youthful days. He appears from these to have been led in this manner from the study of the bible to that of Homer, and the other classical authors of Greece; whose language he had learnt, and whose treasures have never been despised by the writers of any sect of christians. But he was soon so captivated by the charms of Grecian learning, that he resolved to attach himself entirely to it; and by degrees, from a divine, he became merely a man of letters. Though a Prussian by birth, he was a Frenchman not only by descent, but also by affection, and the habitual use of a language which Frederic, and all men of education in his kingdom, preferred to their own. It cost him therefore no trouble, on devoting himself to literature, to write constantly in the language. of his ancestors. In entering on this new career, his views were directed toward the country of his origin: to become wholly a Frenchman, was his highest ambition; and to be able to settle at Paris, was the object of all his efforts and his wishes. But he felt that the best means of becoming naturalised in a country where he had ceased to have any relations, and had not yet acquired any friends, would be, to get adopted into the great family of men of letters, by producing some work that should deserve such adoption. There is more than one honourable rank in the empire of Learning: an aspiring to the highest, is sometimes less a mark of genius than of presumption; and a writer may often serve both his own interests, and those of literature, more effectually in some of the lower stations, which afford sufficient scope for a noble exercise of the faculties of the mind in labours of utility. Among these labours, M. Bitaubé chose that of translation; which had the greater recommendations at that time (about the middle of the eighteenth century), as French literature was then in possession of few translations worthy of being called so. Very soon afterward indeed, productions of this description became so numerous, that whoever should undertake to sketch the literary portrait of that century, would not fail to mark this peculiarity as one of its distinguishing characteristics; and to add to the epithets which it has already obtained, of Age of Philosophy, of Illumination, and of Prose, that of Age of Translations. The preceding century, which had been the age of genius, and of great productions in eloquence and poetry, was also that of the most profound and most luminous erudition. It was by the side of the greatest orators and poets, that those able critics were formed, whose names and writings will command the respect of the remotest posterity. These orators and poets, who themselves spoke a rich and harmonious language, were also well versed in Greek, and familiar with the master-pieces which have reached us in that tongue. Racing and Boileau, Bossuet and Fenelon, as well as most other men of real learning, read Homer and Demosthenes in the original, as commonly as Cicero and Virgil are now read in Latin; so that it may be. said, that if the French nation had then but few good translators by profession, this was because there was but little want of translations. But since a less strict system of education has been introduced. with regard to the ancient languages, there has arisen of course a necessity for versions from those languages, to render their treasures generally accessible. Before this period however, and so early as the seventeenth century, a French woman celebrated for her erudition, and her enthusiasm for Grecian literature, had attempted to display the prince of poets to admiration in her language, and to avenge him of the insults of some modern wits who were incapable of reading him in his own. In order to appreciate the merits of Homer justly, it is not sufficient merely to understand the tongue in which he wrote: it is necessary to be familiar with the state of manners which that great poet so faithfully delineates; and this delineation is perhaps the most difficult part of his poems to transfuse into our modern languages with the dignity which accompanies it in the original. The detractors of Homer, thinking that the progress of letters and the arts ought to keep pace in all respects with that of civilisation, and judging the age of Homer to be less polished than their own, inferred that his poems should yield to those of a more refined period. They erroneously drew conclusions from the state of the sciences which depend upon observation, to that of the imitative arts; and persuaded themselves, that as those sciences had made great advances among the moderns, poetry and the arts of genius must have improved in the same proportion. To these attacks from the enemies of Homer, and particularly from those who could could know nothing of him but through the medium of the Latin version, and therefore were the most violent against bim, madame Dacier opposed her French translation of that great poet. But it may be doubted whether this formed a shield as impenetrable as that of Achilles: and whether this learned lady has fully succeeded in uniting nobleness with simplicity, elegance with artlessness, and strength and conciseness with sublimity; whether she has given even a faint idea of the pomp and magnificence of Homer's poetry; and has conquered all the difficulties of every kind which the text presented, and which