There is no pleasanter kind of reading than a good personal memoir. Works of this description serve a double purpose; for they not only convey to us most lively impressions of society, illustrated with portraits of the most eminent and remarkable men of the time, but, taken in the aggregate, they furnish the best and most authentic store of materials available to the future historian. Ponderous or brilliant, gossiping or grave, according to the peculiar style and idiosyncrasy of their writers, they have all claims to our notice; and more than one posthumous reputation has been achieved through compositions such as these, by men whose other labours have failed to attract the slightest share of the public notice or approbation.

But even in this light walk of literature, there are certain conditions which must be observed, in order to excite interest and to insure success. We expect from the compiler of memoirs a narrative, however desultory, of what passed before his own observation. He must not be altogether a reporter at second-hand—a mere relater of stories or scandals which he has chanced to pick up from others—a dilator, through simple hearsay, of closet or antechamber gossip. The substance at least of his tale must be derived from his personal knowledge, else we have no voucher at all for the authenticity of what he is pleased to relate. The memoirs, in short, must be his own, not fragments from those of other people.

The announcement of the publication of a volume of Memoirs or Reminiscences from the pen of the late Lord Holland could hardly have failed to stimulate the public curiosity. His known intimacy with many of the leading characters of the last generation, his near relationship to the most conspicuous of modern Whig statesmen, his inclination towards letters—which made him appear the centre of a certain literary coterie—were all so many distinct pledges for the value of his literary legacy. True, Byron in his early satire had irreverently scoffed at the reunions of Holland House, and thrown no slight degree of ridicule on the fame of that rising academy; but the satire served at the same time to commemorate the hospitality of the noble MÆcenas. We observe that a critic in the last number of the Edinburgh Review is still magniloquent on this theme. With the savour of past banquets still lingering in his nostrils, he manfully declares his intention of being impartial, nay stern, in the execution of his censorial duty; and attempts to persuade us, as he is persuaded himself, "that the very prepossessions which we feel, and have endeavoured to describe, have been disadvantageous rather than favourable to the author." If so, the inevitable conclusion must be, that the critic is a monster of ingratitude. Had he contented himself with simply stating that no amount of dinners, no extent of hospitalities received, should influence his judgment one whit in favour of the book, the declaration, with some due allowance of course for the frailties of human nature, might have been accepted. But when he tells us that, because he was a guest at the table of the late Lord Holland, and admitted, as he insinuates, to his intimacy, his prepossessions are disadvantageous to the author, he is either writing egregious nonsense, or conveying the reverse of a compliment.

The majority of the reading public, however, are by no means in the exalted position of the critic, who, by the way, was under no obligation whatever to review the book, if, on perusal, he found its contents fall greatly short of his expectations. What he means by talking about publications issuing "from the Palais Royal or the quays of Paris" we cannot exactly divine, unless he wishes us to understand that the Foreign Reminiscences intrinsically belong to the same class of writings—an opinion in which we thoroughly agree. Such twaddle as this is altogether superfluous. The public generally has no prepossession either the one way or the other. The name of Lord Holland is known to them as that of a man who moved in a distinguished sphere of society, and who must, in his own day, have seen much which was worth narrating. They have no means of weighing his conversation against his writings; they accept the latter when laid before them, and will judge of them strictly according to their actual value.

It appears that the present volume constitutes but a small part of Lord Holland's written Memoirs. The reason why it is given to us at the present time is set forth in the Preface, which, being short, we transcribe entire.

