his table to about sixpence; Innocent XI. did not exceed half-acrown; and the present Pontiff, considering the different valuation of money, equals them both in frugality, as his table never exceeds five shillings a day. These unsocial repasts may have their utility in removing all temptations to luxurious indulgence, and all opportunities of unguarded conversation; two evils to which convivial entertainments are confessedly liable. Yet, when we consider on the one side the sobriety and the reserve of the Italians, particularly when in conspicuous situations, and on the other the number of men of talents and information that are to be found at all times in the Roman court, and in the college of cardinals, we feel ourselves disposed to condemn an etiquette which deprives the Pontiff of such conversation as might not only afford a rational amusement, but oftentimes be made the vehicle of useful hints and suggestions. Another advantage might result from a freer communication. The smiles of greatness call forth genius; admission to the table of the Pontiff might revive that ardor for literary glory, which distinguished the era of Leo X., and might again perhaps fill Rome with Orators, Poets, and Philosophers. And though we applaud the exclusion of buffoons and pantomimes, and the suppression of shows and pageantry, yet we may be allowed to wish that the halls of the Vatican again resounded with the voice of the orator, and with the lyre of the poet; with the approbation of the Court, and with the plaudits of the multitude. But can Rome flatter herself with the

hopes of a third Augustan age?

On the whole, the person and conduct of the Pope, whether in public or in private, are under perpetual restraint and constant inspection. The least deviation from strict propriety, or even from customary forms, would be immediately noticed, published, and censured in pasquinades. Leo X. loved shooting; and by the change of dress necessary for that amusement, gave scandal. Clement XIV. (Ganganelli) was advised by his physicians to ride: he rode in the neighbourhood of his Alban Villa; and it is said, offended the people of the country not a little by that supposed levity. Bene. dict XIV. wished to see the interior arrangement of a new theatre, and visited it before it was opened to the public. The next morning an inscription appeared over the door by which he had entered, Porta santa; plenary indulgence to all who enter. These anecdotes. suffice to show the joyless unformity of the papal court, as well as the strict decorum that pervades every department immediately connected with the person of the Pontiff. II. p. 621-625.

ART. VIII Reflexions sur le Suicide. Par Madame la Baronne de Staël-Holstein.

T

London.

1813.

HE appearance of a dissertation on a subject which has already produced so many volumes of commonplace, is in

itself alarming. But the name of a celebrated writer dispels this natural apprehension, and excites an expectation of more than ordinary originality, which is the only good reason for the reviving a question apparently exhausted. In fact, it may require as vigorous an effort to dig through the rubbish with which, mediocrity has been for ages loading a truth, as it did originally to conquer the obstacles which obstructed the first thinkers in their way to it.

It must however be owned, that the present publication is chiefly remarkable as an event in the life of the author. The persecution of Madame de Staël will be remembered among the distinctions of female talent. It is honourable to the sex, that the independent spirit of one woman of genius has disturbed the triumph of the Conqueror of Europe. All this ⚫ availeth me nothing, so long as I see Mordecai the Jew sitting at the King's gate. This almost solitary example of an independence not to be intimidated by power, nor subdued by renown, has very strikingly displayed the inferiority of Napoleon's character to his genius. That he is disquieted by the disapprobation of a powerful mind, may indeed be considered as a proof that he has not lost all the sentiments which ought to accompany a great understanding,-and that power and flattery have not yet obliterated all sense of what constitutes the true value of praise. But this disquiet has driven him into a persecution so little both in its principle and its means, as to form a characteristical incident in the life of this extraordinary man. He appears to have curiously sought out the most susceptible parts of her mind, and the most vulnerable points of her situation, that he might inflict his wounds with more ingenious cruelty. He has harassed her by successive mutilations of those works of which he professed to allow the publication. He has banished her from the societies where the terror of his power could not silence the admiration of her genius, and where the blended intercourse of friendship, reason, wit and eloquence, formed a gratification which a refined enemy would have thought it honourable to spare. Every suffering was through some kind affection, or some elegant taste. Every wound was aimed at a noble part. In her escape from his dominions, she found one of his generals become the actual sovereign of the country of her husband; and to him she dedicates this little volume, from which we learn, with singular interest, and with scarcely any surprise, that there were moments in which misfortune made ber seek the aid of meditation to compose and strengthen her mind, and that she now offers to her fellow sufferers the medicine which has quieted her own agitations.

From the time of Rousseau to the rebound of public opinion

caused by the issue of the French revolution, suicide was one of the favourite themes of paradox and declamation; and Madame de Staël it seems had formerly written on it, not so much with the temper of philosophy, as with that hostility to received doctrines to which the vivacity and pride of youthful genius are prone. Her mature reason has easily discovered, that the more general judgments of the human race on subjects of moral conduct, disguised as they are under a thousand fantastic forms, obscured by vague, passionate, hyperbolical, and even contradictory forms of expression, debased by the mixture of every species of prejudice and superstition, and distorted into deformity in their passage through narrow and perverted minds, have still some solid foundation in the nature and condition of man. Very little moral truth is to be found in its native state: and it is one of the most important offices of philosophy, to recover it from the impure masses with which it is confounded by the common observer.

