'OF
M
SANOMQO
*
NAPUI.K.ON, EMPEROR.
From an engraviny by Benoist Je. after J. Goubai.,1.
Paris (no date).
A METRICAL HISTORY
OF THE
LIFE AND TIMES OF
NAPOLEON BONAPARTE
A COLLECTION OF POEMS AND SONGS, MANY FROM
OBSCURE AND ANONYMOUS SOURCES, SELECTED
AND ARRANGED WITH INTRODUCTORY
NOTES AND CONNECTING NARRATIVE
BY
WILLIAM J. HILLIS
WITH 25 PHOTOGRAVURE ILLUSTRATION'S
G. P. PUT NAM'S SONS
M.\V YORK LONDON
27 WKsT TWI'-N I > - 11I1KI) STKKKT -^4 IlKIIKOKt) MKliKT, STKAND
the jTlniclurbochcr .Ircss
COPYRIGHT, 1895
B v
G. 1'. PUTNAM'S SONS
Entered at Stationers Hall, London
~bc Htncfccrbocfccr pvcse, THcw tftocbcllc, 1H. P.
PREFACE.
I HAVE no apology to offer for placing before the public
the following collection of poems. If my scheme pos-
sesses no other merit than that of being unique, perhaps
it will not be wholly condemned. The collection is by
no means complete ; neither have I sought to make it so.
From the vast number of poems published, hid away,
and forgotten, I have dug out and retained only such as
suited my fancy, and which go to make up a sort of
poetical history of the life and times of the Great
Emperor ; leaving behind me far more in number than
I have used.
Some years ago, and long before the present Napoleonic
fever had taken hold of the people, I had occasion to use
a certain little poem relating to the death of the illustri-
ous exile at St. Helena. Much to my surprise, when I
came to look for it, I could not find it. My friends were
in the same quandary ; they knew the poem, but could
not locate the author, and no dictionary of writers or of
subjects seemed able to help me out of my difficulty.
In my search for the poem wanted, and ultimately un-
earthed, I found so many others relating to the French
Revolution, the Consulate, and the Empire, which were
before unknown to me, that I determined to persevere
iv PREFACE.
in my hunt for these fugitive verses, and to make a col-
lection of those found, for the purpose of adding the
volume, in manuscript, to my own private library, con-
sisting mainly of works concerning the wonderful Corsican
and his most remarkable career. When my collection
was as complete as I could make it, I discovered I had a
poem for nearly every incident of note in the life and
history of Napoleon, from his birth to his second funeral,
and the idea struck me that, by arranging the poems in
chronological order as to the dates of the incidents por-
trayed, and by introducing each with a brief recital of
the facts upon which the poem was based, I might make
for myself a novel, if not a perfectly reliable, history. I
had then no intention of putting my work into book
form, and it was only at the earnest solicitation of a
friend, in whose judgment I had the utmost confidence,
that I consented to do so. Some of the poems will be
familiar to the general reader ; the greater number, how-
ever, I believe, will be new. In my selection I have dis-
regarded the fact of whether the poem chosen was writ-
ten in favour of or against the subject of it, and I have
endeavoured, as much as possible, to use only the poetry
of contemporary writers. How far I have succeeded in
making a creditable selection, and how near I have come
to compiling a poetical history of the " Man of Destiny,"
the public must be the judge. Taking advantage of the
work of others, I have merely filled in the gaps and made
the proper connections. For so much of the work, and
for the taste and judgment displayed in the choice of
matter used, I am responsible.
PREFACE. V
The illustrations are reproductions from my own col-
lection, and from those of my friend, Mr. Carlos Wilson
of Boston, to whom I am greatly indebted for the valua-
ble aid he has so cheerfully given me in allowing me
the free use of his very extensive library and print
collection.
CONTENTS.
CORSICA ...
NAPOLEON'S CRADLE SONG
THE SCHOOL-BOY KING .
THE BATTLE OF CHANGE (1789)
"CA IRA"
MIRABEAU DYING
THE MASSACRE OF AVIGNON .
THE MARSEILLAISE .
LA CARMAGNOLE
THE ROARING OF THE SEA
(i793)
THE AWAKENING OF THE
PEOPLE .
AN INCIDENT IN THE REIGN OF
TERROR .
LA TRICOTEUSE
CHARLOTTE CORDAY
THE GIRONDINS
MADAME ROLAND
DEATH OF ROBESPIERRE .
MADAME TALLIEN .
THE GRAND ARMY .
THE SONG OF DEPARTURE
THE BATTLE OF LODI
PETIT JEAN .
NAPOLEON AND THE SPHINX
Anna Letitia Barbauld
Anon. ...
Walter Thornbury .
Charles Mackay . .
Anon. ...
William Ross Wallace
Bessie Rayner Parkes .
Rouget de Lisle . .
Anon. . .
Charles Afackay . .
J^. M. Sourigueres .
Mrs. H. E. G. Arey .
W^alter Thornbury .
Anon. . . .
Anon. . -
Anon. . . -
Henry Howard
Broii. '/it'll . . .
Anon. . . .
} r ictor Hugo . .
J/. y. Che'nier . .
yulia Augusta May-
nard . . .
j\fary A. liiirr . .
Charles ^Iacka\ .
PACK
4
7
12
16
20
24
26
31
34
38
46
48
52
57
58
60
64
67
Vlll
CONTENTS.
THE BATTLE OF THE NILE
CASAF.IANCA .
NAPOLEON IN BIVOUAC
THE BATTLE OK ALEXANDRIA .
BONAPARTE .
THE BELLS OF FONTAINF.BLEAU
NAPOLEON CROSSING THE ALPS
NAPOLEON AT ISOI.A BELLA
THE BATTLE OK MARENGO . .
To NAPOLEON ....
THE BATTLE OK HOHENLINDEN
i So i
THE STAR OK "THE LEGION
OF HONOUR " .
ToUSSAINT L'OfVF.RTURE
THE CONSUL, BONAPARTE
N A 1 ' O I. E O N ' S Co N K V. R E N C E
A NEW SONG OK OLD SAVINGS
THE HISTOKV OF HUMBUG .
THE BARD'S INCANTATION .
NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH
SAILOR . . . .
(>N THE DEATH OF THE DUKE
D'KNGHIEN
ON A I'ICTI:RE OF NAPOLEON
IN HIS ROBES
ON 'i HE RUMOUR OK A WAR
WITH AUSTRIA .
Till. ( iKF.NADIER's ADIEU TO
THE CAMP AT BOULOGNE .
TRAFALGAR .
Bl-.H H< E AUSTERLITZ
Au>TKRLIT/. . . . .
ODE 'i o THE COI.UM N or N APO-
LLO N .
PAGE
William Lisle Bowles
Felicia Hemans .
Ferdinand Freiligrath
James Montgomery
George Huddesford
}} 'alter Thornbury
85
9
93
97
IOO
I I 2
James William Miller
Lord Lytton
118
Robert Mack
121
M. Delandine
Thomas Campbell
William Wordsworth .
129
I3 1
134
Lord Byron
John G. 1 1' hit tier
Anon.
Anon.
136
141
Anon.
151
Anon.
153
Sir Walter Scott .
i55
Thomas Campbell
158
] fairy Kirke W'liite
162
Anon.
165
.I/. Riehaud
169
/>' itz Arndt .
Julius Mosen
Lord Byron
Mary E. Hewitt
Edward J. O'Reilly .
Anon.
Robert Southey
Robert Southcy
Capel Loft .
William T. Fitzgerald
}\'illiai Glen
Robert Southey
R. Montgomery .
From the Russian of
Pushkin .
Anon . . . .
Col. Eidolon
George Croly
Victor Hugo
Jl 'alter T/iornbur\
Lydia H . Sigourney
PAGE
1 88
190
194
199
203
207
208
211
2I 5
220
224
230
2 33
237
241
243
248
25 1
2 53
255
258
261
269
273
277
283
289
292
296
-;oo
X CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE FLIGHT .... Anon. . . . 305
To NAPOLEON FLYING FROM
WII.NA . . . . R. A. Davenport . 307
THE RETREAT FROM Moscow . Walter Tliornbury . 309
BON APARTE'SRETUKN TO PARIS,
INCOG. .... Anon. . . .315
THE FRENCH ARMY IN RUSSIA
(1812-13) . William Wordsworth . 318
SONG OF LIBERTY . . . La Motte Fouque . 321
THE VISIT TO THE MILITARY
HOSPITAL .... Walter Thornbury . 324
BONEY AND DUROC . . . Anon .... 328
THE BATTLE OF DRESDEN . Mrs. H. E. G. Arey . 331
THE SONG OF THE SWORD . Karl Thcodor Koerner 333
ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL
MOREAU . . . . John A. Williams . 338
BLU CHER'S BALL . . . Adolf Ludwig Pollen . 339
THE BATTLE OF LEIPZIG . . Ernest Moritz Arndt . 342
PONIATOWSK.I . . Jean Pierre de Be-
ranger . 345
PRINCE WREDE'S DEATH . . Arthur Rapp . . 347
P>I.UCHER AT THE RHINE . . August Kopisch . . 349
THE GAULS AND FRANKS . Jean Pierre de lie-
range r . 351
ODE Robert Southey . -354
LETTER FROM THE KING OF
ROME, APRIL 9, icSi4 . Anon .... 361
THE PARTING WITH THE
EAGLES, 1814 . . . Walter Thornbury . 363
ODE ON THE DELIVERANCE OF
EUROPE, 1814 . . John If. M'erirale . 368
MARIE LOUISE . . Anon. . . . 373
ODE m XAPOLEON . Lord Byron . . 376
THE Twc i GRENADIERS . . Jean Pierre de />'<-
r anger . . .382
J"-i I'HINE . . . Rev. Joseph Jl.Xiehols 387
CONTENTS.
XI
NAPOLEON BONAPARTE .
PETITION FOR FREE ENTRANCE
TO THE TUILERIES
THE ISLAND FIEND .
THE POLISH LANCERS
NAPOLEON AT MELUN
BONAPARTE IN PARIS
THE HUNDRED DAYS
BEFORE WATERLOO .
THE DANCE OF DEATH .
WATERLOO ....
NEY'S CHARGE AT WATERLOO
AN EPISODE OF WATERLOO
AFTER THE BATTLE OF WATER-
LOO .....
THE FAMOUS VICTORY
A VISIT TO BONAPARTE IN PLY-
MOUTH SOUND .
NAPOLEON'S LAST LOOK .
THE DEATH OF MURAT .
ON THE DEATH OF MARSHAL
NKY
MADAME LAVALETTE
THE STAR OF THE LEGION OF
HONOUR ....
DESCRIPTION OF ST. HELENA .
EPISTLE FROM TOM CRIB TO
BIG BEX ....
To SIR HUDSON LOWE
THE EAGLET MOURNED .
DEATH OF NAPOLEON
THE DEATH-BED OF NAPOLEON
PAGE
L. M. Sargent
39 1
yean Pierre de Be-
ranger
393
Anon.
397
Anon.
400
Sarah JZ. Barnes
403
Dr. yohn Wolcot
409
yean Pierre de Be-
ranger
421
Lord Byron
425
Sir Walter Scott
428
Douglas B. W. Sladen
434
Anon.
439
Francis S* Salt us
444
yean Francois- Casimir
Delavigne
447
Winthrop M. Pracd .
45 r
Anon.
455
Bartholomew Simmons
459
Thomas Atkinson
464
Anon.
467
Anon.
47
G. W. Cutler
47^
Anon.
476
Thomas Moore
477
Thomas J\foore
480
Victor Hugo
481
Isaac Mac Lellan .
4*5
Jifrs. War field and
Jfrs. Lee
487
Xll
CONTENTS,
THE DEAD NAPOLEON
THE GRAVE OF NAPOLEON-
NAPOLEON .
NAPOLEON'S GRAVE .
ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE
OF REICHSTADT
THE BRONZE STATUE OF NAPO-
LEON .....
THE DlSINTERMENT .
NAPOLEON'S RETURN
THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NA-
POLEON ....
THE RETURN OF NAPOLEON
FROM ST. HELENA
INVOCATION TO TftE SHADE OF
THE EMPEROR .
NAPOLEON'
Anon.
C. A. Hurlbert .
Manzoni
Richard Henry W'ilde
Emma C. Embury
An gust e Bar bier .
Bartholomew Simmons
Miss Wallace
Anon.
Lydia H. Sigourney
Prince Louis Napoleon
R. S. S. Andros .
PACK
49
494
496
499
502
506
5i9
5 2 4
523
LIST OF PHOTOGRAVURE ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
NAPOLEON, EMPEROR Frontispiece
From an Engraving by Benoist, after Goubaud.
MARIE ANTOINETTE .......... 19
From an Engraving by Le ]'achex.
MIRAHEAU ...... 23
From an Engraving by Le I'afhejc.'
ROUGET DE LISLE .......... 29
From an Etching by E. //. Garrelt.
Lons XVI 34
From an Engraving by Le I'achex.
CHARLOTTE CORDAY ......... 52
From an Engraving by Le I'ac/u'x.
RoHESPIERRE ........... 6O
Artist anil Engraver of t/ie original unkno'^'ti.
NAPOLEON, COMMANDER OF THE ARMY OE ITALY .... 73
From an Engraving by J. />'. L. Massard, after J. 7>. /'.
Massard.
NAI'nI.EiiN, FlKST I'oNSri. ........ Ill
From tin Engraving !>v Le l'tii'it-.\.
I)ESSAIX . . . . . . . . . . . .121
From nil F.ngraving I'V F/i'.,'.' r'l (!. Ileriian, a fter Gue'rin.
NKI-^'N 174
From an I-'.n^raving I'V Skeltcn, after /'rrvV.
Xiii
Xiv LIST OF PHOTOGRAVURE ILLUSTRATIONS.
PACK
I.oriSK, Ut'KKN <>K I'RfSSIA ........ 1 87
From (in F^Hgriiving I'V Maria Ann? Boiirlier, after Daliling.
TALI KYRAND ........... 203
I- rent dit Fin-braving i>v I.e I'lit'/tt'.r.
223
MASSKNA ............ 244
From tin Engraving hv Fiesinger, after Bonne-maison.
ALEXANDER I. . . . . . . . . . . . 272
F'rom dii Engraving i>v Canion, after Kiichetchen.
NAl'OI.KON, EMl'l KOK ......... 314
From an Engraving l>v ll'i/son.
MOKKAT ............ 337
From an Engraving l>v Elizabeth G. Herlian, after Gne'rin.