it was her. duty not to avoid. In granting that she has surmounted many of these, and thus facilitated the task of future translators, it may still be asserted that she had not precluded them from all hope of surpassing her. It was in doing ample justice to the labours of this illustrious woman, that M. Bitaubé undertook to bear away the palm from her. He thought the quali ties necessary in a French translation of Homer, though in some degree incompa tible with each other, might still be more happily blended together; and hoped that, without acting as a servile copyist, or making use of paraphrases or unfaithful substitutions, he should be able to reconcile his adopted language to the details which seemed often unsuitable to it; and mould the stately march and bold forms of the language and poetry of Greece, on the reserve and circumspection of the French tongue. The principles and objects which the new translator of Homer imposed on himself, were these: that the thoughts and images of the poet should prcserve their truth, and some tint of their colour, in the translation, without doing violence to the proprieties of their modern dress; that the heroic personages should not lose the character of their own times, but yet be presented in such a manner as not to offend the delicacy of ours; that the picturesque details which owe a part of their charm to that of the rhythm, should still possess this feature by ineans of an harmonious and skilfully varied prose; and that the first and fundamental law of the epopce, the union of the marvellous with historic action, should not lose its power of illusion and its poetic nature, in losing the aid of that magic language which alone can blend them in perfection, and give to this bigh class of 1 composition all the lustre which it ought to display. These objects the success of his work left him no doubt of having, at least in a great measure, attained. Long before the appearance of his translation of the Iliad in the state in which we now have it, M. Bitaubé had published in Prussia a French abridgment of that poem, which was very favourably received. By means of that publication, and the kindness of d'Alembert, whose friendship he had acquired in a journey to France, and who recommended him strongly to Frederic, he obtained admission as a member of the academy of Berlin; and soon afterward had leave to make a second tour to Frauce, and remain there long enough to complete and perfect his translation in the centre of enlightened taste. After residing at Paris some years, which he spent in assiduous labour, he published in 1780 his whole Iliad; and then undertook the translation of the Odyssey, which experienced a success equally flattering on its publication in 1785. These two works, which he accompanied with notes and reflections equally. judicious and learned, gave such honourable testimony of his rank in literature, that on the death of the reigning landgrave of Hesse Cassel in 1786, he was chosen to succeed that prince as a foreign associate of the academy of belles-lettres. This new title, which gave him the privilege of assisting at the meetings of the academy, having still further increased his attachment to France, be resolved to settle permanently in that country of his ancestors, and which he had himself enriched by his labours. About the time of the appearance of M. Bitaubé's Homer, a dispute had arisen among men of letters in France, concerning the manner in which the poets ought to be translated. One party maintained that this could not be done properly except in verse. The new translator of Homer was too much in. terested in this discussion, to remain silent on it: he declared his sentiments, as might be expected, in favour of prose translations. Being thus of opinion that the marvellous and the fictions which characterise epic composition, may be supported without the illusion of that poetic style which exerts its least prerogative in removing them from the tribunal of cool reason, M. Bitaubé naturally became an advocate for original poems poems in prose; and it cannot be denied that the epopee, even when thus deprived of a part of its charms, may still preserve sufficient means to interest and please. His Poem of Joseph" would alone prove this. The subject of that work was particularly suited to a man who, like M. Bitaubé, had been captivated in his youth by the simplicity of the patriarchal manners; who seemed to have modelled his own life on them;, and who therefore, in delineating them, had no need to recur to foreign sources. There is no history more affecting than that of Joseph; and the fine and pathetic manner in which it is related in the sacred writings, surpasses every other style of narrative: this is not the result of art; but it is far above all art. It was a bold attempt, to enter on ground already so occupied this sublime picture of simplicity might be disfigured by efforts to embellish it, or lose a part of its effect by being loaded with accessory circumstances. The story itself too, comprising only a small number of events, and being confined to the narrow circle of a single family, seemned rather adapted to furnish materials merely for a dramatic piece, than for a poem in nine cantos. The reception however which the work of M. Bitaubé has met with, not only among his own countrymen but also foreigners, and