1825.] 
with horror; the epoch in which England, 
instead of governing her riches, is governed by 
them. The aristocracy of this vile dust 
threatens to supersede all others.. It is the 
only object seen, felt, wnderstood, or desired ; 
for which we wish to live, and dare to die.’”’ 
In my quality of the friend of man, I 
should sincerely pity England, sunk to 
this degree of moral turpitude; I should 
still more pity those parts of the world, 
where this power, supported upon so 
frail a basis, can exercise the double 
tyranny of authority and example. If, 
indeed, England had only the unbridled 
passion for gold, and the still-increasing 
thirst to acquire it, she would corrupt 
even the nations she desires to civilize: 
the contagion of her vices would poison 
the benefits of the knowledge she would 
bring to Africa and the heart of Asia. 
But I exult, in'the hope that the picture, 
traced by Madame Belloc, is the exagge- 
ration of a noble mind, indignant to 
behold one of the most celebrated asy- 
lums of liberty, upon earth, profaned by 
the most shameful brand of slavery, and 
marked with the infallible indication of 
the approaching downfall of nations. 
In general, writers who constitute them- 
selves judges of the state of human 
society, do not carry their researches 
far enough: thence, rash conclusions. 
Even among ourselves, we may deplore 
the rapidity with which the love of 
riches is gaining ground. Heretofore, 
we were contented to raise an altar to 
Fortune; now, we must build her a 
temple. During the first enthusiasm of 
the Revolution, and even through its 
whole tumultuous course, a war, sus- 
tained by the sentiments and customs 
of the ancient republics, had dethroned 
Plutus. Like a tyrant hurled down by 
the indignation of the public, he has 
returned more furious—his power is 
increased. His new yoke of slavery has 
become more weighty—his bonds are 
drawn tighter, his influence is more dif- 
fused. Diogenes, with his lantern, 
would have some trouble to find, either 
in Paris, or in any other of our great 
cities, a man sheltered from the odious 
influence of this demon. But what injus- 
tice were it, to confound the French peo- 
ple with that crowd of knaves, gluttons 
and petty ambitionists, who bubble on the 
surface of society, like the foam upon the 
heaving waves of the ocean! Imprudent 
eensors of a people, look at them nearer ! 
How many good citizens are there who 
never desire to leave their mediocrity !— 
agriculturists, who find content in their 
cottages and their fields !—artizans, who 
Madame Belloc’s Defence of Lord Byron. 
117 
are satisfied with the price of their 
labour! How many places, where those 
speculations are unknown that give birth 
to crime, by promising sudden wealth ; 
or produce the most fatal miseries! 
In submitting these reflections to the 
consideration of Madame Belloc, I can- 
not help doing justice to the profundity 
of ideas, and energy of style, which shine 
in so many passages. I have thought 
that I perceived the enthusiasm and 
elevation of Madame de Staél, with 
more of candour, in her judgment of 
Napoleon. But, though well introduced, 
the comparison between this giant of a 
man and Lord Byron, wants fitness and 
proportion; and lessens the poet, by 
attempting to aggrandize him. Can we 
for an instant compare the leader, who, 
at the age of twenty-six, shewed himself 
capable, alike, of command and govern- 
ment, with the slave of the vehement 
passions of youth, exclusively resigned 
to the sports of an imagination, often 
incoherent? Is there any equality of 
genius between them? Napoleon shines 
in the first rank of those phenomena 
that claim an eternal inheritance in the 
memory of futurity; but, whatever 
talent we accord to Lord Byron, can 
we look upon him as another Homer, 
worthy to follow the steps of another 
Alexander, and dispute with him the 
palm of glory? I think not; and can 
only admire the fine turn of the expres- 
sion, when Madame Belloc says: “If 
these two men had been competitors 
for glory, perhaps the power of the poet 
might have equalled that of the conque- 
ror.’ The author says, much more 
truly, that there is poetry in all great 
minds. Napoleon was:so sensible of it, 
that his high conceptions have some- 
times given umbrage to Lord Byron. 
He seemed jealous of some words which 
fell from the hero of Montenotte and 
the Pyramids, as of a writer who had 
robbed him of some immortal lines. In 
fact, Napoleon was but too poetical, 
that is-to say, imaginative ; and it was 
that which caused his ruin. 
Madame Belloc, however, utters just 
and severe reproaches on Napoleon, in 
the name of liberty. She, with reason, 
reproaches him for not having devoted” 
his genius to the enfranchisement of 
mankind. We listen also with pleasure 
to her genuine eloquence, when she 
exclaims— 
“ He, who had been the master of Eu- 
rope, and become still greater by his mis- 
fortunes, died a prisoner, isolated on a ste- 
rile rock. The poet also is gone; ini 
the 
