1809. 



Mefholrs of Mr. Necker, ly his Daughter, 



■529 



one. He told me he thought it poflible 

 to intereft more powerfully in depi£4ing 

 conjugal affeflion than any other kind of 

 love ; we talked of an event that had hap- 

 pened at Paris, and revived in a journal, 

 and I propofed to him this fubjeft as the 

 mort difficult to treat of. He accep.ed 

 It, and fome weeks after he fubmitted to 

 me the novel I now publ fh. At this mo- 

 ment, when every word irritates my 

 wounds, even at this moment its impref- 

 fim is not Wronger than it was then. It 

 evinces a degree uf talent to which no- 

 thing can be added j and when it is con- 

 fidered that thisaffeiting language of love, 

 ofpaffiun, of fenfibility, of delicacy, is the 

 work of a man of feveuiy years of age, of 

 a man liackneyed in political events the 

 molt likely to wither the heart, of a man 

 who had been conftantly occupied in cal- 

 culations and bufinefs ; when it is confi- 

 dered th^t the fame n^me is found at the 

 bottom of the Adnilni.tration of Finance 

 and of " The Fat;i! ConCequences of a 

 Single Fault," that the lame man, at an 

 advanced age, fuJiienly dii'plays, in addi- 

 tion to his acknowledged t lents, the grace 

 of youth, the palFion of miture age, and 

 an inexpreffible delicacy of fentinsenr, 

 which blends at once the frefhnefs of fiift 

 impreffions, and the confcioufnefs of a 

 long and honourable retrofpe£l, — it ap- 

 pesrs as if age, at leaft my fuher's age, no 

 longer feemed the decline of life, hut the 

 commencement of immortality. I proteft 

 that in the laft yeTS of his exiftence lie 

 feemed to have affumcd foniething celeftial 

 in his look and in his language. It was 

 this renewal of ftrtngth and of fenfi'oility 

 on which my hopes weie founded. I law 

 in it a new pledge wf the duration of his 

 life, and htaven feemed to defceiid into 

 his heart by anticipation. 



It was during the iilnefs of my moiher, 

 and particularly fince her death, which 

 took place about ten yeais .igo, that my 

 father's private charaftcr has been molt 

 known. It is impolTible to convey an idea 

 ot his care and affiduiiy during lier long 

 illnefs. SliC bad freqviently Ueeplels 

 nights ; and in the day-tiiii- fhe would 

 fometimei lleep vviih her h^ail reclined up- 

 on her hulbind's arm. I have feen him 

 remain moiionlt Is foi hours together, up- 

 right, in the fame pofitinn, for fear of 

 awaking her by the fmallelt moti-n } ani 

 the care* he lavished on her were not 

 ihofe which virtue only infpires ; they 

 were full of tenderntfs and affeflion, ani- 

 mated by that fpark of love which pure 

 hearts preferve through the fufferingj of 

 years. 



Monthly Mag, No. 137. 



My mother was fond of hearing mufic 

 during her illnefs, and (he had muficians 

 to come to her every evening, that the ira- 

 prefTion msde by their founds might fuf- 

 tain her foul in that elevated thought 

 which alone gives to death an air of me- 

 lancholy and peace. In the lad hour of her 

 life wind-inftruments continued to play in 

 the chamber adj lining hers ; and I cannot 

 exprefs the effeft of the contrift between 

 the different expreifions of the airs and the 

 uniform fentiment of fadnefs that filled the 

 heart at the idea of death. Once in the 

 courfe of her ficknefs the muficians difap- 

 pointed her, and my father delired me to 

 play on the piano-forte. After having 

 executed fome pieces, I begrm to fmg the 

 air fromCEdipusat Colonos, by Sacchiri, 

 the words of which recall the cares of An- 

 tigone : 



Elle m'a prodigue tendreffe et fes foins, 

 Son zele dans mes maux m'a fait trouv.T des 

 charmes, &c. 



On hearing it, my father fhed a torrent 

 of tears. I was obliged to flop. And 

 T faw him for many hours at the feet of 

 his dying wife, abandon hirafelf to that 

 deep that unconftraioed emotion^ which 

 evinced nothing of the great man. of the 

 man involved in great thoughts an i iinpoi'- 

 (ant interefts, except a heart of fenfi'iiilty, 

 a heart melting with tendernefs and affec- 

 tion. 



My mother died. It was not in the 

 wildnefs of defpair that a grief which was 

 to end only with life difphyed itfelf. 

 From the firft morr ent my father employed 

 himfelf in executing the la!t wilhes of my 

 mother relative to her interment, with 

 a prcfence of mind evincing furely a more 

 profound fenfibility than that which vi'ould 

 manitcft itfelf onl)' by vehement diftTefs; 

 a fenfibility which concentrated all its 

 force to accomplifh all its duties. I enter- 

 ed his chamber fome hours after the death 

 of my mother. His window towardi 

 Laufanne looked on one of the molt mag- 

 nificent proi'peiSls of the Alps, ami they , 

 Were illuminated by the beautiful ra\s of 

 the morning. " Her fpirit, perhaps, is 

 hovering there," faid he to me, in pointing 

 to a Iglit cloud which w.is flying over out 

 heads ; and he was filent. Ah ! why wa» 

 he not doomed to utter the fame words of 

 me J ntar him, I fhtuld have felt no ter- 

 rors of death, fo well did he reprefent to 

 me the effeifl of religion ! I beheld him 

 •Is long as he remained on the earth, and 

 now I mutt .iccomplifh alone the laft te- 

 dious half of iriy exiftence. 



Much hjs been faid of the anxiety my 



mother carried with her to the tomb. She 



3 X h»d 



