From Chambers's Edinburgh Journal. MIRABEAU. AN ANECDOTE OF HIS PRIVATE LIFE. THE public life as well as the private character of Mirabeau are universally known; but the following anecdote has not, we believe, been recorded in any of the biographies. The particulars were included in the brief furnished to M. de Galitzane, advocate-general in the parliament of Provence, when he was retained for the defence of Madame Mirabeau in her husband's protest against her. M. de Galitzane afterwards followed the Bourbons into exile, and returned with them in 1814; and it is on his authority that the story is given as fact. Mirabeau had just been released from the donjon of the castle of Vincennes near Paris. He had been confined there for three years and a half, by virtue of that most odious mandate, a lettre-de-cachet. His imprisonment had been of a most painful nature; and it was prolonged at the instance of his father the Marquis de Mirabeau. On his being reconciled to his father, the confinement terminated, in the year 1780, when Mirabeau was thirty-one years of age. One of his father's conditions was, that . Mirabeau should reside for some time at a distance from Paris; and it was settled that he should go on a visit to his brother-in-law, Count du Saillant, whose estate was situated a few leagues from the city of Limoges, the capital of the Limousin. Accordingly the count went to Vincennes to receive Mirabeau on the day of his liberation, and they pursued their journey at once with all speed. The arrival of Mirabeau at the ancient manorial château created a great sensation in that remote part of France. The country gentlemen residing in the neighborhood had often heard him spoken of as a remarkable man, not only on account of his brilliant talents, but also for his violent passions; and they hastened to the château to contemplate a being who had excited their curiosity to an extraordinary pitch. The greater portion of these country squires were mere sportsmen, whose knowledge did not extend much beyond the names and qualities of their dogs and horses, and in whose houses it would have been almost in vain to seek for any other book than the local almanac, containing the list of the fairs and markets, to which they repaired with the utmost punctuality, to loiter away their time, talk about their rural affairs, dine abundantly, and wash down their food with strong Auvergne wine. Count du Saillant was quite of a different stamp from his neighbors. He had seen the world, he commanded a regiment, and at that period his château was perhaps the most civilized country residence in the Limousin. People came from a considerable distance to visit its hospitable owner; and among the guests there was a curious mixture of provincial oddities, clad in their quaint costumes. At that epoch, indeed, the young Limousin noblemen, when they joined their regiments, to don their sword and epaulettes for the first time, were very slightly to be distinguished, either by their manners or appearance, from their rustic retainers. It will easily be imagined, then, that Mirabeau, who was gifted with brilliant natural qualities, cultivated and polished by educa-. tion-a man, moreover, who had seen much of the world, and had been engaged in several strange and perilous adventures-occupied the most conspicuous post in this society, many of the component members whereof seemed to have barely reached the first degrees in the scale of civilization. His vigorous frame; his enormous head, augmented in bulk by a lofty frizzled coiffure; his huge face, indented with scars, and furrowed with seams, from the effect of smallpox injudiciously treated in his childhood; his piercing eyes, the reflection of the tumultuous passions at war within him; his mouth, whose expression indicated in turn irony, disdain, indignation, and benevolence; his dress, always carefully attended to, but in an exaggerated style, giving him somewhat the air of a traveling charlatan decked out with embroidery, large frill, and ruffles; in short, this extraordinary looking individual astonished the country folks even before he opened his mouth. But when his sonorous voice was heard, and his imagination, heated by some interesting subject of conversation, imparted a high degree of energy to his eloquence, some of the worthy rustic hearers felt as though they were in the presence of a saint, others in that of a devil; and according to their several impressions, they were tempted either to fall down at his feet, or to exorcise him by making the sign of the cross, and uttering a prayer. vance, in order to combat them, as he did with great force of logic and in energetic language; and thus he gave himself lessons in argument, caring little about his auditory, his sole aim being to exercise his mental ingenuity and to cultivate eloquence. Above all, he was fond of discussing religious matters with the cure of the parish. Without displaying much latitudinarianism, he disputed several points of doctrine and certain pretensions of the church