Bi.f-ciiKR ............ 349
F'rom an I:ii^ra~'iii^ l>\- Su'aint\ a fter Rehberg.
MAKIK I.onsi-: ........... 373
F'ron: tin Engraving l>v Hollinger, after Alonsorno.
Josi.rniNK ........... 386
From tin F.ir^rtirin^ hv /),-;i7'iii^ l>v Maria Aniit- Bourlicr, after Dahling.
T.M.l .KYKAMt ........... 203
/'/vw an Kngriiring by !.< l'iifh<:\~.
MACDONAI.H .......... 223
/''v //<;//<;-, af'tt-r GUHIMHS.
\1 ivviU'VA <>1 1
463
A METRICAL HISTORY OF THE LIFE
AND TIMES OF NAPOLEON
BONAPARTE.
A
METRICAL HISTORY OF THE LIFE AND TIMES
OK
NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.
CORSICA.
THE island of Corsica is situated in the Mediterranean
sea, about one hundred miles from the coast of France,
and almost directly south of Genoa and west of Rome.
The village of Ajaccio is on the western coast of the
island, and it was there, on the fifteenth day of August,
1769, that Napoleon Bonaparte, the son of Charles Bona-
parte and Letitia Ramolino, was born.
Of thirteen children born to these parents, eight sur-
vived, of whom, as matter of age, Napoleon was second ;
but who, in reality, from early manhood was the recog-
nised head of the family. Charles Bonaparte died when
Napoleon was sixteen years old, and it was to his mother
that the future Emperor was indebted for that strength
of character and brilliancy of intellect which enabled him,
alone and unaided, within the short space of less tlian
twenty years, to transform himself from a poor unknown
3
4 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Corsican sub-lieutenant into the greatest character of an-
cient or modern history. Perhaps some of the qualities
which went to make up this most remarkable man may
be attributed to his birthplace, rugged Corsica, so well
pictured in the following lines :
CORSICA.
ANNA LETITIA BARUAULD.
How raptured fancy burns, while warm in thought
I trace the pictured landscape ; while I kiss
With pilgrim lips devout the sacred soil
Stained with the blood of heroes. Cyrnus, hail !
Hail to thy rock}-, deep indented shores,
And pointed cliffs, which hear the chafing deep
Incessant foaming round thy shaggy sides.
Hail to thy winding bays, thy sheltering ports,
And ample harbours, which inviting stretch
Their hospitable arms to every sail :
Thy numerous streams, that bursting from the cliffs
Down the steep channelled rock impetuous pour
With grateful murmur: on the fearful edge
Of the rude precipice, thy hamlets brown
And straw-roofed cots, which from the level vale
Scarce seen, amongst the craggy hanging cliffs
Seem like an eagle's nest aerial built.
Thy swelling mountains, brown with solemn shade
Of various trees, that wave their giant arms
O'er the rough sons of freedom ; lofty pines,
And hardy fir, and ilex ever green,
And spreading chestnut, with each humbler plant,
And shrub of fragrant leaf, that clothes their sides
With living verdure ; whence the clustering bee
Extracts her golden dews : the shining box
CORSICA. 5
And sweet-leaved myrtle, aromatic thyme,
The prickly juniper, and the green leaf
Which feeds the spinning worm ; while glowing bright
Beneath the various foliage, wildly spreads
The arbutus, and rears his scarlet fruit
Luxuriant, mantling o'er the craggy steeps ;
And thy own native laurel crowns the scene.
Hail to thy savage forests, awful, deep ;
Thy tangled thickets, and thy crowded woods,
The haunt of herds untamed ; which sullen bound
From rock to rock with fierce, unsocial air,
And wilder gaze, as conscious of the power
That loves to reign amid the lonely scenes
Of unequalled nature ; precipices huge,
And tumbling torrents ; trackless deserts, plains
Fenced in with guardian rocks, whose quarries teem
With shining steel, that to the cultured fields
And sunny hills which wave with bearded grain,
Defends their homely produce. Liberty,
The mountain goddess, loves to range at large
Amid such scenes, and on the iron soil
Prints her majestic step. For these she scorns
The green enamelled vales, the velvet lap
Of smooth savannahs, where the pillowed head
Of luxury reposes ; balmy gales,
And bowers that breathe of bliss. For these, when first
This isle, emerging like a beauteous gem
From the dark bosom of the Tyrrhene main.
Reared its fair front, she marked it for her own.
And with her spirit warmed. Her genuine sons,
A broken remnant, from the generous stock
Of ancient Greece, from Sparta's sad remains.
True to their high descent, pre^ei vecl unqucnched
The sacred fiie through many a baibarous age ;
Whom nor the iion ro 1 of cruel Carthage,
A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Nor the dread sceptre of imperial Rome,
Nor bloody Goth, nor grisly Saracen,
Nor the long galling yoke of proud Liguria,
Could crush into subjection. Still unquellcd
They rose superior, bursting from their chains,
And claimed man's dearest birthright, liberty :
And long, through many a hard unequal strife
Maintained the glorious conflict ; long withstood,
With single arm, the whole collected force
Of haughty Genoa and ambitious Gaul.
NAPOLEON'S CRADLE SONG.
ON his way from Egypt to France in 1799, Napoleon
landed at Ajaccio, where he had not been since he quitted
Corsica, a poor nobody, in 1793. Among the friends he
visited while at that place was the old lady who had
nursed him as a babe. With this good old body he sat
and conversed for some time, and when he left her, it was
with a promise not to forget her in the future. This
promise he made good, as soon as he became Consul, by
settling upon her a pension of fifty napoleons a year,
which pension was doubled when he came to be Emperor.
The following is said to be the lullaby song, which this
worthy old dame sung to her little charge during his
infancy :
XAPOI.KOX'S CRADLK SOXC.
Lovely babe, my bosom's darling,
In thy cradle sweetly sleeping,
May that power who gave thee to us
Still retain thee in his keeping.
Hear thy faithful nurse's prayer,
And make thy infant years his care !
Heaven inspire thy heart with virtue,
Fill with Christian faith thv breast !
A .METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Make thee brave, aclvent'rous, darling,
Always in thy projects blest !
Raise thy soul 'bove idle fears,
Anil give thee all a Nestor's years !
Should in riper age, his mother
From her child withdraw her cares,
Send him, mighty God ! that safely
Me may pass through mortal snares,
And the paths of danger shun,
The guide thou gavest to Tobit's son.
Gracious Heaven, the fortune grant him
Of the patriarch Jacob's race !
Founder of a mighty nation !
And may equal rank and place
Be by him in courts obtain'd
As were by Hebrew Joseph gain'd !
May the Trojan's noble nature,
Heart of my dear heart, be thine !
May thy valour round thy temples
All the Roman laurels twine !
And may science with the lore
Of Athens rich thy bosom store!
May the wisdom, too, inspire thee
Heaven on Solomon bestow'd,
With his wealth, his power, his honours-
Who a temple raised to God !
But ne'er like him mayst thou stray
From Virtue's path to Folly's way !
May the gentle Abie's mildness,
Who the favour won of Heaven
NAPOLEON'S CKADLE SONG.
And the strength of mighty Samson
Be to thee abundant given !
With Job's patience, piety,
And David's boundless clemency !
May that power which guided Judith
Be alike thy constant guide,
When, Bethulia's wrongs avenging,
She by night undaunted hied
Toward the camp, and backward sped
With cruel Holofernes' head !
Of the learned Jeremiah
Heaven on thee the memory shower !
Give thee all the address of Moses
When defying Pharaoh's power.
He the bonds of Israel broke,
And freed them from his tyrant yoke !
From the universal deluge
If by Heaven was Noah spared,
So, my son, in every danger
Be by thee like mercy shared !
Through life's quicksands may thy bark
Be safely steer'd as Noah's ark !
Be thou from the snares defended
Of thy foes, concealed or known,
As of old the holy children
In the fiery furnace thrown!
Or as righteous Daniel when
Contending in the lion's den !
Let the firmness of Saint Peter
My s\\ r eet infant's bosom fill,
Whom the angel drew from prison !
Vet, Great God ! proU'Ct him still
10 .-/ METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
From the sin, the dread offence,
Which caused his tears, his penitence.
His be, too, the faith of Thomas,
Who, when Jesus' wounded side
He had touch'd no longer doubting
Preach'd his Saviour glorified !
Let him share Mathias' fate,
Who sits by Jesus' throne in state !
Conqueror of the offending Hebrews,
Titus, gallant chief, were you ;
So mayst thou, my bosom's darling,
Turkish infidels subdue !
That at length by land or sea
All heresy suppress'd may be !
May great Heaven, thy sword directing,
Make thec still his constant care !
From captivity defend thee,
Give thee victory everywhere !
Till life's varying chances past,
Thine eyelids close in peace at last !
In these strains a love as perfect
As a mother's self could bear
To her infant, God of mercies!
Breathes my soul its ardent prayer:
With more true devotion fired
Than e'er the hermit Paul inspired.
Thus concluding its petitions,
In a word to thee it prays
He may love, adore, and fear thee,
Laud and praise thy name always !
And while here he shall abide
His davs be blest and sanctified !
THE SCHOOL-BOY KING.
OF Napoleon's early childhood little is positively known.
Accepting the corroborated record, as it stands, it would
appear that he was a child with a disposition and a man-
ner peculiarly his own. Not a loving or a companionable
boy, but rather of a sullen, retiring nature ; melancholy
and irritable in his temperament and impatient of restraint.
While his companions were enjoying themselves at play,
natural to their age, he would wander off by himself and
spend hours, with no other company than his own
thoughts. There is still to be seen in Corsica the isolated
rock, known as " Napoleon's Grotto." Tradition tells us
that this was the favourite resort of the child, destined to
become the conqueror of the world. He, himself, has
said : " In my infancy I was extremely headstrong ; noth-
ing ever awed me ; nothing disconcerted me. I was
quarrelsome, mischievous ; I was afraid of nobody ; I
beat one; I scratched another; I made myself formidable
to the whole family."
At the age of ten Napoleon entered the Military School
at Brienne, near Paris, where he remained upwards of five
years. 1 1 is career while at that school is very aptly and
concisely told in the following verses:
ir
12 A .METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
THE SCHOOL-BOY KING.
WALTER THORNBURY.
Le Fere Petrault shut Virgil up
Just as the clock struck ten ;
" This little Bonaparte," he said,
" Is one of Plutarch's men.
To see him with his massive head.
Gripped mouth, and swelling brow,
Wrestle with Euclid, there he sat
Not half an hour from now."
The good old pedagogue his book-
Put slowly in its place ;
" That Corsican," he said, " has eyes
Like burning-glasses ; race-
Italian, as his mother said ;
Barred up from friend and foe,
He toils all night, inflexible,
Forging it blow by blow.
" I know his trick of thought, the way
He covers up his mouth :
One hand like this, the other clenched,
Those eyes of the hot South.
The little Caesar, how he strides,
Sleep-walking in the sun,
Only awaking at the roar
Of the meridian gun.
" I watched him underneath my book
That day he sprung the mine.
For when the earth-wall rocked and reeled,
His eyes were all a-shine ;
And when it slowly toppled down,
He leaped up on the heap
THE SCHOOL-BOY KING. 13
With fiery haste, just as a wolf
Would spring upon a sheep.
" Pichegru, Napoleon's monitor,
Tells me he 's dull and calm,
Tenacious, firm, submissive, yes,
Our chain is on his arm.
Volcanic natures, such as his,
I dread ; may God direct
This boy to good, the evil quell,
His better will direct.
" Here is his Euclid book, the ink
Still wet upon the rings;
These are the talismans some day
He'll use to fetter kings.
To train a genius like this lad
I Ve prayed for years, for years ;
But now I know not whether hopes
Are not half-choked by fears.
" Last Monday, when they built that fort
With bastions of snow,
The ditch and spur and ravelin,
And terraced row on row,
'T was Bonaparte who cut the trench,
Who shaped the line of sap,
A year or two, and he will be
First in war's bloody gap.
4> I see him now upon the hill,
His hands behind his back,
Waving the tri-colour that led
The vanguard of attack ;
14 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
And there, upon the trampled earth,
The ruins of the fort,
This Bonaparte, the school-boy king,
Held his victorious court.
" To see him give the shouting crowd
His little hand to kiss,
You 'd think him never meant by God
For any lot but this.
And then with loud exulting cheers,
Upon their shoulders borne,
He rode with buried Caesar's pride
And Alexander's scorn.
" Ah ! I remember, too, the day
The fire-balloon went up ;
It burnt away into a star
Kre I went off to sup ;
But he stood weeping there alone
Until the dark night came,
To think he had not wings to fly
And catch the passing flame.
" Oh, he is meant for mighty things,
This leader of my class;
But there 's the bell that rings for me,
So let the matter pass.
You see that third-floor window lit,
The blind drawn half-way clown ;
That 's Bonaparte's, he 's at it now,
It makes the dunces frown."
THE BATTLE OF CHANGE, 1789.
NAPOLEON left Brienne at the close of the year 1784. to
enter the Military School at Paris. He was then just past
his fifteenth year, the minimum age which would allow
him entrance to the Paris school. Three of the best
scholars at Brienne were annually passed to Paris, and
the fact that Napoleon was one of the three passed in
1784, proves the high rank he had attained, even at the
early age of fifteen. He remained at the Military School
in Paris not quite a year, when he obtained the appoint-
ment of second-lieutenant in a regiment of artillery. The
year past had been, for him, one of hard, unceasing toil,
and probably no lieutenant of the age of sixteen ever
entered the army better prepared to push himself for-
ward, or to take advantage of every opportunity offered,
than did this same young Corsican stripling. In 1791
he was made captain, and in 1792, while passing a six
months' leave of absence in Corsica, he engaged in his
first military enterprise. At the head of two battalions
of the National Guard levied in Corsica, he was ordered
to make a descent upon Sardinia in co-operation with
Admiral Turget. The expedition proved a failure, but
Napoleon gained some reputation from it, he having
performed his part in a successful manner. Shortly after
this Paoli entered into a plot to surrender Corsica to
1 6 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
England, and Napoleon, having refused to join him, was
obliged, together with the whole Bonaparte family, to
flee from the island. Landing at Nice, this family of
future kings and queens removed to Marseilles, where
they resided in great want and embarrassment until
relieved by the rising fortune of Napoleon.
