, upon the literary spirit of Germany. But
about the middle of the last century, the spell was broken. A literary
revolution took place in that country, and, from being destitute of
all national literature, Germany became possessed of one the most
characteristic. To furnish a literary and mental portraiture of this
emancipated nation, was a work requiring a rare combination of
talents, and one which was executed by Madame de Stael with singular
ability.

She hailed with delight the overthrow of Napoleon, which opened to
her the way to Paris. But she never joined in the senseless cry which
was raised, that he had neither talents nor courage. "It would be too
humiliating for France, and for all Europe," she said, "that, for
fifteen years, it had been beaten and outwitted by a coward and a
blockhead." Her joy was, however, tempered by grief and indignation,
that the soil of France, "cette belle France," should be desecrated by
the feet of foreign invaders. To avoid witnessing the humiliating
spectacle of Paris in the possession of barbarians, she retired to
Coppet, where, in 1816, she renewed her acquaintance with Lord Byron,
whose genius fascinated her, and who had been chief favorite while she
was in England. She now gave him much advice as to his conduct, which
he met by quoting the motto to "Delphine,"--"Man must learn to brave
opinion,--woman to submit to it." But she no longer defended the truth
of this epigraph. Always religious, the principles of Christianity now
mingled more intimately in her sentiments.

Time, too, had wrought a change in her character: she was much
softened, and appreciated more justly the real blessings and
misfortunes of life. In her own family she found sources of happiness.
Her children were dutiful and affectionate, and the marriage of her
daughter to the Duke de Broglie gave her pleasure. Her chief cause of
disquietude was the ill health of her husband, in anticipation of
whose death she composed a book, with the title, "The only Misfortune
of Life, the Loss of a Person beloved." But she was not destined to be
the sufferer now. She had ever despised the accommodation of the body,
and gave herself no trouble about health. She affected to triumph
over infirmity, and was wont to say, "I might have been sickly, like
any body else, had I not resolved to vanquish physical weakness." But
nature was not to be thus defied. Her health failed, and the use of
opium aided the progress of disease. But