without intolerance, piety without cant, and elevation without bombast, was a novelty in France; but it was still more strange to see a young and ardent author discarding every aid of popular prejudice, and writing to the minds instead of the passions of his countrymen. Such were the "Méditations Poëtiques," the title of the book, and M. de Lamartine, its author. This work appeared anonymously in the spring of 1820. Its success was instantaneous, and the name of the author became immediately known. The second edition bore it on the title-page, and it was at once enrolled among those of the most distinguished of the national poets. This success was chiefly the combined effect of the merit and the novelty of the work; but another principal cause was the strict avoidance of political opinion or allusion. Poetry, purely abstracted and imaginative, spoke to all parties in a tone of feeling, but to none in that of hostility. The aristocratical class of society (and literature was distinguished like it) was satisfied that it had gained a powerful adherent; while there breathed through the verses of De Lamartine a strain of high and liberal thought, dissipating the doubts suggested by his name, which announced nobility, and his general tone, which savoured so deeply of religion. In thus noticing the feelings of modern France, it is not our intention to enter into the question of their prejudice or their propriety. Political discussion would be misplaced here. But blended as it is with every thing relating to modern French literature, it is impossible to separate allusions to the one from a notice of the other; and it is too true that nothing is looked on with more distrust by-the nation at large than religion as now professed, and nobility as formerly composed. De Lamartine, thus dear to the hopes of the powerful minority, and not obnoxious to the distrust of the larger, and perhaps the more enlightened, portion of the public, found favour on all hands, and was read only to be admired. His triumph was not gained over partyfeelings, to which he was not opposed, but over national prejudices, less virulent, but full as strong; for he struck with a vigorous hand at the root of chill correctness-that family-tree under the branches of which French poetry had so long reclined. He came to the exercise of his art at home, prepared for it by the study of foreign models. He shewed himself to be well acquainted with the classical authors of antiquity; and, what was of much more value in the present day, he displayed a deep knowledge, and frequent imitation, of English writers. In this particular point of view he stands at the head of all his contemporaries; and, even had his talents been less than they are, he would have thus rendered one of the best services to the literature which he in other respects so eminently adorns. We say this without arrogance or even vanity. It is, in fact, but an echo of the general opinion of the best qualified judges among the French themselves; for while they reject as outré and ridiculous the metaphysical extravagance of German poetry, they acknowledge in the boldness of that of England the best model for the enfranchisement of their own. The tribute which M. de Lamartine has thus paid to this country has been returned in the reputation he has acquired among us. A light but well-aimed blow at almost the only part of his "Méditations" open to the assaults of ridicule, retarded for some time our knowledge of his merit ; but from the same source which gave vent to that witty effusion a full stream of eulogy has lately flowed, and carried away, no doubt, the memory of the attack.* The biography of our author affords but little food for curiosity or remark. He was born about the year 1790 at Macon, was educated at the college of Belley, and obtained in 1820 the situation of secretary to the French embassy at Naples. In the early part of 1822 he was attached to that at the English court, and occupied the same situation at the period of M. de Chateaubriand's arrival in London. We have heard it remarked by friends of our author, that from some cause unknown to them, the literary ambassador never shewed a great cordiality towards his celebrated subaltern; and it is certain, that on his elevation to the ministry, M. de Lamartine was wholly passed over. He consequently, and by reason of a delicate state of health, lives a life of literary retirement, rarely visiting Paris, and residing chiefly at his old family château of Pierre-Point, in the province of his birth. He keeps utterly apart from all political intrigues, and is of too much moderation in his principles to be ranked with any of the conflicting factions. It was chiefly during the leisure time snatched from his official duties at Naples, that he composed his poems; and he was absent from France at the time when their publication gained him so much fame. They were announced by the Editor as "les premiers essais d'un jeune homme qui n'avait point en les composant le projet de les publier;" but he, nevertheless, ceded to the "advice of his friends," and was one out of a hundred in finding such a course to be a wise one. Among the most extraordinary, and by far the most interesting, effects of his verses, was the fact of their having captivated the heart of a young English lady of small but independent fortune, who immediately transferred to the author the admiration which his poetry had excited. We must go far back into the history of poetry and real love to find a parallel for this interesting fact, which even there is not furnished by the female sex. In the dawning of French literature we may discover the record of something similar; and the reader of Millot's History of the Troubadours will probably call to mind the adventures of Geoffroi Rudel, who became enamoured of Melinsende Countess of Tripoli, merely from hearing a report of the surpassing beauty which he had never seen. The unfortunate result of his passion has happily no counterpart in the instance we at present relate; for our amiable countrywoman, instead of meeting such tardy sympathy as only came * We allude to a passing mention of the "Méditations Poëtiques," in the Edinburgh Review, soon after their appearance, in which an amusing though rather exaggerated translation was given of the following passage: Which to the air of burlesque in the action attributed to the Deity, adds the absurdity of giving to the All-wise the blame of a bungling mechanic! This was indeed a weak point in the poetry of De Lamartine; but it was the heel of Achilles, and was struck by an arrow from Paris. In No. 74, of the Edinburgh Review, M. de Lamartine is placed, we think justly, at the head of the French living poets. to join itself to the death-sighs of the hapless Troubadour, received, after a chance-acquaintance formed at Chamberry in the South of France, the reward of her