademoiselle listened with respect to the reproof, but took the first opportunity to escape from her mother's side, and shelter herself behind her father's chair, where she soon collected the cleverest men in the room to listen to her sallies, and to be charmed by her eloquence.

As has already been said, her career of authorship began at a very early age. When a little older, she composed tales and plays, which were received with rapturous applause by the company to which, in accordance with French custom, they were read; but which in print appear flat enough. At the age of fifteen, she made her appearance before the great public as the author of an anonymous political pamphlet in defence of an act of her father's, which had excited a great clamor on the part of the ultra-royalists, and was the cause of his resignation of office.

The position which her father held in France, during her early years, exercised a very important influence on the character and feelings of Mademoiselle Necker. Despised as a plebeian and detested as a reformer by the queen and the court, he was regarded, by the moderate of all parties, as the only man who could save France, and was worshipped as an idol by the people at large. No sooner was it known that he had resigned, than "all France," as she says,--that is, all who were eminent for wealth, for talent, or for rank, excepting the few attached to the court,--came to visit him, and to express to him their regrets, their fears, and the hope that he would soon return to office. She heard that consternation pervaded Paris; all fearing ruin for that country which Necker had abandoned. It is not surprising that she should conceive for him a passionate admiration; should regard him as superior to all in modern times, and as answering the _beau ideal_ of Grecian or of Roman patriotism. Nor is it wonderful that his persecution by the court should have excited feelings of resentment and disgust towards a form of government under which such things could take place.

Necker remained a short time in France, and then returned to Coppet, an estate which he purchased on the banks of the Lake of Geneva, from whence he watched the course of events, feeling certain that he should at last be recalled to the helm. An occasional visit to Paris, or the publication of a political pamphlet, served to keep him in the public remembrance.

At the age of twenty-two; Mademoiselle Necker was married. To her, marriage was merely a convenience. It was necessary to give her a position in society--admittance at court. She did not look for a lover, not even for a friend or companion, in her husband. He must be of noble birth, and a Protestant. The Baron de Stael, the Swedish ambassador, had both these requisites; he was, moreover, an amiable and honorable man. He had received positive assurances from his sovereign, that he should be continued for many years at the court of France, and she, having made a distinct contract that she should never be obliged to go to Sweden, except with her own consent, accepted his proposals of marriage.

We have a portrait of her as she appeared at this period, written in a style then much in fashion: "Zalma advances; her large dark eyes sparkle with genius; her hair, black as ebony, falls on her shoulders in waving ringlets; her features are more marked than delicate, yet they express something superior to her sex. 'There she is!' every one cried, when she appeared, and all became breathless. When she sang, she extemporized the words of her song; the celestial brightness of composition animated her face, and held the audience in serious attention; at once astonished and delighted, we know not which most to admire, her facility or perfection. When her music ceased, she talked of the great truths of nature, the immortality of the soul, the love of liberty, of the fascination and danger of the passions: her features meanwhile have an expression superior to beauty; her physiognomy is full of play and variety; the accents of her voice have a thousand modulations; and there is perfect harmony between her thoughts and their expression. Without hearing her words, the inflection of her tones, her gestures, her look, cause her meaning to be understood. When she ceased, a murmur of approbation ran round the room; she looked down modestly; her long eyelashes covered her flashing eyes, and the sun was clouded over."

Meantime affairs in France were rapidly approaching to a crisis. Minister succeeded minister, but each left the ship more inextricably involved than his predecessor. The failure of the crops, and consequent distress of the poorer classes, increased the turbulence of the people and the distress of the court. At length, in 1788, seven years after his resignation, the queen and the court were compelled to confess that the only hope of safety was in recalling Necker, and to join in the general solicitation that he would take the helm.

