d'Epinay have absorbed our gaze; the lives and work of the ministers, of Fleury, Machault, Choiseul, Maupeou is still in shadow. Henceforward, through M. Masson's two volumes of "Mémoires and Lettres du Cardinal de Bernis" (Plon), one minister, at least, will become well known. Francois Joachim de Pierre enjoyed, until now, rather a poor reputation. He was looked upon as an abbé of the boudoir and the bedchamber, of light morals and wit, a coiner of insipid rhymes, promoted without reason by the favour of Mme. de Pompadour to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and chiefly responsible for the alliance of France with Maria Théresa, an alliance out of which the disastrous Seven Years' War arose. It has even been said that it was to revenge himself for an epigram of Frederick II.'s, on his literary productions, that Bernis broke off the Prussian alliance. The memoirs and letters of Bernis reveal him in quite another light. The lively frivolous man we expected does not appear; he has wit no doubt, but above all good sense, observation, and prudence. As regards his relations with Mme. de Pompadour, we are not quite prepared to believe him when he pretends to have only consented with difficulty to being presented to the favourite, and that he yielded in order to exercise a wise and healthy influence over her; but on the question of the Austrian alliance he is entirely exculpated. Not a doubt remains but that it was Frederick who took the initiative in the rupture with France, by being the first to make overtures of alliance to England; and yet Bernis withstood Austria's offers; he was even simple-minded enough to believe, after the alliance with Maria Theresa was concluded, that Frederick could not adhere to it; finally, in 1758 he lost his place because he wanted to take advantage of the first successes to make peace. Hitherto, even in France, people believed the version given by Frederick II. in his Memoirs. But that great man, who knew so well how to practice the principles of Machiavelli, whilst refuting them in his writings, after beating France and Austria in the battlefield, succeeded besides in attaching all the blame possible to them in the eyes of posterity by what he wrote. The hatred and contempt inspired by the Government of Louis XV. gave credit, in France, to all Frederick II.'s accusations; but the time has come for criticism to resume her rights. It does not follow that, like M. Masson, we must make a great minister and a profound politician out of Bernis. He was ill-prepared for the difficult functions he had to fulfil: if he blamed the Austrian alliance, it was he who concluded it; the part he played as counsellor to Mme. de Pompadour did not lead to the reform of any abuse; and after having been deceived by Choiseul he remained his friend. He was a man of sagacious mind, but of no great capacity, and of weak character.

The Seven Years' War, which brought Russia and Austria into collision with Prussia, was to be the starting point of an alliance between the three States, an alliance that after the lapse of a century still exists, notwithstanding all the changes the map of Europe has undergone. This alliance was the work of Frederick II., and M. Sorel has just given

an account of its origin in an admirable book, "La Question d'Orient au XVIII. s. : Les Origines de la Triple Alliance" (Plon). Frederick saw that Russia and Austria were on the point of being drawn into a fatal contest for the succession of the Ottoman Empire, and that on the other hand the rivalry between Prussia and Austria in Germany would remain in the acute stage and impede Prussia's development, unless it were made the instrument of Russian greatness, which was likewise a danger to her. He saw that the partition of Poland would be the solution of all these difficulties. As, with his impious cynicism, he expressed it, "It will unite the three religions, Greek, Catholic, and Calvinist; for we shall partake of one eucharistic body, which is Poland, and if it be not for the benefit of our souls, it will surely be greatly to the benefit of our States." It was in fact the complicity of the three States that bound them indissolubly together. Russia checked her advances in the east, having, of necessity, to occupy herself with Poland, and left Prussia to unite her possessions in the northeast with those in the west, by making herself mistress of the lower course of the Vistula; Austria left off watching Russia in the east, and gave up her claims on Silesia. It is from the partition of Poland and the alliance of the three courts of Austria, Prussia, and Russia, that international and modern politics date. The consequences are visible now, and, as M. Sorel eloquently demonstrates, are beginning to turn against the authors of that glaring iniquity. The Polish question seems exhausted, but the Eastern question is making rapid strides towards a solution. Once solved, the Austrian question will begin to unfold itself, and then Prussia and Russia will remain face to face. M. Sorel has not treated this deeply interesting question solely as a diplomat, but as a psychological historian as well, and has produced finished portraits of the three chief actors in the drama: Catherine II., who behaved with an unscrupulousness truly imperial, and an immodesty truly epic, conquering and annexing on a grand scale, as if by right of nature, in the name of holy Russia; Frederick, harsh and persevering, mingling the cynicism of Mephistophelian irony with his passion for the greatness of his country; Maria Theresa, weak and greedy, devout and ambitious, full of scruples to which she paid no heed—“always weeping and always taking."