In the meantime, other events were occurring in France,
which would soon change the entire form of government,
In 1 789 the French Revolution commenced. Napoleon
then twenty years of age, was fated to be the great result
of that terrible upheaval. It is therefore not improper,
in a collection of this kind, to give place to certain poems
and songs portraying the principal scenes and actors in
that bloody drama, as a history of those awful times is,
of necessity, a part of the history of Napoleon.
TIIK RATTLE OF CHANGE, 1789.
CHARLES MACKAV.
Great thoughts are heaving in the world's wide breast ;
The Time is labouring with a mighty birth ;
The old ideals fall.
Men wander up and clown in wild unrest ;
A sense of change preparing for the Earth
Broods over all.
There lies a gloom on all things under Heaven
A gloom portentous to the quiet men,
\Vho see no joy in being driven
< )n wards from change, ever to change again ;
O O O
\Yho never walk but on the beaten ways,
And love the breath of yesterdays ;
Men who would rather sit and sleep
\\ here sunbeams through the ivies creep,
THE BATTLE OF CHANGE, 1789. I/
Each at his door-post all alone,
Heedless of near or distant wars,
Than wake and listen to the moan
Of storm-vex'd forests nodding to the stars
Or hear, far-off, the melancholy roar
Of billows white with wrath, battling against the shore.
Deep on their troubled souls the shadow lies ;
And in that shadow come and go
While fitful lightnings write upon the skies,
And mystic voices chant the coming woe
Titanic phantoms swathed in mist and flame,
The mighty ghosts of things without a name,
Mingling with forms more palpably defined,
That whirl and dance like leaves upon the wind ;
Who marshal in array their arrowy hosts,
And rush to battle in a cloud-like land ;
Thick phalanx'd on those far aerial coasts,
As swarms of locusts plaguing Samarcand.
" Oh, who would live," they cry, " in time like this !
A time of conflict fierce, and trouble strange ;
When Old and New, over a dark abyss,
Fight the great battle of relentless Change ? "
And still before their eyes discrowned kings,
Desolate chiefs, and aged priests forlorn,
Flit by confused with all incongruous things,
Swooping in rise and fall on ponderous wings,
\Vhile here and there, amid a golden light,
Angelic faces, sweet as summer morn,
Gleam for an instant ere extinguish'd quite,
Or change to stony skulls, and spectres livid white.
Hut not to me oh ! not to me appear
Eternal glooms. I see a brighter sky,
I feel a healthful motion of the sphere ;
1 8 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
And lying clown upon the grass, I hear
Far, far away, yet drawing near,
A low sweet sound of ringing melody ;
I see the swift-wing'd arrows fly ;
I see the battle and the combatants ;
I know the cause for which their weapons flash ;
I hear the martial music and the chants,
The shock of hosts, the armour clash
As Thought meets Thought ; but far beyond I see,
Adown the abysses of the time to be,
The well-won victory of Right ;
The laying down of useless swords and spears ;
The reconcilement ardently desired
Of universal Truth with Might,
Whose long estrangement, filling earth with tears,
Gave every manly heart, divinely fired,
A lingering love, a hope inspired,
To reconcile them never more to sunder.
Far, far away above the rumbling thunder,
I see the splendour of another day.
Ever since infant Time began
There has been darkness over man :
It rolls and shrivels up ! It melts away !
MARIE ANTOINETTE
From an engraving l>y t.e Yachex.
Paris, 1804.
"CA IRA."
IN 1790 the Revolution had barely commenced. The
people of France still had hopes of bettering their social
condition without resort to extreme violence. The storm-
ing of the Bastilc on the fourteenth of July, 1789, and the
razing of that foul dungeon to the ground, were acts which
might well be pardoned. The disgraceful and bloody scenes
enacted at Versailles, on the fifth and sixth of October,
were immediately provoked by the scarcity of bread in
Paris, and by the defiant conduct of a party of hot-headed
royalist officers, who, emboldened by the presence of their
King and Queen, flushed with wine and lured by the
seductive and ardent glances of beauty, lost all control
of themselves, trampled the tri-colours under their feet,
mounted the white cockade and with swords unsheathed
swore to defend their majesties and to maintain the
throne, even at the cost of their lives. The result was
a terrible exhibition of the power of a Paris mob. Blood
was shed and horrible atrocities committed, and the King
and his court were compelled to give up Versailles and
return ignominiously to Paris. But still the good sense
of the middle classes controlled, and quiet was again re-
stored. The Fete de la Federation was celebrated on
the Champs de Mars the fourteenth of July, 1/90; the
anniversar of the takin of the Bastile. Tallerand,
2O A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
then Bishop of Autun, assisted by four hundred priests,
celebrated Mass in the presence of four hundred thousand
spectators. Lafayette, commander of the National Guard ;
then the Assembly in a body, and then the King, all
swore before the altar of the country to maintain the Con-
stitution, decreed by the Assembly and accepted by the
King. Everybody rejoiced, and every sign denoted the
dawning of an era of freedom and peace. It was for that
occasion " Ca Ira" was written, and it was then first sung.
It became at once one of the most popular songs of the
period, and it is said to have been a great favourite with
Marie Antoinette, who often played it on her harpsichord.
"C;A IRA! "
ANON.
All will go right, will go right, will go right.
All will succeed though malignants are strong;
All will go right, will go right, will go right,
Thus says the people by day and by night.
Dismal will soon be our enemies' plight,
While Jubilate we sing with delight,
All will go right, will go right, will go right ;
Singing aloud a joyous song,
We will shout with all our might;
All will go right, will go right, will go right ;
All will succeed, etc.
What Boileau said once the clergy to spite,
Proved him a truly prophetical wight.
All will go right, will go right, will go right,
Taking the old Gospel-truth for their text
All will go right. will F TIIK SEA.
1793-
CIIARI.KS M ACKAY.
I had a dream, a noontide dream,
Thrice it came and thrice it went,
THE ROAR1XG Ol- THK SEA. 39
And thrice it left n light ami gleam,
As of a purpose why 't \vas sent.
A dream of mist and blinding ha/.e,
VVhereout there issued a drowsy sound,
As of the hum from crowded ways,
Where streams of life go eddying round.
The church bells muffled in fogs and glooms
Faintly pealed over wold and lea.
Hut clear 'mid the pauses of the booms,
/ heard the roaring of the Sea.
Sadly the people to and fro
Rock'cl and sway'd, they knew not why ;
I could scarcely see them come or go,
So thick the vapours draped the sky ;
They look'd half-form'd, gigantic, vague,
Things of the cloud, but not of the Sun,
As of a City of the Plague,
Where Hope and Healing there were none.
Some were lawyers \\ ith wigs ami gowns,
Some were priests or seem'd to be.
And some were kings with tottering crowns
And lltey Jieard tlte roaring of I lie Sea.
'' Why dost thou linger in the mist ? "
I asked a sage of snow-white head.
" Xot those emerge from it who list :
1 cannot see my way," he said.
" All things are out of gear and line,
Men worship money, their only god ;
Kach thinks himself alone divine,
And tramples his neighbour to the >od,
Ever the weakest goes to the wall,
None of us know what the end shall be.
Kxcept that misery must befall
\\'e /ied r tJ/c roaring of tlie Sen."
4O A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
I mingled in the priestly throng,
And ask'd of one who seem'd the chief,
"If in the mist he 'd linger'd long ? "
" Ay, long ! " he said, " without relief !
We know not whether we sit or stand,
Or whether we wander in or out !
We find nor comfort, nor guiding hand,
Nor any glimmering but of doubt.
We feel a quiver of earthquake shocks,
We would be bound and yet be free,
We tread on the edge of perilous rocks
We hear tJie roaring of tJie Sea."
A group of statesmen, sore at fault,
Brothers in doubt, of different schools,
Uncertain whether to march or halt,
Sat pondering knaves as well as fools.
I ask'd them why their discontent ?
" We want to govern poor human-kind,
That will not walk as we have meant,
So deaf it is, so dull and blind.
We cannot rule a world gone mad,
Woe is upon us ! if thus it be !
There 's little good among the bad,
We hear the roaring of the Sea."
I question'd one that seem'd a king,
From the vapoury, misty crown he wore,
Why to the shadows he seem'd to cling,
Shadows behind and shadows before ?
lie answer'd sadly, " Ask me not !
I strive to follow my father's trade.
I walk as I may or can God wot
Stumbling and halting, and afraid !
THE ROARING OF THE SEA. 41
The time is pass'd for Right Divine.
The people have ceased to bend the knee,
The end is coming for me and mine
f hear the roaring of the Sea."
Down there came, like a river in flood,
A crowd of People haggard and worn ;
And they roar'd and yell'd and clamour'd for blood,
Frantic and furious and forlorn.
" What do you want ? " I ask'd of one ;
He answer'd, " The Earth for its children dear,
Farms as free as the light of the Sun,
And fair partition of life's good cheer,
Of corn and wine, and sheep and beeves ;
All that the Earth produces free,
Why should we starve 'mid the bursting sheaves?
We 've heard the roaring of the Sea."
The billowy, rising, roaring sea,
The stifling, swathing, blinding mist ;
A Chaos big with a new To Be,
And a ruddy sunshine not uprist.
Hear it, ye preachers of the creeds !
Take heed, ye wise, without a plan,
There 's something better than sordid needs
There 's a futurity for man !
" Each for himself " is a gospel of lies,
That never was issued by God's decree
There 's fresh fair light on the morning skies
There 's health in the roaring of the Sea.
THE AWAKENING OF THE PEOPLE.
THE following song represents the worst feelings of the
Revolution. It was suppressed by the Directory in 1/95 ;
but during the two preceding years it was a great favour-
ite with the unrestrained demons who governed France.
Nothing was too horrible for those bloody-minded fiends.
The inhuman butchery and the monstrous outrages per-
petrated upon the dead body of the Princess Lamballe,
were but fair illustrations of the foul deeds committed
by the loathsome followers of Robespierre, Danton, and
St. Just. The regeneration of France was, perhaps of
necessity, entrusted to the hands of men who could see
no way to accomplish their purpose except through the
guillotine and a river of blood. The leaders themselves
became like wild beasts, and when they could no longer
agree they turned on each other, and the majority of them
were sent, by the votes of their former colleagues, to the
same scafford to which they had by their acts doomed so
many.
TIIK A\YAKK.\I\<; OK TIIK 1'KOl'LK.
[. M. SorKlr.rKKK.S.
Nation of brethren, Frenchmen brave !
Feel you no horror at the sight,
42
THE AWAKENING OF THE PEOPLE. 43
When treason dares her flag to wave,
Awaking carnage and affright ?
What! shall a sanguinary band
Of robbers and assassins dare
To trample on our native land,
And with their breath pollute the air?
What guilty torpor binds you fast ?
Wake, sovereign people, quick, awake!
To hellish fiends the wretches cast,
Who long with blood their thirst to slake !
War to the death! should be your cry
War to all partners in their guilt :
If you could only hate as I,
The blood of all were quickly spilt.
Yea, let them perish do not spare
Those monsters who would flesh devour,
Who in their craven bosoms bear
The worship of a tyrant's power.
Manes of innocence, who wail
For retribution in your tombs,
Rest, rest ! your murderers now grow pale,-
At last the day of vengeance comes.
Mark how their limbs with terror shake:
They dare not fly, too well they know
Escape is vain, each path they take
The blood they vomit forth will show.
Ye shades ! upon your tombs we swear,
By the misfortunes of our land,
That we a hecatomb will rear,
Of that foul, man-devouring band.
44 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON,
Ye legislators, good and just,
Chosen to guard the people's right,
Who, with your countenance august,
Our enemies with fear can smite,
Follow your glorious path ! each name
Dear to humanity will be,
And, wafted to the Hall of Fame,
Will dwell with Immortality!
AX INCIDENT IN THE REIGN OF TERROR.
ACTS of noble heroism were of frequent occurrence
during the awful days of the Reign of Terror. Mercy
was seldom offered the unhappy victim, and when offered
was so loaded with vile and cowardly conditions that it was
at once, almost universally, rejected. Death was far bet-
ter than life at the price demanded. To save her father's
life the daughter drank a glass full of warm blood, fresh
from the body of the murdered victim at her feet ; but
her father dead, the same girl would beg to die by his
side. In 1/93 and 1/94 the guillotine could not do its
bloody work fast enough, and to aid it in its mission of
destruction men, women, and children were gathered to-
gether by hundreds and blown to pieces at the cannon's
mouth. If, perchance, any escaped the murderous dis-
charge they were at once cut down by the sabre or run
through the body by the bayonet. Young men and
maidens were stripped naked, lashed together and thrown
into the river ; victims of what, with hellish mirth, were
designated as " Republican marriages."
The incident described in the following lines actually
occurred, and it was but one of the many of like kind that
took place.
45
46 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
AN INCIDENT IN THE REIGN OF TERROR.
MRS. II. E. G. ARKY.
Unwarned, upon the cloudless sky,
A sudden thunder burst,
Beneath the blood-stained willow trees
Of Brotteaux field accurst ;
The fiends that fed on human life
Had waked the cannon's roar,
For blunt with carnage was the knife
That deluged France in gore ;
And, where its sanguine rivers flowed,
Discarded, with a frown,
The sickle that too slowly mowed
Their breathing harvests down.
And the willows shook with horror,
Uplifting from the plain
The twigs that felt the seething heat,
Of this unhallowed rain ;
And slowly, on the quivering air,
The smoke-clouds rolled away,
From off the crimson heather where
The murdered victims lay ;
But still with fettered hands and feet.
O'erflowed with kindred blood,
An eye that watched, his doom to meet,
A boy uninjured stood.
Javogues turned with careless scoff ;
" Well, let him live," he said,
' The child shall join our ranks, come off,
Such blood 's not worth the lead."
Out spoke the bov, and each swift word
With pride and scorn had strife,
AN INCIDENT IN THE REIGN OF TEKKOK. 47
As back upon the blood-stained herd,
He hurled the proffered life.
" Stay not for me the tide ye shed,
I spurn the boon ye give ;
The lovely and the pure are dead,
'T is but the guilty live.
" Call ye it mercy ? What ! to breathe
This rank and poisoned air,
Where sights like these the eyeballs seethe ?-
Where only murderers are ?
The frailest cowards 'neath yon sky
May welcome death's advance,
When hell itself is drained of fiends
To seal the curse of France.
Quick, to your tasks, the hour runs waste,
Yon dungeons wait your care ;
The life's-blood crowds my veins, for haste
To join the slumberers there."
