be in course of preparation. But, in the name of common sense, why call this work an Epilogue? One might quite as well call it a Prologue to Christian Art, since its very object is to inform us of the different paths through which our author was led to plan and write the great production of his whole life. Why not at once call these two volumes his Memoirs, such as they certainly are; and, for our part, we really see no reason why a sensitive, perhaps a morbid feeling of modesty, should prevent M. Rio from assuming a title, which is the only one every general reader can at once understand. The observation has already been made by his own compatriots, and we heartily join in the stricture.

On the coast of Britanny, just opposite an arm of the sea which brings the tide into the small port of Vannes, rises an island, called Arz. It is peopled by a hardy population, accustomed for ages to brave the dangers and storms of the Atlantic Ocean. Most of the children are brought up to the sea; hardly a house has not to lament the loss of some dear parent, who has fallen a victim to the fury of the waves. The inhabitants seem to have inherited, from their forefathers, an indomitable spirit of resistance to any act of injustice, and many a struggle did they maintain against the arbitrary power of their feudal lords. They hailed therefore with deep enthusiasm the advent of the great French Revolution, until the day came when its excesses forced them to choose between their faith and their republicanism. The latter soon succumbed to the former, but the puny islet was of course no match for the tremendous despotism which then ruled over France. There was deep mourning in every homestead at Arz, when their priests were led forth to the scaffold, and more than one brave sailor risked his own life to carry over to England or to Spain the victims who escaped the vigilance of the spies that tracked them from place to place. Such was M. Rio's birthplace; such were the wailings which first struck his infant cars. Is he right in stating that, on the one hand, the grand scenes around him, on the other the tragic incidents that met him at every turn, made a deep impression on his nascent soul, and forced it, as it were, at an early period, into a habit of ideal contemplation? No one who has reflected on the influence of our juvenile associations over after-life will deny the truth of this assertion. fact, there does exist within the inmost depths of the human soul a certain panting, might we say, after a supernatural ideal, which our Maker himself has deposited in our nature. It is an earthly heirloom of our heavenly immortality. Of course, there is a certain vagueness in its first lispings, but the lispings of a child may one day become the bold and clear effusions of manly eloquence. Such aspirations, observes our author, "may prove abortive, and wither, like every other germ, when placed in a barren soil." There VOL. XIX.—NO, XXXVII. [New Series,]

26

are, however, certain privileged natures in which this element becomes paramount in virtue of its own might, and in a sort of normal state; whilst in others it is stifled, and even utterly destroyed, owing to certain hostile influences, or from want of air and nutriment.

Such was certainly not the case with the future historian of Christian art. At the time of his early childhood, Napoleon had just concluded the Concordat, and was restoring the Church,a fact which alone would have made his name popular throughout Britanny.

Now let any one imagine, says M. Rio, an iconoclastic government prohibiting, on the most atrocious penalties, any manifestation of what they were pleased to call the people's credulity; and then all of a sudden, after eight long years of moral tortures and spiritual dearth, this same people recovering their right to pray together in the same building, and explaining to little children what was meant by the House of God, wherein they had never entered before that day ;-why the altars were ruined, why the crowd venerated certain images. Under such circumstances it is easy to understand how a real craving for a public worship may become a downright passion, and even a passion lording it over every other. It is easy, likewise, to understand the enormous advantage of inaugurating, under such auspices, the intellectual, religious, and aesthetical education of a child.

Such was certainly the first education he received at home, and continued at Vannes, under the guidance of some remarkable priests, belonging to the clergy of the ancien régime. The child grew up into a stripling, whilst Napoleon became, in his turn, a persecutor of the Pope and an oppressor of men by his savage conscription, which threatened to drain the country of its best blood. Then came the stirring events of 1814, the Hundred Days, and the final overthrow of the great conqueror. And here M. Ri gives us a most interesting account of a guerilla warfare, undertaken and carried on for three months, by three hundred of those Breton schoolboys, himself acting as their captain. They had their strategic marches, and their battles fought and won, and their reverses manfully supported, until came that tremendous battle of Waterloo, which put an end alike to their Lilliputian enterprise and to the gigantic empire. Many a bright vision of future glory and success filled the hearts of those chivalrous youths, and well might it be so, when royalty itself condescended to commend their valour, and to reward their juvenile commander by bestowing upon him the Legion of Honour But after all, these marks of royal favour were but bubbles, vanishing into air, and M. Rio soon found himself obliged to cope with the stern realities of life. From Vannes, where he held for a short time the post of professor in the city grammar school, he was called to Paris, with some

hopes of preferment in the alma mater. Here again he was baffled for a time, and obliged to fall back upon a provincial Lycée; but the youth being endowed with both energy and pluck, he managed to return to the capital under more favourable circumstances. One of his friends at Rennes, an Abbé Le Priol, had advised him to study German literature,-a most useful piece of advice at a time when the latter was universally unknown to Frenchmen. The young Rio turned it to good account, and thus opened a new field of exploration as to his own studies; so that, being likewise patronized by certain persons of mark belonging to the Royalist party, he gained admittance to what was called La Société des Bonnes Lettres. This was a sort of debating society, at the head of which shone Chateaubriand as president, and many members of the French Institute ranked among its members. On certain days, they gathered around them a select audience, to which they gave public lectures. The questions mooted in these meetings were often of a semi-literary, semi-political character, and many a hot contest, carried on with indomitable steadfastness in the Parisian press of that day, might be traced back to the polite and learned gatherings of the Société des Bonnes Lettres. It was held in high esteem; the very fact of being a member became a title to consideration, a godsend to a young man, just beginning the battle of life, and so it was indeed for M. Rio.