"God is too high and France is too far off," said the Poles more than once in their misfortunes. France, in fact, always sympathized with them, but, whether from weakness, powerlessness, or incapacity, that sympathy remained a barren one, and rather harmful than useful. Striking examples of this are to be found in M. de Broglie's new book, "Le Secret du Roi" (2 vols., Lévy). It was well known for some time past through M. Boutaire's publication, "La Correspondance Secrète de Louis XV.," that that indolent and vicious king had kept up, side by side with the official, a secret diplomacy, the threads of which he held in his own hand, and by means of which he now and then pursued different aims from those of his ministry. But the essential documents, the letters of the Comte de Broglie, the chief agent and the soul of this

secret diplomacy, were wanting. The present Duc de Broglie, the grand-nephew of the Comte de Broglie, thanks to the voluminous archives of his family, as also to the Archives of Foreign Affairs and of the Ministry of War, has been able to give a complete history of that curious diplomatic episode, which he has recounted with brilliant and forcible vivacity. He places the part Louis XV. played in its true light. M. Boutaire was very near making him pass for a great politician thwarted by his ministers, and trying to take his revenge unknown to them; M. de Broglie shows him to have been merely a blasé looker-on, seeking distraction of a refined kind, incapable of following out an idea, and meanly sacrificing his confidants as soon as the secret was discovered. We experience a certain deception in reading these two volumes, from seeing the many negotiations that miscarried, the magnificent plans that did not weigh a straw in the destinies of Europe. It is painful to see this Penelope's web alternately made and unmade. The book is of immense importance as regards knowledge of Louis XV. and his Government, but throws no light on what really guided the politics of Europe. Yet this Comte de Broglie was a man of rare understanding, impelled by obedience to the King, ambition, and love of intrigue to accept a thankless and undignified part. Poland was the centre of his projects, from the moment when he laboured to get the Prince de Conti elected king up to that in which he endeavoured to enlist the adventurer Dumouriez to his ideas. He cherished dreams, it is said, of changing the anarchical constitution and making it the pivot of a French policy. These chimeras, blent with profound insight and just intuitions, ended in the most absolute nothingness and the cruellest mortification.

If M. de Broglie's book draws a sad picture of monarchical France in the eighteenth century, that given by M. de Lomenie's "Mirabeau ", (Dentre) is not more seductive, but is perhaps more instructive. The Mirabeau family is not only interesting on account of the great revolutionary tribune, but because all its members were powerful and original individualities: the grandfather, Jean Antoine, and the grandmother, who died insane; the bailiff uncle, a man of great intelligence, and admirable rectitude, who would have made an excellect Minister of the Marine; the other uncle, who became Councillor to the Margrave of Bayreuth, after being repudiated by his family owing to his having married beneath him; lastly, the Marquis, father of the great Mirabeau, the philosopher, philanthropist, economist, and author of "L'Ami des Hommes," one of the most extraordinary types of the reforming nobility of the eighteenth century, a true symbol of the disorder then prevailingat outrageous war with his wife, by whom he had had eleven children; at war with his son, against whom he took out lettres de cachet, whilst thundering against the abuses of authority-a strange example of the influx of democratic ideas into a feudal brain. We must read M. de Lomenie's book to understand the state of intellectual and administrative anarchy into which France had sunk. It likewise gives many inter

esting details concerning the navy, the Order of Malta, and the feudal rights in the eighteenth century.

Let those who wish to console themselves for these too highly-coloured pictures read the "Lettres de la Princesse de Condé au Marquis de la Gervaisais" (Didier), published by M. P. Viollet, genuine letters of the same period, forming the purest and most touching novel imaginable. This last heiress of the great name of Condé had fallen in love with a young gentleman of elevated and original mind and precocious maturity. She yielded to the charm of this inclination till the consciousness of the obstacle the prejudices of her rank would interpose between her and the one she loved constrained her to give him up. She renounced the world, and retired to the cloister. This, again, is a sad example of the barbarism of the social condition of the eighteenth century; but here at least are souls of almost ideal nobility to admire. These letters are love melcdies, of incomparable innocence and artlessness, and at the same time of passionate depth.