so acutely, that the pastor could say but little in reply. This astonished the Limousin gentry, who, up to that time, had listened to nothing but the drowsy discourses of their curés, or the sermons of some obscure mendicant friars, and who placed implicit faith in the dogmas of the church. The faith of a few was shaken, but the greater number of his hearers were very much tempted to look upon the visitor as an emissary of Satan sent to the château to destroy them. The curé, however, did not despair of eventually converting Mirabeau. Seated in a large antique arm-chair, with his feet stretched out on the floor, Mirabeau often contemplated, with a smile playing on his lips, those men, who seemed to belong to the primitive ages; so simple, frank, and at the same time clownish, were they in their manners. He listened to their conversations, which generally turned upon the chase, the exploits of their dogs, or the excellence At this period several robberies had taken of their horses, of whose breed and qualifi- place at no great distance from the château: cations they were very proud. Mirabeau four or five farmers had been stopped shortly entered freely into their notions; took an in- after nightfall on their return from the marterest in the success of their sporting pro-ket-towns, and robbed of their purses. Not jects; talked, too, about crops; chestnuts, of which large quantities are produced in the Limousin; live and dead stock; ameliorations in husbandry; and so forth; and he quite won the hearts of the company by his familiarity with the topics in which they felt the most interest, and by his good nature. This monotonous life was, however, frequently wearisome to Mirabeau; and in order to vary it, and for the sake of exercise, after being occupied for several hours in writing, he was in the habit of taking a fowling-piece, according to the custom of the country, and putting a book into his game-bag, he would frequently make long excursions on foot in every direction. He admired the noble forests of chestnut-trees which abound in the Limousin; the vast meadows, where numerous herds of cattle of a superior breed are reared; and the running streams by which that picturesque country is intersected. He generally returned to the château long after sunset, saying that night scenery was peculiarly attractive to him. It was during and after supper that those conversations took place for which Mirabeau supplied the principal and the most interesting materials. He possessed the knack of provoking objections to what he might ad one of these persons had offered any resistance, for each preferred to make a sacrifice rather than run the risk of a struggle in a country full of ravines, and covered with a rank vegetation very favorable to the exploits of brigands, who might be lying in wait to massacre any individual who might resist the one detached from the band to demand the traveler's money or his life. These outrages ceased for a short time, but they soon recommenced, and the robbers remained undiscovered. One evening, about an hour after sunset, a guest arrived at the château. He was one of Count du Saillant's most intimate friends, and was on his way home from a neighboring fair. This gentleman appeared to be very thoughtful, and spoke but little, which surprised everybody, inasmuch as he was usually a merry companion. His gasconades had frequently roused Mirabeau from his reveries, and of this he was not a little proud. He had not the reputation of being particularly courageous, however, though he often told glowing tales about his own exploits; and it must be admitted that he took the roars of laughter with which they were usually received very good-humoredly. Count du Saillant being much surprised at this sudden change in his friend's manner took him aside after supper, and begged that he would accompany him to another room. When they were there alone, he tried in vain for a long time to obtain a satisfactory answer to his anxious inquiries as to the cause of his friend's unwonted melancholy and taciturnity. At length the visitor said "Nay, nay; you would never believe it. You would declare that I was telling you one of my fables, as you are pleased to call them; and perhaps this time we might fall out." 66 What do you mean?" cried Count du Saillant: "this seems to be a serious affair. Am I, then, connected with your presenti Certainly certainly." "Let us not speak any more of this," said Count du Saillant. "We will return to the drawing-room, and I hope you will be as gay as usual; if not, I shall set you down as a madman. I will so manage that our absence shall not be thought anything of." And the gentlemen re-entered the drawing-room, one a short time before the other. The visitor succeeded in resuming his accustomed manner; but the count fell into a gloomy reverie, in spite of all his efforts. He could not banish from his mind the extraordinary story he had heard: it haunted him; and at last, worn out with the most painful conjectures, he again took his friend