Persuaded that a good writer cannot be written down but by himself,² we become apprehensive for the pen that seems to
promise no end to its labours. It must, we think, tire at last;—and, to prevent being
caught tripping, it were to be wished that a brilliant career might finish with éclat, and the close of a celebrated literary life be
marked by this praise,

Nothing became it like the leaving it.³

Under the title of Souvenirs, Mad. de Genlis here presents us with a miscellany of anecdotes of courts, details of
villagers, and what she terms historiettes, or little
histories, bonmots, and jests; many among the latter of
which are not unworthy of our own countryman of laughing memory, Joe Miller. We are told that these choice
morsels have been already dispersed through thirty volumes of the Bibliothèque des Romans;⁴
and as they have been often copied in the journals, and printed in foreign countries,
it was a duty which the fair writer seemed to owe to these wandering effusions of
the
muse, to collect them into an edition, and to prevent them from being pirated by
others.

The first page leads us to expect a detailed account of Mad. de
G.'s residence in England, and of the many civilities which she received during
her long stay in what she denominates the pretty town of Bury: yet, even after the
mention which she makes of this jolie ville⁵ and the pleasant society which it afforded, not a tittle of
a grateful Souvenir drops from her pen. 'A small
society, composed of five or six persons, très
spirituelles,⁶ assembled together
every day from the hours of seven till half-past ten: the amusement consisted of
music and conversation; and the evenings passed very agreeably.' Fort agréablement seems but a vapid éloge⁷ from the pen of a French-woman, whose language is generally
glowing with expressions of more rapturous signification; and Mad. de Genlis, by excluding from her vocabulary the words charming, enchanting, &c., excites the
suspicion that this little society had not produced very lively sensations of
enjoyment. Here, [Page 543] however, it was that the plan was projected of a
journey to the delightful cottage of Llangollen; and as this Souvenir seems to have afforded more entertainment to the writer than any
other that resulted from her English travels, it also communicates a superior degree
of interest in the detail. Yet the hasty manner, in which this visit of curiosity
was
instantaneously adopted and arranged, is scarcely a less extraordinary event in the
chapter of accidents than the motive which suggested its accomplishment. It is thus
related:

One evening, the subject of our conversation happening to turn on friendship,
I said that I would willingly undertake a very considerable journey to see two friends who had been long united by the ties of friendship.—"Well, madame," replied Mr. Stewart⁸ , "go to
Llangollen; you will there see the model of perfect friendship; and the picture
will please you so much the more, as it will be presented by two women who are
still young, and in every respect charming. Do you wish to know the history of
Lady Eleanor Butler and of
Miss Ponsonby?"—"I shall be
delighted with it."—"Then I will relate it."—At these words, we drew our little
circle around Mr. Stewart:—he paused a
moment for the purpose of recollection, and then began the narrative nearly in
these terms.

We have not space for the insertion of this very novel history; for the accuracy of
which, moreover, we are not able to answer: but we must refer the reader to Vol. i.
p. 3. We cannot, however, fail to participate with Mad. de Genlis in the enthusiasm which her romantic imagination imbibed from the scenery of
Llangollen, and the extraordinary attachment of its inhabitants; and the tout ensemble must have possessed a mind like hers with
such visionary ideas, that we are not surprized at the effect of Fancy, when it
produced the music of the spheres from the wild and random notes of an Eolian harp.
In her subsequent reflections, nevertheless, Mad. de G.
does not appear to be the advocate of such excentric connections as form the union
between Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby, and she leaves Llangollen apparently
dis-enchanted. Yet we are almost sorry when she
takes leave of the friends, and changes her recollections to bon mots and jests. These are very commonly introduced without analogy, or
association of ideas; and the scene shifts rapidly from the famous Vaucanson,⁹ the
greatest mechanic of his day, who made an automaton which played on the flute, and
a
duck that both ate and digested its food, to a merry
anecdote of a miser: which we will favour with our particular notice, in compliment
to the fair author, because it seems to have given her peculiar delight: [Page 544]

M. de C****, very rich, but blinded by a
cataract formed on both his eyes, came to Paris from the remotest part of
Languedoc, to consult a surgeon; who told him that it was time for him to perform
the operation of couching, for the success of which he would be answerable. M. de C**** inquired what would be the expence of the
operation: fifty guineas, replied Granjean.—M. de C. remonstrated grievously against the charge, and
was disposed to make a bargain, to lower the price: but Granjean was inflexible; and M. de C. had
nothing left but patience, submission, and non-resistance. Some days afterward,
the surgeon performed the operation; when, having removed the cataract from the
right eye, M. de C. exclaimed with transport, that
his sight was perfectly restored. Come then, said Granjean, let us proceed to the other eye. Stay a moment, replied M. de C.:—you take fifty guineas for the whole
operation; that is, five-and-twenty for each eye: now as I see quite as well as is
necessary, and as I wish to see, I shall content myself with one eye: to recover
the other would be a very useless luxury; there are your five-and-twenty guineas.

With one more sprightly anecdote, we shall close our extracts; and as it relates to
our celebrated countryman Mr. Gibbon, we
think that it will not be uninteresting to the reader:

I hear from Lausanne that Mr. Gibbon has been settled there for some time,¹⁰ and is extremely well received. He is, they tell me,
grown so prodigiously fat, that he walks with great difficulty: yet with this
figure, and his strange face, Mr. Gibbon is infinitely gallant, and is fallen in love with a beautiful
woman, Madame de Crouzas.¹¹ One day, finding himself with her tête à tête for the first time, and desirous of
availing himself of so favourable a moment, he fell suddenly on his knees, and
made a declaration of his flame in the most passionate terms. Madame de
Crouzas replied in a manner sufficiently repulsive to discourage every temptation
to renew the scene, and Mr. Gibbon
appeared embarrassed: but he nevertheless retained his prostrate attitude; and
notwithstanding Madame's repeated invitation to re-seat himself on his chair, he
was motionless and silent.—"But, sir," repeated Madame de
Crouzas, "rise, I beseech you."—"Alas, Madame," at length answered this unfortunate
lover, "I am not able." In truth, the corpulency of
his person totally impeded the possibility of his recovering his legs without
assistance. Madame de C. then rang the bell, and desired the servant to help Mr. Gibbon to rise.

Here Mad. de
Genlis takes leave of the gros Monsieur Gibbon, and directs her satiric pen to
another ill-starred lover, whose stature was in the extreme of opposition; and the
little man was even more ludicrously punished for an unwelcome declaration, by being
placed upon the chimney-piece.

In revenge for the treatment of this unhappy wight, we shall now put the fair writer
herself upon the shelf.