We must fairly confess that this preface stimulated our curiosity still further. From it we understood that the Reminiscences were to have some practical bearing upon the events which have taken place on the Continent during the last three years—that they would throw some additional light upon the causes which have led to so many dynastic convulsions. Our disappointment therefore was proportionably great, when, on perusing the work, we discovered that not a single page of it was calculated to assist us in any such researches, and that even the observations on passing events were of the most meagre and unsatisfactory description. What especial purpose the publication of this volume, apart from the remainder of the Memoirs, could serve at the present, or indeed at any other time, we are wholly at a loss to conceive. It treats of no topic which has not been long ago exhausted, contains hardly any personal narrative, and affords us not one single atom of novel information. As a repertory of anecdotes it is singularly worthless. We allude to such anecdotes as may be considered authentic, or at least tolerably so—anecdotes, for example, communicated to the author by Talleyrand, and one or two other foreign statesmen with whom, in later years, he was acquainted. But there is another class of anecdotes, or pseudo-anecdotes, which we cannot pass over even with so slight a censure. We allude to the revelations of private intrigue, on which the author dwells with a zest which to us seems peculiarly offensive. Until we saw this volume, we could not have believed that one British peer would have penned, and another have published, such a tissue of scandals, emanating from discarded serving-women and court menials, and reflecting directly on the honour of some of the first houses of Europe. We are at no loss to discover where the omissions mentioned in the preface are made, or what was the nature of the passages expunged. It would perhaps have been better, where the inuendo is retained, to have preserved the details, in order that they might have been strictly tested. It is, we think, no proper concession to delicacy to find lines of asterisks following a direct charge against the virtue of Marie Antoinette, or the legitimacy of the Duchess of York; or to have a page of such mysterious symbols inserted immediately after the notice of the marriage of Ferdinand VII. of Spain. Lord Holland should have been allowed to tell his own story, if not in justice to the memory of the ladies whose chastity is called in question, at least that we know the true bent of the imagination of the noble author, and appreciate "that humorous pleasantry, guided by good sense and wisdom, and raised above vulgar irony or personality," which his eulogist in the Edinburgh Review is pleased to claim as his attributes. It is difficult to understand why, in one case, there should be an evident suppression, whilst, in another, anecdotes of an offensive nature, reflecting upon the conduct of a queen, are printed without the slightest reserve, introduced in the following highly satisfactory manner:—"A story was current at Madrid, which, if true, would at once prove that the Prince of the Peace was aware of her infidelities," &c., and followed by this commentary—"the anecdote is, perhaps, too dramatic to deserve implicit credit." If so, why was it written down, and why is it now published? The appetite for prurient details which is a main feature of this book, is perhaps intelligible when it relates to intrigues notorious to all the world. No man of a really refined or fastidious mind would have committed these details to paper, more especially when they bore reference to the family of an individual with whom he was on something like intimate terms. But the case is far worse, and can admit of no palliation, when we find the most infamous charges, which have never been supported by even a shadow of proof, deliberately revived and repeated against that heroic and unfortunate lady, Queen Marie Antoinette of France. If the lament of Burke for the wane of chivalry was felt, not as a brilliant diatribe, but as a cutting sarcasm at the time when it was first enunciated, how much more appropriate is it now, when we find that a member of the British peerage—a man thought to be distinguished for high sentiment and generous sympathy—did not hesitate to adopt in the solitude of his closet the shameless inventions of the French revolutionary rabble; and that these are now given as facts which will not admit of questioning or denial to the world!

We are extremely glad to observe that the writer in the Edinburgh Review has had the proper spirit to refute—and he does it most satisfactorily—this wretched and scandalous attack upon the memory of a royal lady. It was not perhaps to be expected that he should do more; but what sort of imputation does his vindication of the Queen leave upon the character of her assailant? This is not a matter which should be passed over lightly; and for our part we feel bound to say that we can conceive no spectacle more pitiable or humiliating, than that of an old man committing with a palsied hand to paper the prurient rumours of the past. Had the evidence against Marie Antoinette been ten times stronger than it was, honour and the feelings of a gentleman should have deterred any one even from repeating the accusation. But the late Lord Holland entertained no such scruples. His witness, at second-hand, is the very woman who wrote MÉmoires sur la Vie PrivÉe de Marie Antoinette, Reine de France; and in these memoirs of hers there is not even an inuendo against the honour of the unfortunate Queen. But Madame Campan cannot so escape. Lord Holland was determined that she should, in some way or other, assist in blackening the reputation of her royal mistress; and accordingly we are treated to the following ingenuous note:—

