His taste, which was extremely
fastidious, his judgment, his passionate respect for truth, were all
offended by the noise, the narrowness, the dogmatism of the triumphant
democracy. So that there was no making up on the one side for what he
had lost on the other, and he proudly resigned himself to an isolation
and a reserve which, reinforcing, as they did, certain native weaknesses
of character, had the most unfortunate effect upon his life.
In a passage of the Journal written nearly thirty years after his
election he allows himself a few pathetic words, half of accusation,
half of self-reproach, which make us realize how deeply this
untowardness of social circumstance had affected him. He is discussing
one of Madame de Stael's favorite words, the word _consideration_. "What
is _consideration_?" he asks. "How does a man obtain it? how does it
differ from fame, esteem, admiration?" And then he turns upon himself.
"It is curious, but the idea of consideration has been to me so little
of a motive that I have not even been conscious of such an idea. But
ought I not to have been conscious of it?" he asks himself
anxiously--"ought I not to have been more careful to win the good
opinion of others, more determined to conquer their hostility or
indifference? It would have been a joy to me to be smiled upon, loved,
encouraged, welcomed, and to obtain what I was so ready to give,
kindness and goodwill.
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