The philosophical publications this year were far from being as important as the historical ones. Translations continue to be made of the English philosophers, who at present-Herbert Spencer more especially -exercise an unquestionable ascendency over French thought. In proof of which we have only to read M. Ribot's excellent "Revue Philosophique" (Germer Baillère). The works of Germany, in the meantime, are not treated with indifference, especially those, very numerous in these days, in which philosophy is based on the sciences, on physiology and physics Thus, whilst M. Liard has studied "Les Logiciens Anglais Contemporains" (G. Baillère), M. Ribot has completed a work on the 'Psychologues Allemands Contemporains" (G. Baillère), and M. Boutroux has translated "L'Histoire de la Philosophie Ancienne," by Zeller, and has headed the first volume by a remarkable preface. Lastly, the several varieties of pessimism continue to excite curiosity, rather literary, it is true, than philosophical. The fact is, it is difficult to take it seriously and as an explanation of the world, even with men like Schopenhauer and Hartmann. Pessimism is a feeling, a temperament; it may produce a religion, like Buddhism, but will never be a rational doctrine. In France, moreover, amidst a gay, active, sensible, and volatile people, pessimism can never strike root even as a passing fashion. To us it seems like a disease. M. Caro has studied it from this point of view in "Le Pessimisme Contemporain" (Hachette), a charming book, wherein he more particularly, and with reason, devotes himself to bringing out the moral and psychological causes of pessimism in Leopardi, Schopenhauer, and Hartmann; and shows, with some cleverness, that the poet Leopardi was the truest philosopher of the three, because he neither sought the origin nor the remedy of the ill from which he suffered. The modern philosophical systems, which all more or less disturb the notion of free-will, oblige us to revise our ideas on the morals of its rational foundations. The preoccupation has inspired M. Gruyan with a remarkable work on "La Morale d'Epicure

འ

dans ses Rapports avec les Systèmes Modernes," in which, for the first time in France, the Epicurean system has been fairly judged.

66

During the whole exhibition season the theatres, sure of full houses, did not go to the expense of bringing out any new pieces. They were content with their old repertoire. Only now are they beginning to shake off their inertia and to produce some novelties. The opera set the example with Gounod's "Polyeucte," promised and looked for long ago. This work, to which the composer attached great importance, has been much talked of for some time. Strange stories were current of the adventures of the score,-of its having been left in London in the hands of a lady of some notoriety, who would not return it, and of M. Gounod having in consequence entirely to rewrite it. After the semifiasco of "Cinq Mars" a brilliant revenge was looked for; but in vain. Mlle. Krauss's admirable dramatic talent, Lasalle's fine voice, the wonderful scenery, the dazzling mise en scene of the fête of Jupiter, and some pieces of a lofty inspiration make "Polyeucte" a spectacle worth seeing; but for one who bears the name of Gounod, and has written "Faust," "Romeo," "Mireille,” Sapho," a succes d'estime is not enough. The subject, moreover, was not suited to the musician's peculiar genius. He fancies that because he has a mystical side to his nature he is fitted to write religious music, and in the case of lyrical religious music, if he had to express personal emotions, he would perhaps be right. But he is incapable of the great dramatic objectivity which a subject at once religious and antique demands. It would require the genius of a Gluck, and no one is less like Gluck than M. Gounod. are indebted to him for some of the most beautiful lyrical effusions, the most delicious cooings and warblings in modern music, but his essentially personal and subjective style lacks variety, and almost everything he has produced since he wrote "Faust" recalls without equalling it. He moreover committed the mistake of treating as an opera, and one suited to the traditional formulas of the Grand Opéra of Paris, a subject better fitted for a kind of oratorio. The result is a species of contradiction that annoys and shocks the spectator.

We

Notwithstanding the serious reserves we make with reference to Gounod's latest work, we cannot follow those who, at his expense, praised the Marquis d'Ivry's "Amants de Vérone." The difference between the inspiration of a Gounod, original as it invariably is, and the make-up talent of a skilful and learned amateur, is all in all. The success of the "Amants de Vérone" at the Salle Ventadour, proclaimed by the singer Capoul, who is himself the lessee, was due, in great measure, to Capoul's own talent, which excites veritable enthusiasm in a portion of the public, more especially the female public, and to the charms of Mlle. Heilbronn. It was due also to the Marquis d'Ivry's many personal relations, to the Salle Ventadour having become a fashionsble rendezvous, and finally to the attraction exercised by the divine subject of Romeo and Juliet itself, so often experimented upon by musicians since the day when Shakespeare made it the gospel of young and passionate