He ceased, but ere the breasts of men
Could, for the wonder thrill,
Hoarse breathed that brazen mouth again :
His burning heart was still.
LA TRICOTEUSE.
LED by Santerre the brewer, Legendre the butcher,
and Theroigne de Mericourt the prostitute, the women
of the Faubourg St. Antoine, and other similar quarters
in Paris, became during the Reign of Terror the most
terribly furious and bloodthirsty of all the inhuman mon-
sters brought to the surface in that awful strife for liberty.
Maddened by want of food and excited to frenzy by vile
liquor, these beings, bearing the semblance of women,
were made worse than famished wolves in their cruelty
and their demand for blood. From the midst of these
unsexed creatures came the " Furies " of the guillotine,
among whose number were found that band called " The
Knitters," who sat at the foot of the scaffold at every
execution, knitting ; and as head after head fell into the
basket they would look up from their work and count
" one " " two " " three," until the full quota of victims
for the day had ceased to exist. These women were
capable of teaching an innocent child to become one of
them, and the story told below is not at all improbable.
LA TRICOTEUSE.
GEORGE \V. THORMU-RY.
The fourteenth of July had come,
And round the guillotine
46
LA TRICOTEUSE. 49
The thieves and beggars, rank by rank,
Moved the red flags between.
A crimson heart, upon a pole,
The long march had begun ;
But still the little smiling child
Sat knitting in the sun.
The red caps of those men of France
Shook like a poppy-field ;
Three women's heads with gory hair,
The standard-bearers wield.
Cursing, with song and battle hymn,
Five butchers dragged a gun ;
Yet still the little maid sat there,
A-knitting in the sun.
An axe was painted on the flags,
A broken throne and crown,
A ragged coat upon a lance,
Hung in foul black shreds down.
" More heads ! " the seething rabble cry
And now the drums begun ;
But still the little fair-haired child
Sat knitting in the sun.
And every time a head rolled off,
They roll like winter seas,
And, with a tossing up of caps,
Shouts shook the Tuileries.
Whi/z went the heavy chopper down.
And then the drums begun ;
But still the little smiling child
Sat knitting in the sun.
5O A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
The Jacobins, ten thousand strong,
And every man a sword ;
The red caps, with the tricolours,
Led on the noisy horde.
" The Sans-Culottes to-day are strong."
The gossips say, and run ;
But still the little maid sits there,
A-knitting in the sun.
Then the slow death-cart moved along ;
And, singing patriot songs,
A pale, doomed poet bowing comes
And cheers the swaying throng.
Oh, when the axe swept shining down,
The mad drums all begun ;
But, smiling still, the little child
Sat knitting in the sun.
44 Le Marquis ! " linen snowy white,
The powder in his hair,
Waving his scented handkerchief.
Looks down with careless stare.
A whirr, a chop another head
Hurrah ! the work 's begun ;
But still the little child sat there,
A-knitting in the sun.
A stir, and through the parting crowd,
The people's friends are come ;
Marat and Robespierre " Vivat !
Roll thunder from the drum."
The one a wild beast's hungry eye,
Hair tangled- hark ! a gun !
The other kindly kissed the child
A-knitting in the sun.
LA TK ICOTK USE, 51
" And why not work all night ? " the child
Said, to the knitters there ;
Oh, how the furies shook their sides,
And tossed their grizzled hair !
Then clapped a bonnet rouge on her,
And cried " 'T is well begun ! "
And laughed to see the little child
Knit, smiling, in the sun.
CHARLOTTE CORDAY.
OF all the hideous beings, miscalled men, unearthed by
the French Revolution, Jean Paul Marat was the worst
and the most hideous. Deformed and dirty in person ;
ferocious as a wild beast ; vindictive and cruel ; yet, with
all, endowed with some considerable talent and a great
deal of charlatan cunning, he stirred up, by his writings
and by his speeches, the vilest elements to be found in
the city of Paris. " Eight hundred gibbets ought to be
erected in the Tuileries to hang all traitors " ; " Massacre
two hundred thousand partisans of the former order of
things," are mild illustrations of the frantic ravings of
this madman. On the fourteenth of July, 1/93, the anni-
versary of the storming of the Bastile, Charlotte Corday
rid the world of this inhuman fiend. Tried for the crime,
and, by her own confession, convicted, she perished upon
the scaffold.
CHARLOTTE CORDAY.
ANON.
Who is this, with calm demeanour,
And with form of matchless grace,
Wearing yet the modest beauty
Of her childhood in her face?
52
CHARLOTTE CORDAY.
From an engraving by Le Vachex.
Paris, 1804.
CHA RLOTTE COKDA Y. 53
Close the white folds of her kerchief
All her neck and bosom \vrap,
And her soft brown hair is hidden
Underneath her Norman cap.
This is she who left the convent,
For the fierce and restless throngs,
Who were gathering head for battle,
To avenge her country's wrongs.
This is she who to its rescue,
Was the foremost to advance
She who struck to death the tyrant
Of her well beloved France.
She who had the martyr's spirit
To perform as she had planned ;
Taking thus her life's sweet promise
In her own presumptuous hand.
All the while, herself deceiving,
With this dangerous subtletry.
" Evil, surely, is not evil
If a good is gained thereby.
" If I perish for my country.
Is not this a righteous deed ?
If I save the lives of thousands,
What is it that one should bleed ?"
So, arraigned at the tribunal.
This alone was her reply :
" It was I who did this murder,
And I do not fear to die."
54 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON,
Therefore pitying, admiration,
More than blame, for her we feel
Hers was noble and heroic,
Though it was mistaken zeal.
And so long as France shall honour
Those whose blood for her is shed,
Shall the name of Charlotte Corday
Live among the martyred dead !
THE GIRONDINS.
PRESIDENT of the Convention that voted death to Louis
XVI., and himself casting such a vote, Vergniaud ami his
fellow Girondins, of whom he was the stalwart leader,
were in turn doomed to taste of the same bitter cup they
had prescribed for their king. Marat dead by the hand of
an assassin ; the Girondins about to die on the scaffold ;
Danton, St. Just, Robespierre soon to follow. It would
seem like the irony of fate when we count how few of the
men who brought about those awful days survived to
witness the end. A young, unknown artillery officer, who
was an advocate of grapeshot, but not of the guillotine,
and who had taken no active part in the blood}- ami hor-
rible deeds of the French Revolution, was the one des-
tined to bring it to a close, and the one, above all others,
to be benefited by it.
'' The last night of the Girondins was sublime. Vergni-
aud was provided with poison. lie threw it away that he
might die with his friends. They took a last meal to-
gether, at which the}' were by turns merry, serious, and
eloquent. Brissot and Gcnsonne were grave and pensive.
Vergniaud spoke of expiring liberty in the noblest terms
of regret, and of the destinies of man with persuasive elo-
O
quence. Ducos repeated verses which he had composed
56 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
in prison ; and they all joined in singing hymns to France
and Liberty." Thiers' History of the French Revolution.
" The Girondins spent the last night of their captivity
in the great dungeon that Hall of Death. The tribunal
had ordered that the still warm corpse of Valaze' should
be taken back to the prison, carried on the same cart with
his accomplices to the place of execution, and buried with
them. . . . The gen-d'armes placed the body in a cor-
ner of the prison. The Girondins, one after the other,
kissed the heroic hand of their friend. They covered his
face with his mantle. ' To-morrow ! ' said they to the
corpse ; and they gathered their strength for the coming
day. It was near midnight. The deputy Baillcul, pro-
scribed like them, but concealed in Paris, had promised to
send them from without, on the day of their judgment, a
last repast of triumph, or of death, according as they
might be acquitted or condemned. By the help of a
friend, he kept his word. The funeral supper was spread
in the great dungeon. Costly viands, rare wines, flowers,
and lights covered the oak table of the prison. The meal
lasted until the dawn of day. Vcrgniaud, seated near the
centre of the table, presided with the same calm dignity
which he had preserved during the night of the tenth of
August while presiding over the Convention. The guests
ate and drank with sobriety merely to recruit their
strength. Their discourse was grave and solemn, though
not sad. Many of them spoke of the immortality of the
soul, and expressed their belief in a future state." La-
martine's History of the Girondins.
THE G I RON DINS. 57
THE GIRONDINS.
DrMAS AND MAQUKI.
When with the cannon's mighty voice,
Her many children France invites,
The soldier feels his heart rejoice,
And for his mother proudly fights.
Sublime is death indeed,
When for our native land for liberty we bleed.
We die, from battle-fields remote,
Yet not ignoble is our doom ;
To France and freedom we devote
Our heads, and gladly seek the tomb.
Sublime is death indeed,
When for our native land for liberty we bleed.
Brethren, we die a martyr's death,
A noble creed we all profess ;
No word of sorrow let us breathe ;
Our France one day our name will bless.
Sublime is death indeed,
When for our native land for liberty we bleed.
Then unto God your voices lift
In gratitude, a single sigh
Would ill repay Him for His gift-
It is for liberty we die.
Sublime is death indeed.
When for our native land for libertv we bleed.
MADAME ROLAND.
IT was but a natural sequence to the execution of the
Girondins that Madame Roland should perish upon the
same scaffold. She who had been " the soul of the
Gironde, this woman might one day prove a very Neme-
sis, if permitted to survive those illustrious individuals
who had preceded her to the grave." Would this woman
have been as instrumental as she \vas in bringing the
Marseillais to Paris had she known the horrors which
were to follow? We doubt it. She was too much of a
woman to become a butcher. She met her fate bravely :
her last act being one of kindness to a weak and infirm
old man, in asking that he be executed first, so that she
would spare him the pain of witnessing her blood flow.
Bowing herself before the statue of Liberty she uttered
the words, " O Liberty ! Liberty ! how many crimes are
committed in thy name," and then her fair head fell into
that basket destined to receive so many bloody trophic^
in the mis-used name of freedom.
MADAME ROLAND.
A mien of modest loveliness,
A brow on which no shadow lies,
And woman's soul of truthfulness
Out-lookin from soft ha/el ees:
MA DA MR KOLA ND.
59
Thy placid features only show
The happy mother, faithful wife,
Not her whose fate it was to know
All strange vicissitudes of life.
Unnoticed in thy youthful clays
It was thy happy lot to move,
Brightening life's unobtrusive ways
With the sweet ministries of love.
And learning the great truths of life
That best are learned in solitude,
But only in its after strife
Are ever proved or understood !
That toiling early, toiling late,
For others, is our highest bliss
Man, even in his best estate,
Hath no more happiness than this.
Such truth it was, that even there,
Where reigned the prison's gloom and chill,
Could keep thee wholly from despair,
And make thee toil for others still.
Till thine own sorrows half forgot.
Thy noblest sacrifice was shown
In words and deeds for those whose lot
Was far more wretched than thine o\vn.
Yet well for thee our tears may flow,
Though high thy name embla/.oned >tand^.
Thou, with a woman's heart, could^t know
No life that woman's heart demands.
Happier than thou, with fame and wealth.
Is she who cheers earth's humblest place;
Leaving no picture of herself.
Save in a daughter's modest face.
DEATH OF ROBESPIERRE.
THE death of Robespierre, July 28, 1/94, was the end
of the Reign of Terror; the Revolution ended October
4, 1/95, when Napoleon, in command of the troops sta-
tioned around the Tuileries in defence of the National
Convention, mowed down with grape and canister the
armed hosts of the revolting Sections. This is not the
proper place to undertake an analysis of the character of
Robespierre. He certainly rose higher, held more abso-
lute power, and was more dreaded and feared than any
man connected with the history of the French Revolu-
tion. Whether he was a demagogue, or an honest repub-
lican seeking only the good of France, is a question upon
which historians greatly differ. It is, however, a fact that
had he not fallen when he did, Josephine would, in all
human probability, have lost her head upon the scaffold ;
Barras could not have given her hand to Napoleon in
connection with the command of the Army of Italy, and
the great Emperor's life would have turned at some other
periods than those of his marriage and his divorce.
DEATH OF ROBESPIERRE.
(10 Thermidor, 1794.)
HENRY HOWARD BKOWNKLL.
Here let us stand windows, and roofs, and leads
Alive with clinging thousands what a scene !
Go
ROBESPIEKKR.
Artist and engraver unknown.
Published in " Histoire-Musee de la Republique-Kran<,aise.'
Paris (no date).
DEATH OF ROBESPIERRE. 6 1
And in the midst, above that sea of heads,
Glooms the black Guillotine.
A scene like that in the Eternal City,
When on men's hearts the Arena feasted high-
While myriads of dark faces, void of pity,
Looked on to see them die.
How the keen Gallic eyes dilate and glare !
The flexible brows and lips grimace and frown
How the walls tremble to their shout, whene'er
That heavy steel comes down !
'T is nearly over twenty heads have rolled,
One after one, upon the block while cheers
And yells and curses howled by hate untold
Rang in their dying ears.
One more is left and now, amid a storm
Of angry sound from that great human Hive,
They rear upright a dizened ghastly form,
Mangled, yet still alive.
Like one emerging from a deadly swoon,
His eyes unclose upon that living plain
Those livid, snaky eyes ! he shuts them soon,
Never to ope again.
As that forlorn, last, wandering gaze they took,
Perhaps those cruel eyes, in hopeless mood,
Sought, in their agony, one pitying look
'Mid that vast multitude.
Sought, but in vain, inextricablv mixed
o
( )n square and street and house-top lie surveys
62 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
A hundred thousand human eyes, all fixed
In one fierce, pitiless gaze.
Down to the plank ! the brutal headsmen tear
Those blood-glued rags nay, spare him needless pain.
One cry ! God grant that we may never hear
A cry like that again !
A pause and the axe falls on Robespierre.
That trenchant blade hath done its office well
Hark to the mighty roar ! Down, Murderer
Down to thy native Hell!
Again that terrible shout ! till suburb far
And crowded dungeon marvel what it mean
Hurrah! and louder, louder, yet hurrah
For the good Guillotine !
And breasts unladen heave a longer breath
And parting footsteps echo fast and light
Our Foe is lodged in the strong Prison of Death !
Paris shall sleep to-night.
MADAME TALLIEX.
WITHIN the prison walls of the Carmcs, at Paris, the
day before the downfall of Robespierre, two women were
confined, whose execution had been decreed for the mor-
row. One was Josephine Tascher, the widow of General
Beauharnais, who had lately perished upon the scaffold ;
the other was Theresa Cabarus, the beloved of Tallien,
guilty only of the crime of exercising too much power for
clemency over her lover, the people's representative at
Bordeaux. These women, both beautiful, were intimate
friends, and had equally shared the public admiration be-
stowed upon them. It is said that after the execution of
Robespierre the friendship of Barras was the key which
unlocked the prison door for these two noted women ;
one of whom was to become the Empress of France ; the
other the destroyer of the Reign of Terror by inspiring
her lover with courage to attack Robespierre openly in
the Convention Hall.