Now there was at that time a question which rang throughout Europe; the question between the Greeks and their Mussulman rulers. We are not expressing any opinion of our own on this question; but it is necessary for our own purpose to explain that M. Rio warmly advocated the cause of the Greeks. In doing this, he resolved to treat his subject in a manner quite new to his hearers, to open before them a track hitherto totally untrodden, at least in France.

What are the patent or occult causes which contribute to the rise and fall of the fine arts in any nation? Are they permanent or casual, irresistible like a natural force, or may they be eluded, warded off like so many other contingent evils? Such was the problem which he endeavoured to solve, and which required on his part an unusual amount of historical erudition by way of illustration. The task was full of peril; but, fortunately, he was supported by the ardent sympathy men felt in those times for the Greeks. They were delighted to hear him extol in high terms the services rendered by the latter to civilization in its most exalted meaning, and point out the conquests they had made in the realms of the Beautiful,-conquests glorious above all others, since no other nation had done the same, nor had contributed in such a degree to fulfil a providential mission in this world. "Thus," added M. Rio, on concluding his first lecture, "the question of the fine art

supersedes frequently the testimony of peoples, and, according to a very just remark, when man remains silent the very stones are no more dumb. Thus, again, the fine arts serve as auxiliaries to history, or rather they are history itself written in large characters. They preserve the living images of all that is most dear to mankind, and they may contribute to inaugurate within the walls of our temples a new era of public liberty."

We have purposely dwelt at some length on our author's first expression of his own views on this subject, because it is the corner-stone, as it were, of the whole fabric. Any one familiar with his great work on "Christian Art in Italy" will at once see how faithfully he adheres throughout to this primitive idea, -how constantly he elucidates the progress and decline of the Italian schools by the chronicles of the times, and what intense interest his narrative often derives from the deep influence exerted by religious or political events over the most eminent artists who lived among them. Surely, such a novel system of illustration, and bearing so immediately on the subject-matter, deserved something more than a casual notice.

After all, the youthful professor had established himself on solid ground, and succeeded in securing the sympathy of his somewhat dainty audience, notwithstanding the dangerous neighbourhood of stars of more dazzling radiance. For two or three years he continued to develop a series of positions, bearing at once upon history and æsthetics. His name became popular in the press, and every paper of any note deemed it proper to notice his lectures. At this juncture the Government, incensed at the increasing violence of the Opposition, endeavoured to curb it by the establishment of a censorship over journalism, and bestowed the office of censor on M. Rio. He refused on the score of principle, a fact which, of course, enhanced his popularity. As the celebrated Cuvier had been likewise appointed to the same functions, and followed the example of his juvenile colleague, their names were coupled together, a circumstance by no means unfavourable to the latter. Chateaubriand again mentioned him with due honour in one of his grandiloquent pamphlets; whilst a young stripling, then at school, but destined to world-wide fame, Charles de Montalembert, sent him a letter of congratulation upon his refusal. It is so characteristic of the man, that we cannot refrain from quoting it :-"Mme. Davidoff has just informed me, my dear M. Rio, how nobly you have acted in the late affair. Allow me, as a friend, to congratulate you; as Frenchman, to show you my gratitude. Instead of a few paltry advantages you might have acquired in regard to fortune by this degrading office, you have conquered the esteem of all France, who, thank God, stands quite aloof from those by whom she is governed. Your acceptance would have been a downright perversion."

66

Whilst treating these matters before a select public, M. Rio prepared a publication on "The Human Mind in Antiquity." The title was somewhat ambitious; but as he was enabled to fall back on the friendly advice and co-operation of Letronne, Abel Remusat, Burnouf, and even Cuvier himself, his work would probably have made its mark, had not the events of 1830 turned the minds of men towards more absorbing subjects. Cuvier, who was a Protestant, and a real believer in Divine revelation, was particularly struck with an opinion barely laid down by the young writer, probably reserving for a future occasion to establish its demonstration. Inspiration in the fine arts," he said, "ever became weaker and weaker, until it totally disappeared, in the same proportion as the positive sciences went on expanding and acquiring perfection." The keen mind of Cuvier easily perceived the close connection that existed between this barely historical thesis and a question of far higher import, which was constantly at the bottom of his thoughts. He felt deep apprehension at the bitter hostility manifested by many scientific men against all revealed religion. From this very fact he had concluded, but he wished to see it proved historically, that what is now called positive science falls short of its aim in regard to completeness, by rejecting every source of certitude which does not rest on scientific demonstration, thus mutilating the noblest faculties of man. Hence the deep interest he took in M. Rio's researches, and the unfailing kindness he never ceased to show him. But, as we said above, the work itself fell upon a now indifferent public, though the author's reputation was greatly increased by the patronage of so many eminent men.

It was just at this period of his life that he was called by M. De la Ferronnays, then Minister for Foreign Affairs, to a confidential post near his person. Throughout M. Rio's Memoirs there breathes from first to last a deep feeling of reverence and attachment to that remarkable man. Those who are familiar with the "Récits d'une Sœur" well know how truly he deserved such a feeling; but we do not scruple to assert that, in order to become thoroughly acquainted with the Count's character, it will be henceforward indispensable to read the pages M. Rio has devoted to his former friend. There was a singular and most pleasing blending of Christian humility and innate dignity in that nobleman's nature. "The very first craving of my soul," said he, one day, "is to stand erect, even before an enemy. I believe I should die, were any living man to deem himself entitled to make me lower my eyes. In these few pithy words we have the whole man. All around him were those children, Albert, Eugénie, and Alexandrine, whose very names are now become unto us like "household words." Is it astonishing that in a short time our young Breton came to consider his benefactor's family as his own?