And this is evidence upon which we are to condemn Marie Antoinette! I had it—says this distinct and confident accuser—from other people, who had it from the waiting-woman, although the waiting-woman knew better than to write it down! And who were the people "who acknowledged it to me"—what was their character and station—what was their repute for credibility? Lord Holland durst not in his lifetime have said as much of the father or mother of any man of his acquaintance upon such a pretext for authority. It is altogether the very worst instance of a wanton attack which we ever remember to have met with: it has but one parallel in history—the famous warming-pan legend, by means of which Lord Holland's political predecessors sought to bastardise the son of James II. But the motive which dictated the earlier fiction is wanting in the case of the later one.

Let us not be misunderstood. The case stands thus: Lord Holland has made a grievous charge against the honour of the murdered Queen of France. He says that he believes that charge to be true, and he states the grounds of his belief. They are these: A lady, who wrote the memoirs of her mistress's private life, in which no hint of criminal conduct appears, told other persons (who are nameless) who told him, Lord Holland, that the Queen had been guilty of adultery. Far be it from us to doubt the honour of a British peer. But, rather than doubt the honour of Marie Antoinette, we should doubt the fact of Lord Holland having received any such statement from any human being. Who were the indiscreet friends of Madame Campan that conveyed to his ear the hitherto undivulged secret? Were they old menials of the French court—retired waiting-women—confidential lacqueys—or persons who had the entrÉe to Holland House? Surely, when the honour of a Queen is impeached, we are entitled to know the authority. No authority of any kind is given. On the ipse dixit of Lord Holland rests the entire substantiation of the charge, and on his memory must lie the stigma of having revived the gross and unmanly calumny.

We have felt ourselves bound to say this much, because, if stories of this sort are to be accepted as authentic contributions to history, there is no imaginable kind of falsehood which may not be promulgated as truth. Apply the rule to private life, and the malignity of a discarded butler would be sufficient to taint the best blood in England. What would we think of memoirs, compiled by some man of considerable standing and celebrity, and published under the editorship of his son, which should tell us that the present inheritor of any noble title was a bastard and an intruder, on such authority as this—that somebody had told the writer, that somebody else had told him or her, that she was cognisant of a certain intrigue? Yet the two cases are much the same. If they differ at all, it is in this particular, that the original testimony of the "somebody," who in the instance of the Queen of France was Madame Campan, happens to be written and published, and to contain no insinuation whatever; whereas, in the case we have supposed, that negative vindication would almost certainly be wanting. Who, we ask, would dare, on such authority, to set down such accusations against any private family? and, if we are right in thinking that public indignation would most certainly overwhelm the retailer of such miserable calumny, why should any other rule be applied when royalty is the subject of the attack?

We suspect that Lord Holland's political friends will hardly thank his successor for the publication of this volume. It exhibits the late peer in what we must suppose to be his true colours, not as a constitutional Whig, nor as in any way attached to the recognised forms of the British Constitution, but as an admirer of principles which would necessarily tend to its overthrow. We have searched the work in vain for a single expression of anything which we can venture to designate as patriotic feeling. Kings and courts are condemned by him—what sympathy he has is bestowed on the agents of revolution—and he appears a eulogist, or at least apologist, of the very man whom Whig and Tory alike have agreed in branding with reprobation. The conduct of "EgalitÉ," in voting for the death of his cousin, Louis XVI., appears to him not unnatural. He takes great pains to convince us that the infamous duke was an exceedingly maligned person; and, with characteristic judgment as to the nature of his evidence, cites "a short narrative written by Mrs Elliott, who had, I believe, lived with him," as an apology for an act which, even in the French Revolutionary Convention, called forth an exclamation of horror.