the numerous editions through which it has passed, prove that the author has overcome or avoided all these obstacles. The success of this poem inspired him with a desire of making a bolder trial, by composing a genuine epic, on a subject almost wholly of his own invention, which would admit of his employing allegory, the marvellous, and fictions of every kind that he should think proper for giving action and life to his poem. With this view, he undertook to cele. brate Liberty, in the persons of William of Nassau, and the heroes who, in the sixteenth century, cffected the independ. ance of Holland. M. Bitaubé, as he informs us himself, had begun this latter work long before he published it in France. Some detached passages of it had been translated into Dutch, and printed at the time of the * If any reader should be at a loss to reconcile these terms, he may be teminded of Telemachus, and the Death of Abel, both of which are examples of poems in prose. revolution of the United Provinces in About this time also, the literary gocieties which the revolution had abol ཀ ished ished were in some degree re-established by the formation of the institute and M. Bitaubé was placed in the class of literature and fine arts; in which station he has read several dissertations on the first two books of Aristotle's Politics, on the government of Sparta, on Pindar, and some other subjects of ancient lite rature. A celebrated German poet (Goethe) had recently acquired great applause in his own country, by a poem in verse, consisting of nine cantos, to which latter he had (perhaps a little too ostentatiously) given the names of the nine muses. Hermann and Dorothea, the hero and heroine of the poem, are the son of an inn-keeper, and a young orphan-girl, whom the victories of the French army have forced, with the other inhabitants of their village, to flee from the left bank of the Rhine. M. Bitaubé, seduced by some imitations of the Homeric style and manners, became enthusiastic in praise of this poem; did not hesitate to honour it with the title of Epic, and to compare the author with Homer; and affirmed that he himself had found more difficulties to encounter in translating the German work, than in his Iliad and Odyssey. It will perhaps appear surprising that a cfitic so well acquainted with the beauties of these latter poems, should not have perceived that the simplicity of manners, and the almost domestic details, which they represent with so much truth and interest, would probably have had no charms for the Greeks, if Homer had employed his pen in recording only ordinary personages; and that those artless delineations which prove attractive in pastoral compositions, can only become pleasing in epics by the contrast between grandeur and simplicity, and by a consideration of the elevated characters whom the poet celebrates. Minerva may herself be allowed to bring forward her sparkling car, yoke her fiery coursers with her divine hands, and give them their celestial pasture; and Achilles or Hector may perform the same offices: these details, instead of degrading the respective personages, derive a dignity from them. But if, instead of the car of war, the object presented to our fancy is a coach; instead of superb coursers, mere draught horses; and if the hero to whom they belong is only an inn-keeper or a pea sant; will these details of rustic simplicity produce the same effect on the imagination? and can we, without con founding all the distinctions, and violating the first principles, of taste, pretend to exalt to the rank of the epopee, and place on a level with the Iliad and the Eneid, a work which, both in its materials and its whole structure, is of so plebeian a class? It may certainly be believed that the principal charm of the German poem has been lost, in its prose translation into French; because such a subject requires the support of a poetical style: but whatever idea may be formed of the merit of the original, it will be difficult to think that M. Bitaubé's admiration of his author has not exceeded even the limits allowed to translators. On the new organisation of the institute, M. Bitaubé left the class of literature and the fine arts, for that of history and ancient literature, where he had the pleasure of meeting many who had been his fellow-associates of the old academy of belles-lettres; and he remained one of the most assiduous members of this class, till his death. Ever since his release from prison, every thing had seemed to concur to his happiness: be had recovered his estate, his friends, and his fortune; he had been included, without solicitation, among the men of letters who were first nominated members of the legion of honour; and no unfortunate event had disturbed the tranquillity of his peaceable and studious life. But his greatest calamity was reserved for his old age; when death de. prived him of the respectable and be loved wife who was its support and con solation, and whose destiny had been united to his above fifty years. It was easy to foresee that M. Bitaubé could not long survive this dreadful separation: in fact he sunk under its effects, rather than those of age and infirmity, on the 22nd of November, 1808; and within a single month the husband and wife were both consigned to the same tomb. MEMOIRS of the LIFE and WRITINGS of the late M. DE ST. CROIX, WILLIAM