It is told by Lamartine, that one evening, while return-
ing home, a letter from Theresa Cabarus was slipped into
Tallien's hand. This note, which a bribed gaoler had
allowed to leave the prison, was written in blood. It con-
tained only these words : " The Administrator of Police
has just left. lie came to announce to me that to-morrow
I should ascend to the tribunal, that is to sav, to the scaf-
64 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
fold. This but little resembles the dream I had last
night. If Robespierre no longer existed, the prisons
would be open. But thanks to your unworthy cowardice
there will soon be no one in France capable of realising
this event." Tallien laconically replied: "Be you as
prudent as I will be courageous, and be calm." As is
well known, the result was that Tallien became the chief
actor in bringing about the ruin of Robespierre and his
party.
Madame Tallien's reputation was not of the best. De-
serting her first husband for Tallien, whom she married
only after the Qth Thermidor, and in time deserting, him
to marry the Prince de Chimai, she, the most beautiful
woman of her time, gained a most unhappy celebrity^
which pursued her everywhere. Fond of society and the
adoration she received, her boldness in breaking over even
the very loose social laws which then existed daunted her
friends. After his marriage with Josephine, Napoleon
forbade her receiving the friend of her prison life, and the
doors of the Tuileries were shut against the woman who,
in a great measure, had been the means of making it pos-
sible for her old-time friend to become the wife of the
future Emperor.
MADAME TALLIEN.
ANON.
With a form of wondrous beauty
And of most unrivalled grace,
With a voice of winning sweetness
And a fair and witching face,
MADAME TALLIEN. 65
From the pleasant paths of girlhood,
She came up with joy elate,
And took thoughtlessly upon her
All a matron's care and state.
And we scarce can ever wonder
That her life so careless seems
She is now but just emerging
From her childhood's thoughtless dreams.
And she has not learned the lesson,
That can only come with years
That our life is not for pleasure,
But for labour and for tears.
But behold her, by misfortune,
From her height of pleasure hurled ;
Hath she seen how unsubstantial
Are the honours of the world .'
Doth she view her life as something
That was profitless and vain?
What hath been to her the discipline
Of sorrow and of pain ?
Alas! that heaviest trial.
Lonely thought, and fiery strife,
Could not change the heart within her,
Nor the purpose of her life.
For she lived by fitful impulse,
Doing sometimes deeds of good ;
Sometimes, in red wine washing
Out the memories of blood.
66 A METRICAL HISTORY OP' NAPOLEON.
Reigning as the queen of beauty,
With an undisputed claim ;
Hiding with a crown of roses
All her forehead's crimson shame.
Yet we would not quite condemn her
Unto perfect infamy,
For she seemed to have within her
Something better than we see.
And she might have added virtue
To her beauty and her grace
If her lines of life had fallen
In a good and pleasant place.
THE GRAND ARMY.
WHILE the Revolution went on and its effects were being
felt from one end of France to the other; while the trail-
o
lotine ran red with blood, and brother condemned brother
to suffer beneath its awful knife ; while it was a question
of extreme doubt what precise form the government
would assume, the soldiers of France, fighting her battles
on the frontiers, held firm for the honour of their country.
Barefooted, without arms and without food, thev fought
O
against combined Europe. Victory after victory they
won ; until, driven beyond the Rhine, the invaders were
glad to sue for peace. These were the men who were t<>
make possible the name of Napoleon, and well did they
merit better than they then received. The glory, the
honour, the future of France were in their keeping, and
never once did they betray the trust.
THE CJKAND ARMY.
Soldiers of our Year Two ! (.) Wars ! (.) epic songs !
Drawing at once their swords against all Crowned Wn>n ; .
In Prussian, Austrian bounds,
And against all the Tyres and Sodoms of the earth,
And him the man-hunter, the T/ar o' the icy North,
Follow'd bv all his hounds.
68 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
And against Europe all, with all its captains proud,
With all its foot-soldiers whose might the plains did crowd^
With all its horsemen fleet,
All risen against France, with many a hydra head,
They sang as on they march'd, their spirits without dread,
And without shoes their feet.
At early dawn, at eve, South, North, and everywhere,
With their old muskets on their shoulders, rattling there,
Passing both rock and flood,
Without sleep or rest, foodless, and ragged too,
Joyous and proud they went, and their shrill trumpets
blew
As only demons could.
Sublimest Liberty fill'd evermore their thought ;
Fleets taken sword in hand, and frontiers set at nought,
So sovereignly they go ;
O France ! on every day some prodigy they dare,
Encounters, combats, shocks, on Adige' side Joubcrt,
And on the Rhine Marceau.
The vanguard they o'ercame, the centre they o'erthrew ;
In the snow, and in the rain, water their middles to,
On went they, ever on :
And one sued them for peace, and one flung wide his gate ;
And thrones were scattered like dead leaves, here of late,
Now at the wind's breath gone.
O soldiers ! you were grand, in the midst of battle-shocks,
With your lightning-flashing eyes and wild dishcvell'd locks
In the wild whirlwind black ;
Impetuous, ardent, radiant, tossing back your heads,
Like lions snuffing up the North-wind when he treads
L^pon his tempest track !
THE GKAXD AKMY. 69
Drunken and madly rapt in their great epic deeds,
They savour'd all the mirth of most heroic needs,
Steel clashing here and there,
The winged Marseillaise flying amid the balls,
The grenades and the drums, the bomb-shells and cymbals.
And thy clear laugh, Kleber!
The Revolution cried Die, O my volunteers!
Die to deliver all the people from their fears !
Their answering hands they raised.
Go, my old soldiers ! go, my beardless generals !
And Victory proudly march'd to the sound of bare foot
falls '
Over the world amazed.
Disheartening and fear to them were all unknown ;
They had without a doubt over the high clouds gone.
If their audacity
In its Olympic race one moment had look'cl back.
And seen the Republic point over their glorious track
Her finger to the sky.
TH E SONG O F D E PA RT U R E.
NEXT to the " Marsellaise," the following. was, perhaps,
tlie most popular song of the latter clays of the French
Revolution. It was the song sung by the soldiers of
Joubert, Marceau, and Kleber as, foot-sore and weary, they
marched against their enemies. The Directory adopted
it and Napoleon's warriors took it up in the early days of
the Republic as they pushed forward the work so gal-
lantly begun by the heroes who had preceded them.
THE SONG OF DEPARTURE.
M. J. CIU'.NIKK.
Victory, hymning loud, our pathway makes,
While freedom guides our steps aright ;
From North to South the martial trumpet wakes
To sound the moment for the fight.
Tremble, ye enemies of France,
Kings who with blood have slaked your thirst !
The sovereign people see advance
To hurl ye to your grave accursed.
Come, brethren, the Republic calls ;
For her our hearts and lives we give ;
For her a Frenchman gladly falls,
For her alone he seeks to live.
J Mother.
See, from your mother's eye no tear-drops flow,
Far from our hearts we banish fears;
THE SONG OF DEPARTURE. ;
We triumph when in freedom's cause \v L r o,
* * > *
Only for tyrant's eyes are tears.
Warriors, \ve gave you life, 't is true,
But yours no more the gift can be ;
Your lives are now your country's due,
She is your mother more than we.
Come, brethren, the Republic calls, etc.
Two Old Men.
The old paternal sword becomes the brave,
Remember us 'mid battle's rage :
And let the blood of tyrant and of slave
Honour the weapon blessed by age.
Then to our humble cottage come ;
With wounds and glory as your pri/.e :
When tyrants have received their doom,
Then, children, come to close our eyes.
Come, brethren, the Republic calls, etc.
A Child.
We envy Viala's and Barra's lot ;
Victors were they, though doomed to bleed :
Weighed down by years, the coward liveth not ;
Who dies for freedom, lives indeed.
With you we would alldangers brave.
Lead us against our tyrants then :
None is a child except the slave,
While all republicans are men.
Come, brethren, the Republic calls, etc.
A Wife.
Husbands, rejoicing, seek the plain of death,
As patterns for all warriors shine ;
Flowers will we pluck t<> make the victor's wn-at
( hir hands the laurel crown willtuine.
72 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
When, your blest manes to receive,
Fame shall her portals open fling,
Still in our songs your names shall live,
From us shall your avengers spring.
Come, brethren, the Republic calls, etc.
A Young Girl.
We, who know nought of Hymen's gentle fire,
But sisters of your heroes are,
We bid you, citizens, if you desire
With us our destiny to share,
Radiant with liberty to come,
And glory purchased with your blood,
The joyful record bringing home
Of universal brotherhood.
Come, brethren, the Republic calls, etc.
Three Warriors.
Here, before God, upon our s\vords we swear
To all who crown this life with joy,
To mothers, sisters, wives, and children dear,
The foul oppressor to destroy.
Into the black abyss of night
Hurled every guilty king shall be ;
France o'er the world shall spread the light
Of endless peace and liberty.
Come, brethren, the Republic calls, etc.
NAPOLEON, COMMANDER OK THE ARMY OF ITALY.
From an engraving by J. B. L. Massard, Kils, after J. B. F. MASSAKII
Paris, 1 80 1.
THF BATTLE OF LODI.
IT was at one time a question in Napoleon's mind
whether he would take side with the Royalists, or with
the Republicans. He witnessed the awful scenes of the
twentieth of June, and, again, the bloody tenth of August.
Upon the latter occasion he is said to have spoken boldly
against the weak defense made by the King and his
party, and to have asserted how, had he been in com-
mand, he would have destroyed the cowardly mob that
assailed the Tuileries; and he proved, afterwards, on the
1 3th Vendemaire, that he was capable of doing that
very thing. " Had I been a general officer," he said.
" I might have adhered to the Court party ; a sub-
lieutenant, I sided with the Revolution." He took n<>
active part in the terrible work of the Revolution, as it
was carried on throughout the nation. He was a soldier,
pure and simple, and obeyed the governing power, what-
ever it might be, in fighting to protect France. In 1793
he was named by the Committee of Public Safety a>
commander of the artillery at the siege of Toulon, and
it was there he first demonstrated the military genius he
possessed, and which, eleven years afterwards, placed him
upon the throne of France and made him master of
Europe.
After the engagement at Toulon, Napoleon, for a time.
74 -I METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
dropped out of public sight, as any great factor in the
history then being made. Arrested as a suspect and
thrown into prison he barely escaped losing his head
upon the scaffold. Released, only to be degraded in the
army, he resigned his commission and seriously thought
of offering his services to Turkey. Wandering around
Paris, without money and with no prospects in view, the
two years following Toulon were not uneventful ones in
the life of the future Emperor. Fate was about to offer
and he was about to grasp the opportunity of his life.
In October, 1795, the Sections arose against the National
Convention and the new constitution and, joined by the
National Guard, the mob of Paris was about to try its
strength once more against the recognised government.
That government was a weak one ; its military comman-
der proved himself wholly incapable of coping with the
situation. The five thousand troops under his command,
were no match for the fortv thousand moving against
s G O
them. It looked as though the Palace of the Tuileries
was again to be drenched with the blood of its defenders,
the existing government overthrown and its members
sent to the guillotine. In sheer desperation, and as a last
resort, the command of the government troops was offered
to Napoleon, then a mere youth of twenty-five years of
age. lie accepted the commission; but only upon con-
dition that he was to have the absolute control and man-
agement of the whole affair and was not to be interfered
o
with in any way by the Convention. The result is a well
known matter of history. With his five thousand mus-
kets ami his park of artillery, saved only by the rapidity
THK BATTLE OF LODI. 75
of his action from the hands of the insurgents, he deluged
the streets of Paris with blood. His argument with a
mob grapeshot prevailed. France was saved, and
Napoleon was one round nearer the top of the ladder.
It was at this period Napoleon first met Josephine. A
combination of love and ambition urged his suit forward,
and, after a brief courtship, they were married by a civil
contract, on the sixth of March, 1796. There can be little
doubt that this marriage brought to Napoleon, as a wed-
ding gift from Barras, the command of the Army of Italy.
That command sent him to a field where he achieved
some of his most brilliant successes. Concerning his
marriage, he himself, is authority for the statement that
his union with Josephine started hi-n on the road to the
throne of France ; while his divorce from her started him
on the road to St. Helena. Montenottc, Milessimo, Lodi,
Arcola, and Rivoli were but a few of the wonderful
battles fought and won by this youthful warrior, with his
ragged and hungry army pitted against the skilled and
veteran generals of Austria and Sardinia. His attacks in
front and in rear, on the right and on the left flank, were too
rapid an innovation in the art of war for the slow old book
warriors of the past.
The following poem is the only one we have been able
to obtain in the English language, touching upon any
part of the first Italian Campaign. It has no particular
merit, and was written, evidently, after the author had
read Campbell's " Hohenlinden," and in imitation <>f that
we'll known poem.
76 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
THE BATTLE OF LODI.
JULIA AUGUSTA MAVNARD.
The signals giv'n ! Impatient neigh
The snorting chargers at the cry
Which calls proud Austria forth to-day,
To " charge with all her chivalry."
Hark to the deep and muffled drum !
Announcing death so near at hand ;
The foe ! the foe ! they onward come ;
May heaven uphold the Austrian band !
Mark ye, the eagle standards wave
Above the torrent's crimson tide !
Oh ! mark ye how for glory's grave
Those gallant horsemen forward ride !
Two despots meet ; the one by right
Defends what ages make his own ;
The other, in the pride of might,
Stands forth all-conquering and alone.
This last, upon the battle-field,
With eye which beams with living fire,
Arm'd with a dread and puissant shield.
Defies the German's wildest ire.
Yon bridge, where slaughter yet unsate,
Still revels in its gory bed,
Groans now beneath the growing weight
Of living dying and of dead.
'T is o'er ! and France foredoom'd to sway
Where'er her flashing eagle shone,
Hears the proud victor named that day
In victory's shout " Napoleon ! "
PETIT JEAN.
UPON Napoleon's return to Paris, after his first Italian
campaign, he was received with the wildest enthusiasm
by the people, and the Directory presented him with a
splendid standard on which was the following inscription,
which inscription told, in a few words, the history of the
campaign : " He has defeated five armies, triumphed in
eighteen battles and sixty seven combats. Taken prisoners
one hundred and fifty thousand toldiers of the enemy.