Lord Holland's personal experiences—we should rather call them reminiscences—connected with the French Revolution, were very meagre. He was then, (in 1791,) as he tells us, a mere boy, and not likely to have much cognisance of the state of political affairs. In consequence, we gain absolutely nothing from his observation. Neither was his sojourn in Prussia, during the ensuing year, more fruitful save in the article of scandal, of which we have said enough. The same remark will apply to his Spanish tour; from the records of which, if we abstract the personal and indecent details, not one word of interest remains. This strikes us as very singular. A young and well-educated man, traversing those countries at a time when they widely differed in their aspect and forms of society from those which they afterwards assumed, ought surely to have preserved some "Reminiscences" of their condition, which would have been more acceptable to posterity than stories of court adultery, which he hardly could have derived from any creditable source; and we fairly confess that the total omission of anything like practical details, goes far to convince us that Byron's early judgment was right, and that the fame of Holland House rested far more upon the Amphytrionic, than the natural or acquired accomplishments of the distinguished host. In fact, were it not remarkable for such disgraceful scandal as would lower the character of a theatrical green-room, the first half of this volume is entirely beneath contempt. It has nothing whatever to do with the present crisis of affairs—it refers in no way to national or dynastical interests—it is simply a collection of such trash as, thirty years ago, might have been published under the auspices of a noble name, and then have descended to the hands of the trunk-maker, without the slightest chance of a second resurrection.

But the other half of the volume remains yet to be noticed. It is devoted exclusively to the Emperor Napoleon Buonaparte, whom Lord Holland appears to have regarded with the most profound admiration. We approached this part of the book with sharpened curiosity, hoping to find recorded some additional traits of that remarkable character; but again we were doomed to disappointment. Lord Holland's personal recollections of the Emperor are contained in the following passage:—

Interchanges of civilities, however, continued to take place. Lady Holland transmitted to the Emperor, when at Elba, "one or two packets of English newspapers," and these little acts of attention were acknowledged by "some small but curious specimens of the iron ore of that island." Her Ladyship's subsequent solicitude for the comforts of Napoleon, when exiled at St Helena, and her generous attention to his wants, are well known, and exhibit, in a most pleasing manner, the kindliness of the female heart. The mention of these things leads to an account of the Longwood squabbles, the interest of which has now entirely passed away. Sir Hudson Lowe may not have been the most courteous or debonnaire of wardens, but, on the other hand, it is clear that Napoleon would have made a point of quarreling with an angel of light if appointed as his custos; and that the last passages of his life by no means exhibit him in a dignified or magnanimous point of view. As, however, the narrative to which we refer is one of the few in this volume which are based upon Lord Holland's own experience, we may as well insert it here as a specimen of the author's style.

No; in mercy to the compositors, we shall not go on with this! The pen drops from the fingers, and a drowsy sense of numbness steals upon the brain in the mere act of transcribing these ponderous and most prosy sentences. Skip we a couple of pages still occupied by the recital of such unutterable woes, and let us arrive at the period of better treatment—"the effect, I flatter myself, of my motion in the House of Lords."

Our readers will probably agree with us in thinking that there is "something too much of this." It is rather a novelty to us to be informed that Napoleon was a persecuted man. Most people throughout Europe have maintained the opinion that the persecution lay the other way. But perhaps Lord Holland meant to insinuate that the persecution lay in his banishment of St Helena. He calls it an "ungenerous decision;" and elsewhere says:—

We observe that the writer in the Edinburgh Review denies the statement of Lord Holland, that the removal of Napoleon from Elba was mooted at the Congress of Vienna. We, on the contrary, have always understood that the proposition was seriously considered, though not, as Lord Holland would insinuate, without sufficient cause and provocation. The intrigues, of which Elba was the centre, to pave the way for another attempt at the dethronement of the Bourbons, had for some time been in active progress, and were well known to FouchÉ and others, and by them communicated to the Congress. Also, the attitude of Murat in Italy was such as to excite very serious apprehensions. Mr Alison, in his History of Europe,[20] thus notices the intrigues of Elba:—