aside, questioned him afresh, and the result was, that a plan was agreed upon for solving the mystery. It was arranged that M. De — should in the course of the evening mention casually, as it were, that he was engaged on a certain day to meet a party at a friend's house to dinner, and that he proposed coming afterwards to take a bed at the château, where he hoped to arrive at about nine in the evening. The announcement was accordingly made in the course of conversation, when all the guests were present-good care being taken that it should be heard by Mirabeau, who at the time was playing a game of chess with the curé. A week passed away, in the course of which a farmer was stopped and robbed of his purse; and at length the critical night arrived. Count du Saillant was upon the rack the whole evening; and his anxiety became almost unbearable when the hour for his friend's promised arrival had passed without his having made his appearance. Neither had Mirabeau returned from his nocturnal promenade. Presently a storm of lightning, thunder, and heavy rain came on; in the midst of it the bell at the gate of the courtyard rang loudly. The count rushed out of the room into the court-yard, heedless of the contending elements; and before the groom could arrive to take his friend's horse, the anxious host was at his side. His guest was in the act of dismounting. 66 Well," said M. De "I have been stopped. It is really he. I recognized him perfectly." 1 "I insist upon an explanation of your strange conduct. You stopped Monsieur De on his way hither this evening: this is the second time you have attacked that gentleman, for he recognized you as the same man who robbed him a week ago. You have turned highwayman then!" Not a word more was spoken then; but | sleep: do you want to keep me chattering al as soon as the groom had led the horse to night?" the stables, M. De- rapidly told the count that, during the storm, and as he was riding along, a man, who was half-concealed behind a very large tree, ordered him to throw down his purse. At that moment a flash of lightning enabled him to discover a portion of the robber's person, and M. De rode at him; but the robber retreated a few paces, and then leveling his gun at the horseman, cried with a powerful voice, which it was impossible to mistake, "Pass on, or you are a dead man!" Another flash of lightning showed the whole of the robber's figure it was Mirabeau, whose voice had already betrayed him! The wayfarer, having | no inclination to be shot, put spurs to his horse, and soon reached the château. The count enjoined strict silence, and begged of his friend to avoid displaying any change in his usual demeanor when in company with the other guests; he then ordered his valet to come again to him as soon as Mirabeau should return. Half an hour afterwards Mirabeau arrived. He was wet to the skin, and hastened to his own room; he told the servant to inform the count that he could not join the company at the evening meal, and begged that his supper might be brought to his room; and he went to bed as soon as he had supped. All went on as usual with the party assembled below, excepting that the gentleman who had had so unpleasant an adventure on the road appeared more gay than usual. When his guests had all departed, the master of the house repaired alone to his brother-in-law's apartment. He found him fast asleep, and was obliged to shake him. rather violently before he could rouse him. "What's the matter? Who's there? What do you want with me?" cried Mirabeau, staring at his brother-in-law, whose eyes were flashing with rage and disgust. "What do I want? I want to tell you that you are a wretch!" "A fine compliment, truly!" replied Mirabeau with the greatest coolness. "It was scarcely worth while to awaken me only to abuse me go away and let me sleep." "Can you sleep after having committed so bad an action? Tell me where did you pass the evening? Why did you not join us at the supper-table ?" Would it not have been all in good time to tell me this to-morrow morning?" said Mirabeau with inimitable sang-froid. "Supposing that I did stop your friend, what of that?" That you are a wretch!" "And that you are a fool, my dear Du Saillant. Do you imagine that it was for the sake of his money that I stopped this poor country squire? I wished to put him to the proof, and to put myself to the proof. I wished to ascertain what degree of resolution was necessary in order to place one's self in formal opposition to the most sacred laws of society: the trial was a dangerous one; but I have made it several times. I am satisfied with myself-but your friend is a coward." He then felt in the pocket of his waistcoat, which lay on a chair by his bedside, and drawing a key from it, said, "Take this key, open my scrutoire, and bring me the second drawer on the left hand." The count, astounded at so much coolness, and carried away by an irresistible impulse for Mirabeau spoke with the greatest firmness-unlocked the cabinet, and brought the drawer to