He has sent one hundred and sixty standards of the
enemy to the different military establishments of France ;
one thousand one hundred and fifty pieces of cannon to
the arsenals; two hundred millions of francs to the trea-
sury ; fifty-one ships of war to the ports; treasures of art
and literature to the galleries and libraries. He has signed
nine treaties, all of great advantage to the Republic. He
has given liberty to eighteen communities or nations."
Unmoved by the plaudits and deaf to all the acclama-
tions with which he was surrounded. Napoleon thought
only of vaster schemes and more wonderful achievements.
From his boyhood days the East had possessed for him a
charm he could not shake off. Even in disgrace, he had
thought of offering his services to Turkey, and now,
encouraged by the victories he had won at Lodi and Ar-
cola, he allowed his mind to be dazzled with the possibility
of fulfilling his childhood's dream of building up an em-
77
78 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
pire in the East, which would surpass all others of ancient
or modern times. The Directory, becoming jealous of
the popularity of the young general, and willing to remove
him from Paris and from France, listened to his arguments
in favour of sending an expedition to Egypt, and in less
than six months after his return from Italy he was on his
way to the land of the Pharaohs. On July I, 1798, the
shores of Egypt loomed up in sight and on the same
evening the disembarkation of the troops commenced,
which continued all the night. Early the next morning
and while the army was still being landed, Napoleon at
the. head of three thousand men marched against the city
of Alexandria, but a short distance away, and after a few
hours conflict, his first Egyptian victory was won. Leav-
ing Kleber with a small force at Alexandria, Napoleon
with the rest of his army set out to cross the desert to
Cairo. After five days of terrible suffering the Nile was
reached, and on the morning of the twenty-first of July,
just as the sun was showing itself above the horizon,
Cairo appeared in sight upon the opposite bank of the
river, and away to the right, out upon the trackless waste
of sands, appeared those mighty monuments of unknown
antiquity, the Pyramids, and their equally ancient and
faithful sentinel, the Sphinx. Ten thousand Mameluke
horsemen were between the French army and the base of
these hoary giants of the Past ; and here was fought the
battle, _ which in one day made Napoleon master of all
Egypt. The valour of the French army, the drummer
boy as well as the veteran, was tried and proved at the
famous battle of the Pyramids.
PETIT JEAN. 79
PETIT JEAX.
(At the battle of the Pyramids, July 21, 1798.)
MARY A. HARK.
Up rose the sun o'er Egypt's tents.
O'er Egypts pyramids and sands,
O'er fierce and fiery Mamelukes,
And o'er Napoleon's veteran bands ;
The palms stood still in the hot air,
The sad and silent Sphinx looked on,
While over all the Afric sun
In burning, blinding splendour shone.
The Mamelukes fretted on their steeds,
Their cimeters all bright and bare ;
The French stood grimly watching them.
Napoleon in the centre square.
He pointed to the Pyramids:
" Comrades, from those grand heights, I say,
The brave of forty centuries
Will watch you draw your swords to-day !
They answered him with ringing shouts,
And ere the echoes died away,
The van, like a tornado, charged,
Led by the brave and bold Dcsaix.
Then while the trusty " Forty-third "
Stood waiting for the word to charge,
They saw their little drummer-boy
Come from the column of Dufarge.
With tottering steps and bleeding breast,
But bravely beating still his drum,
He said with sad and tearful face,
" O Forty-third, to ym I Ve come ;
8O A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
I 've come to you, my regiment,
For nothing but a child am I ;
I Ve come to you, my comrades brave,
That you may teach me how to die !
" I '11 never shame you, Forty-third ;
I want to be as brave and true ;
I want to die as brave men die,
So tell a poor child what to do."
Then Regnier gnawed his long gray beard
And Joubert turned his head away :
The lad had been the pet of all,
And now they knew not what to say,
Till Regnier kissed the boy, and spoke :
" Our Petit Jean, I see 't is plain
Your place is with the Forty-third ;
So beat us now the charge again,
Then follow, and we'll show you how
Death comes unto the soldier brave.
Comrades, salute the nine-year-old,
Who '11 bravely fill a soldier's grave ! "
The men's hearts glowed like living coals,
And Regnier cried, " Why do we stay?'
And to the roll of the little drum
They rode upon their vengeful way ;
But each one as he passed the child
His sword with earnest purpose drew,
And cried in brave or tender tones,
" Mon Petit Jean, Adieu ! Adieu ! "
" I come, my regiment, I come ! "
But never Petit Jean again
PETIT JEAN. 8 1
His drum beat for the Forty-third ;
They found him lying with the slain.
They put the medal on his breast,
Together clasped his childish hands,
And dug, with many a bitter tear,
A grave for him in Egypt's sands.
'T is near a century ago
But still his memory is green ;
The Regiment has not a name
So dear as that of Petit Jean ;
And many a weary soldier has
To brave and noble deeds been stirred
By the tale of the little nine-year-old
Who died among the Forty-third.
NAPOLEON AND THE SPHINX.
AFTER the decisive battle of the Pyramids, Napoleon
entered Cairo with great pomp and enstalled himself in
the magnificent palace of Mourad Bey. After restoring
order and attending to the wants of the people ; with his
gallant army comfortably encamped around the walls of
the city, and with his mind filled with gigantic schemes
for the future glory of his country, this wonderful man,
not yet thirty years of age, rode out one day, unattended,
to view those everlasting monuments, from whose summits
forty centuries had looked down upon the terrific struggle
just ended beneath their very shadows. Sitting motion-
less upon his horse in front of the mysterious Sphinx,
one does not have to stretch fancy very far in order to
picture the following scene.
NAPOLEON AND THE SPHINX.
CHARI.KS MACKAV.
Beneath him stretched the sands of Egypt's burning
lands,
The desert panted to the sweltering ray ;
The camel's plashing feet, with slow, uneasy beat,
Threw up the scorching dust like arrowy spray,
And fierce the sunlight glow'd as young Napoleon rode
Around the Gallic cam]), companionless that day.
82
NAPOLEON AND THE SPHINX. 83
High thoughts were in his mind, unspoken to his kind ;
Calm was his face his eyes were blank and chill ;
His thin lips were compress'd ; the secrets of his breast
Those portals never pass'd, for good or ill ;
And dreaded yet adored his hand upon his sword,
He mused on destiny, to shape it to his will.
" Ye haughty Pyramids ! thou Sphinx ! whose eyeless
lids
On my presumptuous youth seem bent in scorn,
What though thou hast stood coeval with the flood
Of all earth's monuments the earliest born ;
And I so mean and small, with armies at my call,
And recent in thy sight as grass of yester-morn !
" Yet in this soul of mine is strength as great as thine,
O dull-eyed Sphinx, that wouldst despise me now ;
Is grandeur like thine own, O melancholy stone.
With forty centuries furrow'd on thy brow:
Deep in my heart I feel what time shall yet reveal,
That I shall tower o'er men, as o'er these deserts thou.
" I shall upbuild a name of never-dying fame,
My deeds shall fill the world with their renown ;
To all succeeding years, the populous hemispheres
Shall pass the record of my glories down ;
And nations yet to be, surging from Time's deep sea,
Shall teach their babes the name of great Napoleon.
" On History's deathless page, from wondering age to age
New light and reverence o'er that name shall glow.
My deeds already clone, are histories begun,
Whose great conclusions centuries shall not know.
O melancholy Sphinx ! Present with future links,
And both shall vet be mine. I feel it as I go.''
84 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEOX.
Over the mighty chief a shadow came of grief,
The lips gigantic seem'd to move and say
" Knovv'st thou his name that bid arise yon Pyramid?
Know'st thou who placed me where I stand to-day?
Thy deeds are but as sand, strewn on the heedless land ;
Think, little mortal, think! and pass upon thy way! "
" Pass, little mortal, pass ! grow like the vernal grass,
The autumn sickle shall destroy thy prime.
Bid nations shout the word which ne'er before they
heard,
The name of Glory, fearful yet sublime.
The Pharaohs are forgot, their works confess them not ;
Pass, Hero ! pass ! poor straw upon the gulf of time."
THE BATTLE OF THE NILE.
IN the midst of success and prosperity, and at the very
dawn of the brightest day that had appeared to the
Egyptians in centuries, Napoleon lost all. Through the
negligence of Admiral Brueys, in not obeying his instruc-
tions, the whole French fleet was destroyed in the bay of
Aboukir, exactly ten days after the brilliant victory won
at the battle of the Pyramids. Well might Nelson and
the English nation shout for joy. Well might Napoleon
exclaim with undescribable emotion : " Brueys, what have
you done ! "
THE BATTLE OF THE NILE.
WILLIAM I.ISI.K KOWI.KS.
Shout ! for the Lord hath triumphed gloriously !
Upon the shores of that renowned land,
Where erst his mighty arm and outstretched hand
He lifted high,
And dashed, in pieces dashed the enemy ;
Upon that ancient coast,
Where Pharaoh's chariot and his host
He cast into the deep,
Whilst o'er their silent pomp) he bid the swollen sea to
sweep ;
Upon that eastern shore,
That saw his awful arm revealed of yore,
Again hath he arisen, and opposed
His foes' defying vaunt : o'er them the deep hath closed !
S5
86 A METRICAL HISTOKY OF XAPOLEON.
Shades of mighty chiefs of yore,
Who triumphed on the self-same shore :
Ammon, who first o'er ocean's empire wide
Didst bid the bold bark stem the roaring tide ;
o
Sesac, who from the cast to farthest west
Didst rear thy pillars over realms subdued ;
And thou, whose bones do rest
In the huge pyramid's dim solitude,
Beneath the uncouth stone,
Thy name and deeds unknown ;
And Philip's glorious son,
With conquest flushed, for fields and cities won ;
And thou, imperial Cresar, whose sole sway
The long-disputed world at length confessed,
When on these shores thy bleeding rival lay !
Oh, could ye, starting from your long, cold rest,
Burst Death's oblivious trance,
And once again with plumed pride advance,
How would ye own your fame surpassed,
And on the sand your trophies cast,
When, the storm of conflict o'er,
And ceased the burning battle's roar,
o
Beneath the morning's orient light,
Ye saw, with sails all swelling white,
Britain's proud fleet, to many a joyful cry,
Ride o'er the rolling surge in awful sovereignty !
Calm breathed the airs along the evening bay,
Where, all in warlike pride,
The Gallic squadron stretched its long array ;
And o'er the tranquil tide
With beauteous bend the streamers waved on high.
But ah ! how changed the scene ere night descends !
Hark to the shout that heaven's high concave rends!
Hark to that dvincr crv !
' THE BA TTLE OF THE NILE. 87
Whilst louder yet the cannon's roar
Resounds along the Nile's affrighted shore,
Where from his oozy bed,
The cowering crocodile hath raised his head !
What bursting flame
Lightens the long track of the gleaming brine ?
From yon proud ship it came,
That towered the leader of the hostile line !
Now loud explosion rends the midnight air !
Heard ye the last deep groaning of despair?
Heaven's fiery cope unwonted thunders fill,
Then with one dreadful pause, earth, air, and seas are
still !
But now the mingled fight
Begins its awful strife again !
Through the dun shades of night
Along the darkly heaving main
Is seen the frequent flash ;
And many a towering mast with dreadful crash
Rings falling. Is the scene of slaughter o'er?
Is the death-cry heard no more ?
Lo ! where the east a glimmering freckle streaks,
Slow o'er the shadowy wave the gray dawn breaks.
Behold, O sun, the flood
Strewed with the dead, and dark with blood !
Behold, all scattered on the rocking tide,
The wrecks of haughty Gallia's pride !
But Britain's floating bulwarks, with serene
And silent pomp, amid the deathful scene
Move glorious, and more beautiful display
Their ensigns streaming to thy orient ray.
Awful Genius of the land !
Who (thy reign of glory closed)
88 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
By marble wrecks, half hid with sand,
Hast mournfully reposed ;
Who long amid the wasteful desert wide,
Hast loved with deathlike stillness to abide ;
Or wrapped in tenfold gloom,
From noise of human things for ages hid,
Hast sat upon the shapeless tomb
In the forlorn and dripping pyramid ;
Awake ! Arise !
Though thou behold the day no more
That saw thy pride and pomp of yore ;
Though, like the sounds that in the morning ray
Trembled and died away
From Memnon's statue ; though, like these, the voice
That bade thy vernal plains rejoice,
The voice of Science, is no longer heard ;
And all thy gorgeous state hath disappeared :
Yet hear, with triumph, and with hope again,
The shouts of joy that swell from thy forsaken main !
CASABIANCA.
MANY deeds of heroism are recorded to the credit of
both the French and the English sailors who took part in
the battle of the Nile. Admiral Brueys paid with his life
the penalty for his lack of judgment and his failure to
obey the instructions given him, and fell, fighting gal-
lantly, upon the quarter-deck of his vessel. Nelson,
though seriously hurt, refused to have his wounds at-
tended to until every seaman who had been carried below
before him had been taken care of. But of all the heroes
of that day, young Casabianca, the son of the commander
of the Orient, stands at the head. A lad of about thir-
teen years of age, he had displayed the utmost activity
and courage during the engagement. Just before the fire
broke out, which destroyed his vessel, the Commander
Casabianca, mortally wounded, had been carried into the
gun-room. His son, not knowing of the fate which had
overtaken his father, refused to leave his post, even after
the fire had completely enveloped the vessel, until in-
formed that his father was dying, when he at once ran to
his side. No threat, no command could move him from
that place, and when the fire reached the magazine and
the Orient blew up, father and son went down to a
noble grave, locked in each other's arms. Mrs. Hemans,
although not adhering strictly to history, has immortal-
ised young Casabianca's heroism.
89
9O A METRICAL JI1 STORY OF NAPOLEON.
CASABIANCA.
FELICIA HEMANS.
The boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled ;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck-
Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm ;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud though childlike form.
The flames rolled on ; he would not go
Without his father's word ;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.
He called aloud, " Say, father, say,
If yet my task be done? "
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.
" Speak, father! " once again he cried,
" If I may yet be gone ! "
And but the booming shots replied
And fast the flames rolled on.
Upon his brow lie felt their breath,
And in his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death
In still yet brave despair;
And shouted but once more aloud,
" My father ! must I stay ! "
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
o
The wreathing fires made way.
CASABIANCA. 91
They wrapt the ship in splendour wild.
They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.