His name revived the public credit; the pressing wants of the treasury were supplied; by importing grain, he removed the fears of famine. His position at this period was one to gratify his highest ambition; his return had been a triumph over the court; and the people were eager to prostrate themselves at his feet. But his talents were those of the financier only; as a statesman, he was sadly wanting. The example of the Americans had excited in the minds of a portion of the nobility an indefinable and romantic longing for something called _liberty_; the middle classes, who possessed the most intelligence, education, and wealth, were indignant at being excluded from most places of honor, and at being obliged to bear the whole burden of the taxes, from which the nobles and the clergy were exempt; the great body of the people, who were in the condition of slaves, had the wrongs and outrages of many centuries of oppression to avenge: all these classes, though agreeing in nothing else, were united in demanding a change. On the other side, the queen, supported by her royal brothers-in-law and a portion of the nobles, resolutely set themselves against any innovations.

Necker did not agree entirely with either party; he was in favor of a limited monarchy; the British constitution appeared to him, as it did to his daughter, the perfection of government. But he had not the decision and energy requisite for insuring the success of his own opinions. The well-disposed but weak monarch yielded to the more daring counsels of the court, and prepared to crush at once their opponents by force. But these measures were concerted without the knowledge of Necker, and before they could be executed, he must quietly be got rid of. Accordingly, on the 11th of July, 1789, as he was about to sit down to dinner, he received an order to quit France within four and twenty hours, and without exciting observation. Necker obeyed to the very letter. He and his wife, without changing their dress, stepped into the carriage, as if to take the usual evening airing, and travelled night and day till they reached Brussels.

Madame de Stael was informed of this event on the morning of the 12th, and on the 15th, having been advised of their route, she set off to join her parents. "When I reached them," says she, "three days after, they still wore the full dress which they had on, when, after a large dinner party, and while no one suspected the agitating position in which they were placed, they silently quitted France, their friends, their home, and the power which they enjoyed. This dress, covered with dust, the name assumed by my father for the sake of avoiding recognition in France, and so detention through the favor in which he was still held,--all these filled me with feelings of reverence, that caused me to throw myself at his feet, as I entered the room of the inn where I found him."

While thus exhibiting his respect for the king, Necker, by another act, displayed his love for the people. To purchase a supply of corn for the starving population of Paris, Necker had negotiated a loan of two millions of livres, for which his own personal security was to be given. The transaction was not completed at the period of his exile, and, lest this should occasion any delay, he wrote at once to confirm his guaranty.

No sooner was Necker's dismissal known, than Paris rose in insurrection. An army of one hundred thousand men was arrayed in a night; on the 14th of July, the Bastile was destroyed, and the king was forced to attend in person at the Hotel de Ville, and to express his approbation of the acts of the revolutionists. A courier, bearing an order of recall, overtook Necker at Frankfort. He hesitated, but at last determined to comply. "What a moment of happiness," says Madame de Stael, "was our journey to Paris! I do not think that the like ever happened to any man who was not sovereign of the country. * * * The liveliest acclamations accompanied every step; the women threw themselves on their knees afar off in the fields when they saw his carriage pass; the first citizens of the different places acted as postilions; and, in the towns, the inhabitants took off the horses to drag the carriage themselves. It was I that enjoyed for him; I was carried away by delight, and must not feel ungrateful for those happy days, however sad were the ones that followed." "O, nothing can equal the emotion that a woman feels when she has the happiness of hearing the name of one beloved repeated by a whole people. All those faces, which appear for the time animated by the same sentiment as one's self; those innumerable voices, which echo to the heart the name that rises in the air, and which appear to return from heaven after having received the homage of earth; the inconceivable electricity which men communicate to each other when they share the same emotions; all those mysteries of nature and social feeling are added to the greatest mystery of all--love--filial or maternal--but still love; and the soul sinks under emotions stronger than itself. When I came to myself, I felt that I had reached the extreme boundary of happiness."