It is natural that reparation for youthful paradox should be ample even to excess. A generous mind deems no atonement sufficient for its own errors; and disdains the arts by which the inevitable variations of human opinion are easily concealed from the multitude. As eloquence always partakes of exaggeration, it necessarily magnifies the apparent dissimilarity between the different opinions of an eloquent writer. Where the colouring is most splendid, the contrasts are most striking; and even the slightest shades of difference will be more percep tible. Every revolution of the present age has been an event in Mad. de Staël's private life. In a person of ardent sensibility amidst the agitations of an eventful life, we shall not severely blame some tendencies towards new exaggerations; and we cannot wonder that she should be disposed to an almost undistinguishing partiality for the character and measures of the enemies of her persecutor. The operation of so just a resentment on judgment, is neither to be forgotten nor condemned. In estimating her character it may perhaps be respected ; but in weighing her authority it must be deducted. Whatever may be the oscillations of a susceptible mind in a stormy atmosphere, Madame de Staël, we are persuaded, is destined to be the permanent advocate of justice, of humanity, of resistance to tyranny, and reformation of abuse. Her animosity to corruption and oppression will ultimately be without distinction of party or country-or with no other distinction than that superior indignation which enlightened minds feel, when these evils disgrace and weaken the cause which they themselves espouse.

On the question of Suicide, it is perhaps possible to state the whole truth more plainly and dispassionately than has been

hitherto done. It must be admitted, that every act by which a man voluntarily causes his own death, is not criminal. All such acts are, however, suicides. Whether a man produces his own death by swallowing a cup of poison, or by mounting a breach (supposing death to be in both cases foreseen as the inevitable consequence of the act), it is evident, that in both cases he equally kills himself. But it is obvious, that there are circumstances in which it is a duty, to do acts of which a man's own death is the necessary result. This is no uncommon dictate of military obedience. In all operations of war, it is a duty to hazard life; and a greater degree of the same obligation may require its sacrifice. If it were constantly criminal to cause the destruction of one's life, there must be a criminality of the same kind, though of an inferior degree, in risking it. It is vain to say, that a volunteer on a forlorn hope has a chance of escape; for it may be said with equal truth, that there is also a chance of the failure of the deadliest poison. The agent, in both cases, expects his own death: and in that of the soldier, the moral ap probation is highest, and the fame is most brilliant, where death is the most certain. This, indeed, is so far from being an uncommon case, that it comprehends a very large class of human actions; being not only the duty of soldiers, but of all those who are engaged in eminently perilous occupations and occasionally of all human beings. It is required from men of the most obscure condition, who are neither trained to any delicacy of moral perception, nor supported by the prospect of reputation. Its violation is punished by death, or by the heaviest and most irremissible disgrace. Maternal affection renders the feeblest and most timid women capable of discharging this stern and terrible duty.

Besides these suicides of duty, there are other cases of the hazard or sacrifice of life, which, not being positively prescribed by the rules of conduct, are considered as acts of virtue of the most arduous nature, requiring singular magnanimity, and justly distinguished by the most splendid reputation. Codrus and Decius present themselves to the recollection of every reader. When a Scotch Highland gentleman personated Prince Charles Stuart-when Madame Elizabeth presented herself to the furious rabble as Marie Antoinette-every human heart acknowledges the generous virtue which made the first sacrifice, and the second expose life, in order to preserve the life of others, to whom they were bound by no stronger ties than those of attachment and friendship, strengthened by the momentary impulse of compassion. But these suicides of patriotism or loyalty are acts done in a conspicuous place, by those who are bred from their infancy to consider honour and disgrace as the first objects

of human pursuit and avoidance. Innumerable instances, however, of the same sort, in totally different circumstances, show the power of human nature to do the same acts without the bribe of fame. Backwardness in mounting a breach, or boarding a ship, is a rare occurrence. Volunteers for service of the most desperate danger are easily found. Every case of a shipwreck, or a fire, exhibits examples of devoting life, for the preservation sometimes of utter strangers-very often, indeed, of persons to whom there is no obligation of duty, and no tie of affection. Mere compassion renders the lowest of the mob for a moment capable of so sublime a sacrifice.

There are other suicides, which, without being either demanded by duty, or performed for the preservation of a community or an individual, are yet generally considered as acts which, whether they be strictly moral or not, can only be performed by minds of the most magnanimous virtue. The suicide of Cato is of this class. It was not to defeat usurpation, or to preserve the laws and liberties of Rome, that he destroyed his own life. In that case, the moral qualities of the act would have admitted no dispute: But it was done when he despaired of his country. It arose from his horror of tyranny, and the feeling of intolerable shame at the prospect of life under an arbitrary master; and it is to be justified by the tendency of the example to save the world from future tyrannies, by strengthening and perpetuating these most useful sentiments, and to contribute throughout all ages to diffuse the love of liberty among mankind. As liberty is the only security for just and humane government, it must be owned, that the diffusion of such sentiments seems to be a higher interest of mankind, and a more worthy object of self sacrifice, than the preservation of any individual, or even of any state. But it is scarcely worth discussing what precise judgment ought to be formed of the act of Cato, as long as all good men must unite in admiration and reverence for the mind from which it proceeded. The merit of Regulus's return to Carthage was enhanced, in the opinion of one of the most sensible and moderate of moralists, principally by his certain knowledge of the death which his barbarous tormentors had prepared for him. His voluntary death was, however, very different from that of Cato. The strictest rules of duty required, that he should neither advise his country against his conscience, nor violate his pledged faith to the enemy. Every case where a man prefers death to guilt, is a suicide of duty. Of this nature is all martyrdom, where life is to be saved only by false professions, or by compliances which the conscience of the martyr deems still more criminal. Among the early Christians, as indeed among most persecuted bodies of men, there