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SPEECH

COMPOSED BY M. DE CHATEAUBRIAND

For his reception as a Member of the Imperial Institute of France.*

WHEN Milton published his Paradise Lost not a single voice was raised in the three kingdoms, of Great Britain, to praise a work which, notwithstanding that it abounds with defects, is one of the grandest efforts ever produced by the human mind. The English Homer died forgotten, and his cotemporaries left to posterity the charge of immortalizing him who had sung the Garden of Eden.

*M. de Chateaubriand was elected a member of the Institute in France, in the year 1811, in the place of M. Chenier, a poet well known for the part he took in the French revolution. According to custom the recipient was to pronounce the eulogium of his predecessor; but the friends of M. Chenier knowing how much the memory of the deceased had to fear from the eloquence of M. de Chateaubriand, insisted that the speech of the latter should be communicated to the Institute before it was delivered. It was found, on examination, to be little honourable to M. Chenier, and M. de Chateaubriand was not admitted. His speech, however, though never published was copied by all Paris.

Note by the Editor.

Is this one of those instances of great literary injustice which are afforded by almost all ages?-No!Scarcely breathing from the civil wars the English could not resolve to celebrate the memory of a man who had distinguished himself so much in the days of calamity by the ardour of his opinions. "What shall we reserve, said they, "for him who devotes himself to the safety of the state, if we lavish honours upon the ashes of a citizen who can, at the most, expect from us only a generous forbearance. Posterity will do justice to the works of Milton, but for us, we owe a lesson to our sons. We ought to teach them, by our silence, that talents are a fatal present when united with violent passions, and that we had far better condemn ourselves to obscurity, than acquire fame through the misfortunes of our country.”

Shall I, Gentlemen, imitate this memorable example, or speak to you of the character and works of M. Chenier?-To reconcile your customs and your opinions, I think I ought to take a middle course between absolute silence, and too close an examination. But whatever may be my words, no gall shall be mingled with them; if you find in me the frankness of my countryman Duclos, I hope I shall prove to you that I have also his moderation.

It would be curious, without doubt, to see what a man in my situation, with my opinions, my principles, could say of him to whose post I am this day raised; it would be interesting to examine the influence of revolutions upon literary attainments, to show how systems may lead talents astray, seducing them into deceitful paths which seem to lead to renown, but terminate in oblivion. If Milton, in spite of his political errors, has left works that posterity admire, it is that Milton, without forsaking his errors, retired from a society which was retiring from him, to seek in religion the only resource for soothing his misfortunes, and to render it the source of his glory.

Deprived of the light of Heaven, he created himself a new earth, a new sun, and quitted, as it were, the world, in which he had experienced nothing but crimes and calamities. He seated in the bowers of Eden that primitive innocence, that holy felicity which reigned in the tents of Jacob and Rachael, and he placed in hell the torments, the passions, the remorse of those men in whose fury he had been a sharer.

Unhappily the works of M. Chenier, although they display the germ of eminent talent, do not shine with the same simplicity, with the same sublime majesty. This author distinguished himself by a mind purely classical; no one was better acquainted with the principles of ancient and modern literature. The drama, eloquence, history, criticism, satire, all were embraced by him, but his writings bear the impression of the disastrous times in which they received their birth. I found myself then, Gentlemen, obliged either to be silent, or to enter into political discussions.

There are some persons who would make of literature an abstract science, and insulate it in the midst of human affairs. Such will perhaps say to me: "Why keep silence? Consider.M. Chenier only, with regard to his li terary character;"--that is to say, Gentlemen, that I must trespass upon your patience and upon my own, to repeat to you those common place things which are to be found every where, and which you know even better than myself. Other times, other manners.-Heirs of a long series of peaceable years, our forefathers might resign themselves to questions purely academic, which did not so much prove their talents as their happiness. But we, the unfortunate remains of a vast shipwreck, we want the means of tasting a calm so perfect; our ideas and our minds have taken a different course; the man has in us superseded the academician; in depriving letters of all

that rendered the pursuit of them easy, we no longer coil-. template them but through our powerful recollections, and the experience of our adversity. What? after a revolution which has made us run through the events of many ages in a few years, shall a writer be precluded entering on all moral considerations; shall he be forbidden to examine the serious side of objects; shall he pass a frivolous life in agitating grammatical niceties and rules of taste, in dissecting trifling literary periods and phrases; shall he grow grey, bound in the swathes of his infancy; shall he not show at the close of his days a countenance furrowed by those long labours, those grave thoughts, often by those masculine griefs which add to the greatness of man. What important cares shall then have whitened his hair?--the miserable anxieties of self-love, and the puerile sports of wit and fancy.

Certainly, gentlemen, this would be to treat us with a strange degree of contempt; for my own part, I cannot demean myself, nor reduce myself to a state of childhood, at an age of vigour and reason; I cannot confine myself in the narrow circle that they would draw around an author. If, for example, I would pronounce the eulogium of the man of letters, of the man of superior mind who presides in this assembly,* think you that I could be contented simply to praise in him that light ingenious French spirit, which he received from his mother, and of which he presents among us the most engaging model ?-No undoubtedly ;--I should decorate with all its lustre, the great name which he bears; I should cite the Duke de Boufflers, who made the Austrians raise the siege of Genoa; I should speak of the marshal, father of that warrior, who disputed the ramparts of Lille with the enemies of France, and consoled by that memorable de

* M. de Boufflers.

fence, the old age of a great king. It was of this companion of Turenne that Madame de Maintenon said, the heart was in him the last thing that died. Nor should I omit to remount to Louis de Boufflers, called the Robust, who shewed in the fight the vigour and courage of Hercules. Thus should I find at the two extremities of this military family, strength and grace, the Knight and the Troubadour. The French are reputed to be the descendants of Hector; I should rather believe them the offspring of Achilles, since, like that hero, they are equally skilful with the lyre, and with the sword.

If, gentlemen, I would entertain you with the celebrated poet who sung nature so enchantingly,* think you that I could confine myself to remarking the admirable flexibility of a talent which knows how to render with equal success, the regular beauties of Virgil, and the incorrect beauties of Milton ?-Undoubtedly not. I should also display this celebrated poet as resolving not to separate himself from his unfortunate countrymen, but following them with his lyre to foreign shores, consoling them by singing their griefs. Illustrious exile! in the midst of a crowd of unknown exiles, to the number of which I myself added; it is true that his age, his infirmities, his talents, his glory, could not shelter him from persecution; fain would they have made him sing verses unworthy of his name,-his muse could only sing the frightful immortality of crime, the consoling immortality of virtue.

If, finally, gentlemen, I would speak to you of a friend very dear to my heart,† of one of those friends who, according to Cicero, render prosperity more brilliant, and lighten adversity; I should undoubtedly speak of the noble harmony of his verses, which, formed on the

* M. l'Abbe Sicard.

+ M. de Fontanes, then Grand Master of the University.

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