Emanuel Joseph Wilhelm de Ciermont-Lodève de Sainte Croix, was born of a noble family, at Mormoiron, near Carpentras, in the Comtat Venaissin, on the 5th of January, 1746. Both his descent, and the example of his immediate domestic connections, summoned him to a military career; and accordingly, as soon as he had finished his studies under the Jesuits at Grenoble, he set out at the beginning of his sixteenth year for the Windward Islands, with the commission of captain of cavalry, and in the additional character of aide-de-camp to his uncle the chevalier de Sainte Croix, who had distinguished himself by his defence of Belleisle, and was now appointed to the command of Martinico. This voyage, performed at an age when the mind receives its strong est impressions, gave young St. Croix rather a preference for the sea-service; but subsequent circumstances disposed of him otherwise: for, on his uncle's dying in the autumn of the same year, he returned to France with dispatches, and was attached to the regiment of Grenadiers of France till he should obtain a company. In this corps he served during six or seven years; and on quitting it, devoted himself entirely to study, his inclination for which had not been diminished by a way of life that frequently checked its indulgence. He bad already, by attentively perusing and reflecting on the principal Greek and Latin writers, laid the foundation of that extensive and solid erudition which he afterward turned to so much advantage. History, in its whole diversified range, he chose for his particular province; and by daily applying the knowledge which he acquired to some determinate object, he matured his judgment, and became accustomed to bring into exercise the materials that reading supplied him with. By such means he avoided an error which is too common among men of learning; that of accumulating knowledge, without fertilising it by reflection; and of thus excluding letters from deriving any active benefit from a life dei cated to them. St. Croix was animated with but one sentiment, the love of truth. His attachment to study proceeded neither from a desire of signalizing himself; nor of procuring any of those advantages which sometimes attend the career of a man of letters, or shed a lustre round his declining years. A nobler and more generous passion was his ruling principle, the only one that can protect a man of genius against the illusions of a spirit of system; that spirit which changes light itself to darkness. The discovery of truth, especially in cases where it could be useful to mankind by removing their prejudices,rectifying their practical errors, or preserving them from dangers, was the reward to which alone he aspired, and which alone he thought worthy of a man of letters who felt the dignity of his vocation. This elevation of soul, united with an implicit trust in Providence and a perMONTHLY MAG. No. 197. fect resignation to its dispensations, enabled him afterward to support with tranquillity the most distressing vicissitudes. About the close of his twenty-fifth year, St. Croix married mademoiselle d'Elbène; and this union proved necessarily happy, from having been founded on the most amiable qualities both of the mind and the heart. Its fruits were two sons and a daughter; one of the former bred to the military, and the other to the naval service: and all worthy of their parents, whose fondest hopes they gave every promise of fulfilling. The literary labours of St. Croix had in other respects opened flattering prospects to him. In the years 1772, 1773, and 1777, he was honoured with prizes by the academy of belles-lettres; and from the first of these dates was enrolled among the foreign associates of that illustrious society. His situation seemed thus to assure him of nearly all the bliss that a really wise man can hope or expect on earth, when suddenly he found himself involved in the furious excesses of the most violent commotions; and the finest years of his life, those which he might have expected to pass happily in the enjoyment of that respect which he had justly acquired, and in the contemplation of the virtues and felicity of those who were most dear to him, brought only an uninterrupted series of misfortunes. In the month of April 1791, he was obliged, with all his family, to leave his paternal mansion, and flee before the army of brigands that issued from Avignon; and when this first storm was succeeded by a short period of tranquillity that allowed him to return, it was only to witness the havoc which the soldiers of Jourdan had committed there, and to undergo new sufferings. In the following year, being thrown into prison, where, after a confinement of but a few days, he saw the certain prospect of his execution, he found means to escape from Mormoiron on the 4th of October, and, by the help of a disguise, reached Paris. Madame de St. Croix, who was distinguished by her courage, fortitude, and presence of mind, had long exerted these qualities with success against the fury of the brigands, and had thus saved the life of her husband and children: she was, however, near falling a sacrifice to her zeal, for an order was issued to arrest her; but, at the moment when it was about to be carried into effect, on the 9th of March 1794, she escaped from Avignon, to which place she had retired after the flight of 2 H St. |