reely proposed and discussed, through the impulse of
inclination, and the gratification of mental indulgence, rather than
from any distinct object of interest or ambition. The errors and
disasters of the Revolution had not led the survivors of that active
generation to renounce their convictions or desires; they remained
sincerely liberal, but without practical or urgent pretension, and with
the reserve of men who had suffered much and succeeded little in their
attempts at legislative reform. They still held to freedom of thought
and speech, but had no aspirations after power. They detested and warmly
criticized despotism, but without any open attempt to repress or
overthrow existing authority. It was the opposition of enlightened and
independent lookers-on, who had neither the opportunity nor inclination
to interfere as actors.

After a long life of fierce contention, I recur with pleasure to the
remembrance of this enchanting society. M. de Talleyrand once said to
me, "Those who were not living in and about the year 1789, know little
of the enjoyments of life." In fact, nothing could exceed the pleasure
of a great intellectual and social movement, which, at that epoch, far
from suspending or disturbing the arrangements of the world, animated
and ennobled them by mingling serious thoughts with frivolous
recreations, and as yet called for no suffering, or no sacrifice, while
it opened to the eyes of men a dazzling and delightful perspective. The
eighteenth century was, beyond all question, the most tempting and
seductive of ages, for it promised to satisfy at once the strength and
weakness of human nature; elevating and enervating the mind at the same
time; flattering alternately the noblest sentiments and the most
grovelling propensities; intoxicating with exalted hopes, and nursing
with effeminate concessions. Thus it has produced, in pellmell
confusion, utopians and egotists, sceptics and fanatics, enthusiasts and
incredulous scoffers, different offspring of the same period, but all
enraptured with the age and with themselves, indulging together in one
common drunkenness on the eve of the approaching chaos.

When I first mixed with the world in 1807, the storm had for a long time
burst; the infatuation of 1789 had completely disappeared. Society,
entirely occupied with its own re-establishment, no longer dreamed of
elevating itself in the midst of mere amusement; exhibitions of force
had superseded impulses towards