Then came a burst of thunder sound ;
The boy Oh ! where was he?
Ask of the winds, that far around
With fragments strewed the sea
With shroud and mast and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part
But the noblest thing that perished there
Was that young faithful heart.
NAPOLEON IN BIVOUAC.
ALTHOUGH the result of the battle of the Nile was a
fatal blow to the hopes of Napoleon of ever being able
to carry out, to a successful issue, his cherished schemes
concerning the establishment of a mighty empire in the
East, yet he did not relinquish the idea of doing a great
work there. The gallant Desaix was sent in pursuit of
Mourad Bey, and soon he had possession of all Upper
Egypt, over which Napoleon made him Governor. The
French scientists minutely examined and made record of
every object of interest to be found in the country of the
old Pharaohs. Napoleon, in person, inspected the pro-
posed route of a canal at Suez, to connect the Mediter-
ranean with the Red Sea, and it was at the identical spot
where tradition tells us the children of Israel crossed the
Red Sea that he and his party were nearly drowned by
the rising tide. " Had I perished there like Pharaoh,"
he said, '' it would have furnished all the preachers in
Christendom with a magnificent text against me." Then
followed the battle of Mount Tabor, the siege of Acre,
and the glorious victory at Aboukir. Master of Egypt,
his work done, so far as it lay in his power to accomplish
it, in sight of Pompey's Pillar and Cleopatra's Needle,
surrounded by the shades of those heroes who made
ancient history famous, Napoleon, sitting before his tent
NAPOLEON IN BIVOUAC. 93
with a map of the world on his knees, falls asleep, to
dream, perchance, of future glory and the wondrous fate
still to be his.
NAPOLEON IN BIVOUAC.
FERDINAND FREIUGRATH.
A watch-fire on a sandy waste
Two trenches arms in stack
A pyramid of bayonets
Napoleon's bivouac !
Yonder the stately grenadiers
Of Kleber's vanguard see !
The general to inspect them sits
Close by the blaze sits he.
Upon his weary knee the chart,
There, by the glowing heap,
Softly the mighty Bonaparte
Sinks, like a child to sleep.
And stretched on cloak and cannon,
His soldiers, too, sleep well,
And, leaning on his musket, nods
The very sentinel.
Sleep on, ye weary warriors, sleep !
Sleep out your last hard fight !
Mute, shadowy sentinels shall keep
\Yatch round your trench to-night.
Let Murad's horsemen dash along !
Let man and steed come on !
To guard your line stalks many a strong
And stalwart Champion.
94 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
A Mede stands guard, who with you rode
When you from Thebes marched back,
Who after King Cambyses strode,
Hard in his chariot's track.
A stately Macedonian
Stands sentry by your line,
Who saw on Ammon's plain the crown
Of Alexander shine.
And, lo ! another spectre !
Old Nile has known him well;
An Admiral of Caesar's fleet,
Who under Caesar fell.
The graves of earth's old lords, who sleep
Beneath the desert sands,
Send forth their dead, his guard to keep,
Who now the world commands.
They stir, they wake, their places take
Around the midnight flame;
The sand and mould I see them shake
From many a mail-clad frame.
I see the ancient armour gleam
With wild and lurid light ;
Old, bloody purple mantles stream
Out on the winds of ni.
A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
And thou, Napoleon, if thy mighty sword
Shall for thy people conquer new renown ;
Go, Europe shall attest, thy heart preferr'd
The modest olive to the laurel crown.
But thee, lov'd chief, to new achievements bold
The aroused spirit of the soldier calls ;
Speak ! and Vienna cowering shall behold
Our banners waving o'er her prostrate walls.
THE GRENADIER'S ADIEU TO THE CAMP AT
BOULOGNE.
THE now coalition between England, Austria, and Rus-
sia, was first known to Napoleon when he heard that the
Austrian and Russian armies were actually in the field
advancing rapidly towards the frontiers of Erance. No
declaration of war had been proclaimed. His enemies
thought to catch the " Little Corporal " napping, but how
fatal their mistake. No sooner was Napoleon apprised of
what was going on than the camp at Boulogne was broken
up and the Grand Army was sweeping like a whirlwind
over Erance and towards the rear of the Austrian army.
'' During the long continuance of the Erench encamp-
ment at Boulogne, the troops had formed, as it were, a
romantic town of huts. Every hut had a garden sur-
rounding it, kept in neat order, and stocked with vegetables
and flowers. They had, besides, fowls, pigeons, and rab-
bits ; and these, with a cat and a dog, generally formed
the little household of every soldier." It was upon the
subject of the departure of the army from Boulogne that
a length}' poem was written, by a combination of authors
consisting of Barre, Rodet, and Desfontaines. The fol-
lowing is the only translated extract from the poem we
have been able to find.
171
1/2 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
THE GRENADIER'S ADIEU TO THE CAMP AT BOULOGNE.
BAKRE, RODKI, and DKSFONTAINES.
The drum is beating, we must march.
We 're summon'd to another field,
A field that to our conq'ring swords
Shall soon a laurel harvest yield.
If English folly light the torch
Of war in Germany again,
The loss is theirs, the gain is ours,
March ! march ! commence the bright campaign.
There, only by their glorious deeds
Our chiefs and gallant bands are known ;
There, often have they met their foes,
And victory was all their own :
There* hostile ranks, at our approach,
Prostrate beneath our feet shall bow ;
There, smiling conquest waits to twine
A laurel wreath round every brow.
Adieu, my pretty turf-built hut !
Adieu, my little garden too !
I made, I deck'd you all myself,
And I am loth to part with you ;
But since my arms I must resume,
And leave your comforts all behind,
Upon the hostile frontier soon
My tent shall flutter in the wind.
My pretty fowls and doves, adieu !
Adieu, my playful cat, to thee !
Who every morning round me came,
And were my little family.
THE GRENADIER'S ADIEU TO THE CAMP. 173
But thee, my dog, I shall not leave,
No, thou shalt ever follow me,
Shalt share my toils, shalt share my fame,
For thou art called Victory.
But no farewell I bid to you,
Ye praams, and boats, who, o'er the wave,
Were doom'd to waft to England's shore
Our hero chiefs, our soldiers brave.
To you, good gentlemen of Thames,
Soon, soon our visit shall be paid,
Soon, soon your merriment be o'er,
'T is but a few short hours delayed.
TRAFALGAR.
TlIE plans formed by Napoleon to surprise and annihi-
late the Austrian army were, in every detail, successful.
It was early in September, 1805, that the French army
broke camp at Boulogne, and on the twentieth of October,
following, General Mack surrendered with his whole army
at Ulm. In less than two months the proud Austrian
army, that had thought to catch the mighty Emperor off
his guard, was itself caught in a most fatal snare and com-
pletely destroyed. Over fifty thousand prisoners were
taken by the victors, without even a battle of any moment
being fought, and with a total loss to the French army of
less than twenty-five hundred men. As an old French
Grenadier remarked, Napoleon had invented a new art of
war in making his soldiers win victories with their legs
instead of with their bayonets.
The wonderful success of Napoleon in this most re-
markable campaign was considerably dampened by the
overwhelming defeat of Admiral Villeneuve by Lord
Nelson at Trafalgar. Had the naval forces of France
in those days been commanded by the brains which led
her armies on from victory to victory, the result at Trafal-
gar might have been different and the descent on England
would, in all probability, have been successfully accom-
plished. The battle of Trafalgar was fought on tin-
174
LORD NELSON.
From an engraving by |. Skelton, after A. \V. Uevis 118051
London, 1849.
TRAFALGAR. 175
twenty-first of October, 1805. The death of Nelson
made the victory a dear one for England, but it put
an end to any further attempt at invasion on the part of
Napoleon. An interesting account of the death of Ville-
neuve is given by O'Meara in what purports to be Napo-
leon's story of how the Admiral met his end. O'Meara
makes Napoleon say : " Villeneuve, afraid of being tried
by court-martial for disobedience of orders, for I had
ordered him not to sail or to engage the English, deter-
mined to destroy himself, and accordingly took his plates
of the heart (he had been studying Anatomy with this
purpose in view) and compared them with his breast. Ex-
actly on the centre of the plate-, he made a mark with a
large pin, then fixed the pin as near as he could judge in
the same spot in his own breast, shoved it in to the head,
penetrated his heart, and expired. When the room was
opened he was found dead ; the pin in his breast, and
a mark in the plate corresponding with the wound in his
breast. He need not have done it, as he was a brave
man, though possessed of no talent."
TRAFALGAR.
YVll.I.lA.M (.'. Hi NN1- I 1 .
Northwest the wind was blowing
Our good ships running free ;
Seven leagues lay Cape Trafalgar
Away upon our lee ;
'T was thru, as broke the morning.
The Frenchmen we descried,
East away, there they lay,
That dav that Nelson died.
A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
That was a sight to see, boys,
On which that morning shone ;
We counted three-and-thirty,
Mounseer and stately Don ;
And plain their great three-deckers
Amongst them we descried,
" Safe," we said, " for Spithead,"
That clay that Nelson died.
Then Nelson spoke to Hardy,
Upon his face the smile,
The very look he wore when
We beat them at the Nile !
" \Ve must have twenty, Hardy,"
'T was thus the hero cried ;
And we had twenty, lads,
That day that Nelson died.
Up went his latest signal ;
Ah, well, my boys, he knew
That not a man among us
But would his duty do !
And as the signal flew, boys,
With shouts each crew replied ;
How we cheered as we neared
The foe, when Nelson died !
We led the weather column,
But Collingwood, ahead,
A mile from all, the lee line
Right through the Frenchmen led ;
" And what would Nelson give to
Be here with us ! " he cried,
As he bore through their roar
That dav that Nelson died.
TRAFALGAR. 177
Well, on the Victory stood, boys.
With every sail full spread ;
And as we neared them slowly
There was but little said.
There were thoughts of home amongst us.
And as their line we eyed.
Here and there, perhaps, a prayer,
That day that Nelson died.
A gun, the Bncentanrc first
Began with us the game ;
Another, then their broadsides
From all sides through us came ;
With men fast falling round us,
While not a gun replied,
With sails rent, on we went,
That day that Nelson died.
" Steer for their admiral's flag, boys ! "
But where it flew none knew ;
" Then make for that four-decker,"
Said Nelson, " men, she '11 do ! "
So, at their Trinidada,
To get we straightway tried,
o o ^
As we broke through their smoke,
That day that Nelson died.
'T was where they clustered thickest
That through their line we broke.
And to their Bnccntaitre first
Our thundering broadside spoke.
We shaved her ; as our shot, boys,
Crashed through her shattered side.
She could feel how to keel.
That dav that Nelson died.
1/8 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEOX,
Into the Don's four-decker
Our larboard broadsides pour.
Though all we well could spare her
Went to the Bnccntaurc.
Locked to another Frenchman,
Our starboard fire we plied,
Gun to gun till we won.
That day that Nelson died.
Redoubtable they call her,
A curse upon her name!
'T was from her tops the bullet
That killed our hero came ;
As from the deck, with Hardy,
The bloody fight he eyed,
And could hear cheer on cheer,
As they struck, that clay he died.
41 The\- Ye done for me at last, friend !"
'T was thus the}- heard him say,
" But as I die as I would die, boys,
Upon this glorious day ;
I Ye done my duty, Hard}','
He cried, and still he cried,
As below, sad and slow,
We bore him as he died.
On wounded and on dying
The cockpit's lamp shone dim ;
But man}' a groan we heard, lads,
Less for themselves than him.
And man}- a one among them
Had given, and scarcely sighed,
A limb to save him
Who there in glory died.
TRAFALGAR. 179
As slowly life ebbed from him
His thoughts were still the same :
" Ho\v many have \ve now, boys ? "
Still faint and fainter came.
As ship on ship struck to us
His glazing eyes with pride,
As it seemed, flashed and gleamed,
As he knew he conquering died.
We beat them how, you know, boys,
Yet many an eye was dim ;
And when we talked of triumph,
We only thought of him.
And still, though fifty years, boys.
Have gone, who, without pride,
Names his name. tells his fame,
Who at Trafalgar died !
BEFORE AUSTERLITZ.
Ox the thirteenth of November, 1805, Napoleon en-
tered Vienna, and from there set out, at once, upon that
other campaign, which was to end so gloriously for him
at Austerlitz. With Austria and Russia in the field
against him, with a combined force greatly outnumbering
his own ; with Prussia ready at the news of his first de-
feat to put two hundred thousand soldiers in his rear,
cutting off his retreat and leaving him hundreds of leagues
from his own capital ; with England sending her money
and her men to aid in crushing him, Napoleon was at this
time in a very critical position. But his enemies again
made the fatal mistake of thinking they could catch him
asleep, and dearly did they pay for their blunder. On the
evening of the first of December, as he looked over the field
of Austerlitz and took in at a glance the plan of the Rus-
sians, he confidently said: "To-morrow before nightfall
that army shall be my own." On the morning of the
second of December, 1805, the " Sun of Austerlitz " arose,
and before it went clown Napoleon had proven the truth
of his words of the night before. It was the first anni-
versary of his coronation, and he celebrated it by one of
the most brilliant victories of his whole military career.
Austria went down at Ulm, and Austerlitz forced Russia
to the wall. The coalition was destroyed and peace was
once more in sight.
i So
BEFORE AUSTERL1TZ. l8l
BEFORE AUSTEKLITZ.
\\'ALTKR THORNBVRY.
December dawn through frosty fogs
The sun strove hard to shine,
A rolling of the muster drums
Was heard along the line ;
In simple grey the Corporal
Rode with his head bent down,
More like a savan than the man
Who won an Emperor's crown.
He looked at Soult, and raised his hand,
And stood godlike upright,
Then all at once a silence fell
As deep and hushed as night.
Ten thousand faces turned at once
Like flowers unto the sun
Each gunner, with his lighted match.
Stood silent by his gun.
" One year to-day, my sons, you placed
The crown upon my head."
(We saw his coal-black eye was fired,
His yellow cheek grew red),
'' The Tartars yonder want to steal
That iron crown you gave,
And will you let them ? " Tete cle Dieu !
The shout the soldiers gave !
Six hundred cannon bellowed, '' No ! "
The eagles waved and then
There came the earthquake clamouring
( )f a hundred thousand men.
In waves of sound the grenadiers
(,'ried. " Vive 1'Empereur ! " at once,
1 82 A METRICAL HISTOKY OF NAPOLEON.
And fires broke out along the line,
Like Lapland's midnight suns.