Accordingly, we find that Murat, only ten days before Napoleon quitted Elba, made a formal demand for the passage of eighty thousand men through the Austrian territories in Italy—an act, doubtless, of insane folly, but one which can be attributed to no other motive than his perfect knowledge that the designs of Napoleon were nearly ripe for execution. This demand, of course, could not fail to alarm the Congress, to whom, almost immediately afterwards, information as to the character of the projected enterprise was conveyed. Mr Alison says:—

On the 7th of March, intelligence reached Vienna that Napoleon had secretly left Elba. Such we believe to be the true statement of the case. That the Allies should have wished, without any adequate cause, to disturb the recent settlement of Napoleon in the Island of Elba, appears to us a proposition too preposterous to be maintained. But that such a measure should have been discussed, after they became aware of the nature of his designs and preparations, and had thus received warning that the peace of Europe was again in imminent danger from his uncontrollable ambition, need not excite any wonder, and cannot surely be wrested into a charge of persecution against Napoleon. Lord Holland entirely fails to make out—nay, he does not even assert—that any such proposal was made in Congress before the intrigues of Elba were divulged, or the negotiation with Murat completed. It does not even appear that Napoleon, previous to his landing in France, was aware that the Allies had received any intimation of his design; and when we consider the shortness of time which elapsed between the receipt of Murat's formal demand and the departure from Porto Ferrajo, it is next to impossible that any tidings of a discussion following thereon could have reached him while in Elba. In short, this attempt to justify the evasion of Napoleon, and his deliberate breach of treaty, is a signal failure, and will certainly add nothing to Lord Holland's posthumous renown for historical accuracy or acumen.

But Lord Holland also considers Napoleon as entitled to deep sympathy on the ground of his being ill-treated. That is a matter entirely of private opinion. That Lord Bathurst should not have purchased Lady Holland's machine for making ice may appear, in the eyes of the frequenters of Holland House, a most barbarous act of cruelty. That a special vessel should not have been despatched for St Helena, so often as a letter was addressed to the illustrious captive, may shock the sensitive mind. The liberal soul may be thrilled with anguish and pity at the perusal of the following miseries inflicted on the devastator of Europe towards the close of his career:—

But we have really dwelt too long upon this tedious exhibition of spurious sympathy, which, after all, is but a flimsy veil intended to cover the self-glorification of the peer. The remaining passages regarding Napoleon contain nothing of the slightest interest, and are, moreover, especially heavy. A few commentaries upon various remarkable incidents in the life of the Emperor are interspersed, from which we learn that Lord Holland condemned the murder of the Duc d'Enghien, but did not consider the abandonment of Josephine as any heinous act of moral dereliction. We doubt whether the majority of mankind will concur in the latter opinion. To us it appears that Napoleon's treatment of his first wife shows him to have been as destitute of heart as insensible to the obligations of honour.

It is not a little amusing to observe the estimate formed by Lord Holland of some of his remarkable contemporaries. Occasionally he assumes a tranquil air of superiority, which, when we remember the even obscurity of his own life, in respect to the discharge of public duties, is comical in the extreme. Mark how he disposes of Prince Metternich:—

"That minister, originally a partisan of the French faction, and then a tool of Napoleon, has, no doubt, since the fall of that great prince, supported the system which succeeded him. He seems hardly qualified by any superior genius to assume the ascendency, in the councils of his own and neighbouring nations, which common rumour has for some years attributed to him. He appeared to me, in the very short intercourse I had with him, little superior to the common run of Continental politicians and courtiers, and clearly inferior to the Emperor of Russia in those qualities which secure an influence in great affairs. Some who admit the degrading but too prevalent opinion, that a disregard of truth is useful and necessary in the government of mankind, have, on that score, maintained the contrary proposition. His manners are reckoned insinuating. In my slight acquaintance with him in London, I was not struck with them; they seemed such as might have been expected from a German who had studied French vivacity in the fashionable novel of the day. I saw little of a sagacious and observant statesman, or of a courtier accustomed to very refined and enlightened society."