affection, in the gratitude and admiration of a faithful husband. She has been for some years united to M. de Lamartine; and for the interests of literature (beyond which we do not presume to touch on these domestic topics) we may be allowed to rejoice in a union, which must advance the poet's knowledge of our language, and do honour to it in strengthening the poetical diction of his own. In the preface to the "Méditations Poëtiques" a continuation of the poems was promised, should those first published meet success. This pledge can be scarcely said to have been redeemed, as only three more short effusions were added in subsequent editions; so that the fame of our author rests at this moment on a thin brochure; a new illustration (we hope and believe) of Voltaire's assertion, that a heavy baggage is not necessary to enable an author to reach posterity. Be M. de Lamartine's chance for enduring fame what it may, he at least has the best security for the acceptance of his drafts, in not having exceeded a moderate extent of credit; and if he goes on as he has done hitherto, writing carefully and publishing sparingly, we think he runs little risk of the sentence of his own age being reversed by the time to come. This has pronounced him to be the first of the living poets of France; and we, at least, are well disposed to join our opinions to that oracular decree. His chief title to the first place is in the nature of his subjects, which are generally of the most elevated nature, and which have at once raised him above every reliance on support from the prejudices of mankind; and this distinctive trait is borne out by almost every one of his productions. There is throughout a startling tone of independence-a continued spurning of the trammels of academical rules-a hardy innovation nowhere else to be found in French poetry. His versification is quite original. Unlike the majority of his contemporaries, he never seems to look for models in his own language. His thoughts, in themselves of the boldest range, seek a clothing unknown to the limited formalities of the Academy. The brocaded and touped confinement, assorting well with the habits of a century back, would sit ill upon the muse of De Lamartine. She comes robed in a costume more suited to the region she inhabits. Cities and palaces are not the scenes of her resort. She wanders abroad in fields and forests; plunges into the mysteries of Nature; and sometimes, in a more ethereal ambition, wings her way into illimitable space. It is in flights like these that De Lamartine becomes occasionally vague and vapoury. Out of the sphere of common feelings, we "toil after him in vain ;" and it is in his discursive reveries that he partakes the fate of writers of his stamp, who, seeking no sympathy from others, are left to their self-formed solitude. It is, in fact, a hard effort for common readers, immersed in worldly pursuits and unfit for metaphysical wanderings, to mingle with the poet, whose meditations take so high a range. It requires a rare analogy in spirit to make a fellowship such as this; and did not our author appear before us with the proofs of deep reality in every line, we must infallibly attribute to an affected extravagance, much that we are convinced is the honest language of the heart. This is a distinc tion that supremely marks the poetry of De Lamartine. It bears the stamp of truth, which never can be counterfeited; and so much is nature evident throughout, that it presents those continual shiftings from abstract speculation to familiar feeling, which we apprehend are the best touchstones for distinguishing between art and nature in composition. Religious sentiment with all its best associations, are the principal features in the "Méditations Poëtiques." We find, however, something more soothing to the heart in a tender and impassioned strain of affection, lavished on some real or imaginary object; in sweet descriptions of the face of nature; and many fine passages of sound philosophy. But the piety which blends in those verses with the warmest expression of love, seems to raise the passion to a height too great for common sympathy, and we are apt to think the expression too much refined; that none of the lees remain, which reason tell us to be inseparable from human passion; and from which the purest stream of mortal feeling can never be wholly cleared without being overstrained. Tormented unceasingly by the involuntary desire to plunge into the secrets of nature, De Lamartine seems almost always oppressed by a mysterious inquietude. Thus his style is a continued mixture of elevation and melancholy. He has nevertheless contrived to avoid a dangerous rock, on which the reputation of an inferior writer would have infallibly split. In the continual utterance of thoughts relative to an unknown world, and abandoning himself to the language of faith mixed with conjecture, his style never wants precision, nor do his expressions savour of that vagueness which is the very spirit of his subject. His lines are always sonorous and full; and we are frequently astonished to find, on reaching the end, sufficient room for a sentiment or an image which does not, nevertheless, appear to overload the phrase. His rhyme is varied, and generally harmonious; and while among those daring turns which we think his greatest merit, many repetitions and other negligences may be found, his versification has no trace of effort, is highly energetic, rarely inflated, and never common-place. Having said thus much in the way of general criticism, it now only remains for us to afford some short illustrations of our remarks, in specimens of this author's productions. The nature of our work, and indeed of our design, limits these within narrow bounds. We shall merely give the Golfe de Baya, near Naples, in the original; feeling how inadequate translation is, to afford a perfect exemplar of his style and merits. Le Golfe de Baya, près de Naples. "Vois-tu comme le flot paisible Rider, d'une haleine insensible, Tu tiens le docile aviron, Dieu! quelle fraîcheur on respire! Des plus doux parfums de la terre Quels chants sur ces flots retentissent ? Le silence occupe les airs. Ce l'heure où la mélancholie S'asseoit pensive et recueillie O de la liberté vieille et sainte patrie! Croit sur leur monuments respirer leur génie, Colline de Baya! poétique séjour! Ou l'écho réveillé des débris d'alentour!" Since the above paper was prepared for the press, we have seen two very recent publications from the pen of M. de Lamartine, one entitled La Mort de Socrate; the other a second volume of the "Méditations." He has thus redeemed his pledge; and we can only now observe, that these works have all the characteristic beauties and defects of his first productions-highly imaginative and powerful passages, with lines prosaic and negligent in a remarkable degree. Had we seen these late |