Mirabeau. It contained nine purses; some made of leather, others of silk; each purse was encircled by a label on which was written a date-it was that of the day on which the owner had been stopped and robbed; the sum contained in the purse was also written down. "You see," said Mirabeau, "that I did not wish to reap any pecuniary benefit from my proceedings. A timid person, my dear friend, could never become a highwayman; a soldier who fights in the ranks does not require half so much courage as a footpad. You are not the kind of man to understand me, therefore I will not attempt to make myself more intelligible. You would talk to me about honor-about religion; but these have never stood in the way of a well-considered and a firm resolve. Tell me, Du Saillant, when you lead your regiment into the heat of battle, to conquer a province to which he whom you call your master has no right whatever, do you consider that you are per forming a better action than mine, in stopping your friend on the king's highway, and demanding his purse?" "I obey without reasoning," replied the count. "And I reason without obeying, when obedience appears to me to be contrary to reason," rejoined Mirabeau. "I study all kinds of social positions, in order to appreciate them justly. I do not neglect even those positions or cases which are in decided opposition to the established order of things; for established order is merely conventional, and may be changed when it is generally admitted to be faulty. Such a study is a dangerous, but it is a necessary one for him who wishes to gain a perfect knowledge of men and things. You are living within the boun | dary of the law, whether it be for good or evil. I study the law, and I endeavor to acquire strength enough to combat it if it be bad, when the proper time shall arrive." "You wish for a convulsion then?" cried the count. "I neither wish to bring it about nor do I desire to witness it; but should it come to pass through the force of public opinion, I would second it to the full extent of my power. In such a case you will hear me spoken of. Adieu. I shall depart to-morrow; but pray leave me now, and let me have a little sleep." Count du Saillant left the room without saying another word. Very early on the following morning Mirabeau was on his way to Paris. CATALANI.-Among the hearers of Catalani, in Paris, was the Emperor Napoleon, who, although destitute of any taste for music, wished to fix the admired cantatrice in his capital, partly from an ambitious desire to see himself surrounded by great artists, and partly with the view of diverting the thoughts of the Parisians from graver and more dangerous topics. Accordingly, he commanded her attendance at the Tuileries. The poor woman had never been brought before into contact with this terrible virtuoso of war, who, at that time, filled all Europe with the fame of his fioriture; she trembled from head to foot on entering his presence. "Where are you going, Madame ?" inquired the master, with his abrupt tone and imperial voice. "To London, Sire." You must remain in Paris, where you shall be well paid, and where your talents will be better appreciated. You shall have a hundred thousand francs a-year, and two month's vacation: that is settled. Adieu, Madam." And the cantatrice retired, more dead than alive, without having dared to inform her brusque interrogator that it was impossible for her to break an engagement which she had formed with the English Ambassador at Portugal. If Napoleon had been acquainted with this circumstance, he would undoubtedly have laid an embargo on the fair singer, whom he would have considered a rich capture from his enemies. Ma | dame Catalani was not the less obliged to make her escape from France without a passport. She embarked secretly at Morlaix, on board a vessel which had been sent for the exchange of prisoners, and to whose captain she paid £150 for his services. This interview with the Emperor Napoleon made so deep an impression on Madame Catalani, that she was wont to speak of it as the most agitating moment of her life. A few days before her death, while she was sitting in her saloon, without any presentiment of her approaching end, she received a visit from an unknown lady, who declined giving her name to the servant. On being ushered into her presence, the stranger bowed before her with a graceful yet lowly reverence, saying, "I am come to offer my homage to the most celebrated cantatrice of our time, as well as to the most noble of women: bless me, Madame, I am Jenny Lind!" Madame Catalani, moved even to tears, pressed the Swedish Nightingale to her heart. After a prolonged interview they parted, each to pursue her ownappointed path,-the one to close her eyes, with unexpected haste, upon earth, with all its shifting hopes and fears-the other to enjoy fresh triumphs, the more pure and happy, as they are the fruit not only of her bewitching talent, but also of that excellence which wins for her in every place the heartfelt homage of esteem and love. |