The triumph was of short duration: striving to act a middle part, Necker incurred the distrust of both parties. His want of capacity, also, to rule the tempest, was most evident; his propositions were weak and inconsistent; but his daughter saw not this: the loss of the confidence of the king and of the favor of the people, was attributed by her to their ingratitude and perversity; in her eyes, her father was still the greatest of men. His resignation and departure from France was to her a subject of mortification, however. As he passed on his way to Switzerland, the same people who, the year before, had swelled the acclamations of triumph and joy, now met him with reproaches and revilings. At one place he was detained as a prisoner, and only released in pursuance of a decree of the National Assembly.

His daughter remained at Paris. Although excluded theoretically from the exercise of any political power, there is no country where the women take so active a part in politics as in France. Madame de Stael was not a woman to forego the exercise of rights which custom had given her sex: accordingly we find her deeply involved in all the political intrigues of the day, and her drawing-room the scene of the most important political discussions.

During the dreadful days of August, 1792, she exerted herself to the utmost to save the lives of her friends; fearlessly traversing the streets filled with the lowest wretches of both sexes; visiting the victims in the obscure houses in which they were concealed, and taking them into her own house, which, from the protection which the law of nations throws over an ambassador, she trusted would be to them a sanctuary. But those now in power heeded little the law of nations: the police demanded to search her house; she met them at the door, talked to them of the rights of ambassadors, and of the vengeance which Sweden would take if they persisted in their demand; she rallied them upon their want of courtesy, and finally, by argument and gayety, induced them to abandon their intention.

Although it was apparent that her personal safety was endangered, she could not bear to leave Paris, the theatre in which so exciting a drama was being acted. With her passports ready, she yet lingered until the 2d of September, when the news of the advance of the foreign troops into France excited the Parisians to madness, and led to the commission of those horrible excesses which have left an indelible stain on the French name. She then set out for Switzerland; but even now her love of effect and of display was exhibited. She left her house in a coach drawn by six horses, with the servants in full livery, trusting for safety to her title as wife of an ambassador. But she had hardly left her own door, when the carriage was surrounded by a host of furious women, who compelled the postilions to drive to the office of the section of the city to which she belonged, from whence she was ordered to the Hotel de Ville. This was at the opposite side of the city, and she was three hours in making her way thither through crowds of ferocious wretches thirsting for her blood. She was detained at the Hotel de Ville during the remainder of the day, and in the evening was conducted by Manuel to his own house. On the next day, she was suffered to leave the city attended by her maid alone, and accompanied by a gendarme.

At Coppet she found personal safety; but not even the society of her father could render its quiet agreeable to her. Her activity found some exercise for itself in affording protection to those who were so fortunate as to escape from the fangs of the Revolutionary Tribunal. She also wrote an eloquent appeal in behalf of the queen, and "Reflections on the Peace," which was quoted by Fox, as full of sound political views and just argument.

No sooner had the fall of Robespierre rendered Paris a comparatively safe place of residence, than she hastened thither, eager to bear a part in the busy scenes which were taking place. Her return formed an epoch in society; it was the signal of the revival of refinement. She became the centre of a brilliant circle, composed of the most distinguished foreigners, and of the most eminent men of France. In the society of women she took no pleasure; she loved to be surrounded by those who could appreciate her talents, and could discuss those questions which are foreign to the general tastes of women. But it could hardly be called discussion: her own opinions were delivered like oracles, and if she ever asked a question, it was in such an indeterminate way that no one felt called upon to reply. In this connection one little peculiarity may be mentioned: in public she always held in her hand, which, by the by, was well-formed, some plaything, which she twirled between her fingers; in summer, it was a twig of poplar with two or three leaves at the end; in winter, it was a rolled paper; and it was usual, on her entrance at a party, to present a number of these, from which she made a selection.

The influence which she had acquired excited the alarm of the revolutionists; she was denounced in the Convention and attacked in the newspapers. But this moved her not, so long as by her eloquence she could make converts to her own opinions--opinions adopted hastily, and without reflection, which were, therefore, often changing, and frequently contradictory.