" Soldiers, a thunderbolt must fall
Upon the Tartar's head,
Your Emperor will be this day
Victorious or dead.
My children, where the eagle flies
Is (who dare doubt it ?) France ;
To-day we '11 light the bivouac fire
With Russia's broken lance."
A grizzled giant, old Daru,
Looked round him with a frown-
He wore upon his broad bull chest
The order of the " Crown."
" To-morrow, Sire, those Russian flags
In sheaves we hope to bring,
And lay them at our Emperor's feet,
A bouquet for a King."
AUSTERLITZ.
He stood before me stern and grey,
A soldier of the Empire gone ;
And while we viewed that field whose name
Shines brightest in his country's farm-,
To speak its tale went on.
" My fire of life is nearly fled,
Yet though it feebly flits,
Still must I view with kindling eye,
And heart with pride pulsating high,
The field of Austerlitz.
AUSTEKLIT7.. 183
" Once more I see the serried lines,
The Bergen lanciers red ;
Their pennons floating broad and gay,
Their horses, that impatient neigh,
And Murat at their head.
" And onward still from rank to rank,
With speed of lightning flame,
With viva wild and ringing cheer,
And echo answer far and clear,
Was passed the Emperor's name.
" One moment and his proud eye roved
Far o'er that columned throng,
One moment, and the next he spoke
With voice that wavered not nor broke
Unto each phalanx long.
" ' Soldiers, I know your courage high,
I know it were but vain
To praise that spirit which hath won,
'Neath Alpine skies and Egypt's sun,
For France such glorious name.
" ' And that the glory on our flag,
Is glory that never flits,
Behold,' he said, ' in yonder sky,
'Xeath which our eagles proudly fly,
The Sun of Austerlitz ! '
" He spoke the truth, as ever then ;
For e'er that sun went clown,
Proud Austria was a crushed thing ;
Her laws as nothing, and her king
A beggar for his crown."
ODE TO THE COLUMN OF NAPOLEON.
SOON after the victory at Austerlitz peace was declared
and Napoleon was at liberty once more to return to his
beloved Paris. There he devoted himself, with all the
force of his mighty genius, to the creation of those mag-
nificent works of art and of public utility which stamp his
name on the history of France even to this day. Out of
the cannon taken from his enemies, he constructed that
noble monument in the Place Vendome, which told so
vividly the exploits of the Grand Army ; to whose fidelity
and courage it was consecrated.
ODE TO THE COLUMN OF NAPOLEON.
VICTOR HUGO.
On the foundation that his glory laid,
With indestructible materials made,
Alike secure from ruin and from rust,
Before whose might all monuments are dust,
The eternal Column, towering far on high,
Presents Napoleon's throne unto the sky.
Well deemed the hero, when his sovereign hand,
Fatigued with war, the lasting trophy planned,
That civil discord would retire in shame
Before the vast memorial of his name ;
And that the nation would forget to praise
The deeds of those who shone in ancient day.-..
184
ODE TO THE COLUMN OF NAPOLEON. l8;
Around the earth his veterans he had led,
O'er smoking fields encumbered with the dead,
And from the presence of that host so true
Armies and kings in wild confusion flew,
Leaving their ponderous cannon on the plain,
A prey to him and his victorious train !
Then, when the fields of France again were trod
By him who came triumphant as a god,
Bearing the spoils of the defeated world,
He came mid joyous cries and flags unfurled,
Welcome as eagle to her infant brood
That waits on mountain-top its daily food !
But he, intent on his stupendous aims.
Straightway proceeds to where the furnace flames ;
And while his troops, with haste and zealous glow,
The massive ordnance in the caldron throw.
He to the meanest artisan unfolds
His plans to form the fashion of the moulds.
Then to the war he led his troops once more,
And from the foe the palm of conquest bore ;
He drove the opponent armies from the plain,
And seized their dread artillery again,
As good material for the Column high,
Built to perpetuate his memory !
Such was his task! The roaring culvcrin.
The spur, the sabre, and the mortar's din,
These were his earliest sports till Egypt gave
Her ancient Pyramids his smile to save ;
Then, when the imperial crown adorned his brow,
He raised the monument we reverence now!
1 86 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
He raised that monument ! The grandest age
Which e'er the historian's annals might engage
Furnished the subject, and the end of time
Shall boast that emblem of his course sublime,
Where Rhine and Tiber rolled in crimson flood,
And the tall snow-capped Alps all trembling stood !
For even as the giant race of old
Ossa on Pelion, mount on mountain, rolled,
To scale high heaven's towers, so he has made
His battles serve to help his escalade ;
And thus to gratify his fancy wild,
Wagram, Arcole, on Austerlitz were piled !
The sun unveiled himself in beauty bright,
The eyes of all beamed gladness and delight,
When, with unruffled visage, thou did'st come,
Hero of France ! unto the Place Vendome,
To mark thy Column towering from the ground,
And the four eagles ranged the base around.
'T was then, environed by thy warriors tried,
As erst the Romans flocked to yEmilius' side,
'T was then each child each infant, on whose head
Six summers scarcely had their radiance shed
Murmured applause, and clapped their little hands,
And spied their fathers midst thy serried bands.
Oh, when thou stood'st there, godlike, proud, and great,
Pondering on conquest, majesty, and state,
Who would have thought that e'er the time could be
When a base senate should dishonour thee,
And cavil o'er thine ashes, for Venclome
At least is worthy to become thy tomb !
LOUISA, OUEKN <>K PRUSSIA.
From an engraving by Maria Anne I'.ouilier. after Dahling (1805).
London, 1:507.
THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA'S RIDE.
WHATEVER his inclination may have been, Napoleon was
not to be permitted to rest. Pitt, his greatest enemy, it
is true, was dead, and Fox, his friend, had come into
power in the English Cabinet, but this state of affairs was
not to last. Fox dying, England succeeded in forming a
new coalition between Russia, Prussia, and herself, and
war was again declared against France. Jena. Eylau, and
Friedland, were the answer Napoleon gave to this chal-
lenge, and bitterly did Prussia, especially, pay for her rash
attempt to free herself from the toils of the French con-
queror. But the seed was being sown which was to bring
forth victory and revenge for Prussia and all Germany.
Defeat and humiliation were bringing to the surface those
brave, unflinching spirits that nothing could conquer.
Had Frederick William been endowed with the same
positive mind and courageous heart which Louisa, the
Queen, possessed, the dawn of victory might have come
sooner to that unhappy country. It took such soldiers as
" Old Father Uluchcr " and such indomitable courage as
Louisa possessed to cope with the magic power of Napo-
leon. It is told that at the battle of Jena, when the
Prussian army was routed, the Queen, mounted upon a
superb charger, remained on the field attended only by
three or four of her escort. A band of French hussars
'87
1 88 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON,
seeing her, rushed forward at full galop, and with drawn
swords dispersed the little group and pursued her all the
way to Weimar. Had not the horse her Majesty rode
possessed the fleetness of a stag, the fair Queen would
certainly have been captured.
This incident, be it history or not, gave occasion for the
following poem :
THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA'S RIDE.
A. L. A. SMITH.
Fair Queen, away! to thy charger speak,
A band of hussars thy capture seek ;
Oh, haste ! escape ! they are riding this way,
Speak, speak to thy charger without delay ;
They 're nigh.
Behold ! they come at a break-neck pace,
A smile triumphant illumes each face,
Queen of the Prussians, now for a race,
To Weimar for safety fly !
She turned, and her steed with a furious dash,
Over the field like the lightning's flash
Fled.
Away, like an arrow from steel cross-bow,
Over hill and dale in the sun's fierce glow,
The Queen and her enemies thundering go,
On toward Weimar they sped.
The royal courser is swift and brave,
And his royal rider he tries to save,
But, no !
" Vive 1'Empereur ! " rings sharp and clear ;
She turns and is startled to see them so near,
Then softly speaks in her charger's ear.
And awav he bounds like a roe.
THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA'S RIDE. 189
He speeds as though on the wings of the wind,
The Queen's pursuers are left behind.
No more
She fears, though each trooper grasps his reins,
Stands up in his stirrups, strikes spurs and strains ;
For ride as they may, her steed still gains,
And Weimar is just before.
Safe ! the clatter now fainter grows,
She sees in the distance her labouring foes,
The gates of the fortress stand open wide
To welcome the German nation's bride
So dear.
With gallop and dash, into Weimar she goes,
And the gates at once on her enemies close.
Give thanks, give thanks ! she is safe with those
Who hail her with cheer on cheer !
THE GERMAN SONG.
JEXA and Auerstadt were terrible blows to the Prussian
monarchy. In the short space of a month, Napoleon had
all but annihilated Prussia's armies ; had captured all her
principal cities and fortresses, and had entered Berlin in
triumph. With a mere handful of soldiers Frederick
retreated to the utmost confines of his kingdom, there to
await the coming of Alexander and the Russian army.
Everything was in the most dire confusion. The country
was occupied and run over by the victorious French war-
riors ; the glory of Frederick the Great and his Seven
Years' War was as a tradition only, to this once proud
and mighty nation, now bowed to the very dust in woeful
humiliation. But the German poets and song writers
began about this time to do the work, which armed sol-
diers, led by skilled leaders, had failed to accomplish. It
\vas such soul-stirring hymns as the following that united
the Fatherland in the one common cause, which had for
its sole end and object the overthrow of Napoleon :
GERMAN S0\(;.
1 806.
KRNKST MOKIT/. AKNDT.
(.) Hermann ! for thy country's fall
Xo tears! Where vanquished valour bled
190
THE GERMAN SONG. lo,l
The victor rules, and Slavery's pall
Upon these hills and vales is spread.
Shame burns within me, for the brave
Lie mouldering in the freeman's grave.
No voice ! where sturdy Luther spoke
Fearless for men who dared be free !
Oh, would that Heaven's thunder woke
My people for their liberty !
Must heroes fight and die in vain?
Ye cowards, grasp your swords again !
Revenge ! revenge ! a gory shroud
To tyrants, and the slaves that yield !
Eternal honour calls aloud
For courage in the battle-field.
Who loves or fears a conquered land
That bows beneath the despot's hand ?
And whither flee? Where Winkelried
And Tell and Ruyter bravely broke
Oppression's power their country freed
All all beneath the usurper's yoke !
From Alpine fountains to the sea
The patriot dead alone are free.
My people! in this sorrowing night,
The clanking of your chains may be
The sign of vengeance, and the fight
Of former times the world may see,
When Hermann in that storied day
As a wild torrent cleft his way.
No idle song, () youth ! thy boast
In self-born virtue be as one
192 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON,
Who is himself a mighty host
By whose sole arm is victory won.
No blazoned monument so grand
As death for the dear Fatherland.
To die ! how welcome to the brave !
The tomb awakes no coward fear
Save to the wretched, trembling slave
Who for his country sheds no tear.
To crown me with a fadeless wreath
Be thine, O happy, sacred death !
Come, shining sword ! avenge my dead !
Alone canst thou remove this shame.
Proud ornament ! with slaughter red
Restore my native land its fame.
By night, by day, in sun or shade,
Be girt around me, trusty blade.
The trumpet on the morning gale !
Arm ! forward to the bloody strife !
From loftiest mountain to the vale
Asks dying Freedom for her life.
Our standard raise, to glory given,
And higher still our hearts to Heaven.
THE BATTLE OF EYLAU.
HUNDREDS of leagues from the frontiers of France ;
with a long dreary winter before him ; with Russia and
her countless hordes pouring down on him from the north,
to join with Prussia, and what was left of her armies, in
another effort to crush him ; with Austria in his rear wait-
ing only the opportune moment to attack him, the position
of Napoleon after the battle of Jena appeared to be truly
a dangerous one. Not so, however, to the master-mind
that guided and controlled the fate of the Grand Army
and of France. Instead of retreat, onward ! was the
word. To go into winter quarters on the Vistula and to
push forward, still further in the spring, was the pro-
gramme. The winter quarters were established, but they
were to afford little rest to the weary soldiers. Alexander,
thinking to surprise the French arm}- while lying in can-
tonment, put his army in motion. Napoleon, ever on the
alert and read}' to take advantage of an}- false movement
of his enemy, at once broke up his encampment, boldly
moved out and attacked those who were to surprise and
attack him. Beaten at ever}- point, the Russian army,
after a retreat of two hundred miles from the Vistula,
took its stand upon the plain of Eylau, where, on the
eighth of February, 1807, was fought one of the most
terrible battles recorded in histor. The destruction of
194 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
life on both sides was something awful, and the suffering
endured by reason of the snow and ice and the intense
cold, was appalling. After eighteen hours struggle,
Napoleon remained master of the field, but with no
decisive victory to his credit.
TI1K BATTLE OF EYLAU.
ISAAC McLELi.AN.
Fast and furious falls the snow ;
Shrilly the bleak tempests blow.
With a sound of wailing woe,
O'er the soil ;
Where the watch-fires blaze around,
Thick the warriors stre\v the ground,
Each in weary slumber bound,
Worn with toil.
Harken to the cannon-blast !
Drums are beating fierce and fast :
Fierce and fast the trumpets cast
Warning call.
Form the battle's stern parade.
Charge the musket, draw the blade ;
Square and column stand arrayed,
One and all.
On they rush in stern career.
Dragoon and swart cuirassier ;
Hussar-lance and Cossack-spear
Clanging meet !
Now the grenadier of France
Sinks beneath the Imperial lance;
Now the Prussian horse advance,
Now retreat.
THE BATTLE OF EYLAU. 195
Davoust, with his line of steel,
Storms their squadrons till they reel.
While his ceaseless cannon-peal
Rends the sky.
'Gainst that crush of iron hail
Naught may Russia's ranks avail ;
Like the torn leaves in the gale,
See, they fly !
Through the battle's smoky gloom
Shineth Murat's snowy plume :
Fast his cohorts to their doom
Spur the way.
Plat off, with his desert horde.
Is upon them with the sword ;
Deep his Tartar-spears have gored
Their array.
With his thousands, Augereau
Paints with blood the virgin sn<>\v ;
o
Low in war's red overthrow
Sleep they on !
Helm and breastplate they have lost,
Spoils that long shall be the boast
Of the savage-bearded host
Of the Don.
Charge, Napoleon ! Where be those
At Marengo quelled thy foes :
Crowning thee at Jena's close
Conqueror .'
At this hour of deadly need
Faintly thy old guardsmen bleed ;
Vain dies cuirassier and .steed,
Drenched with <_yoiv.
196 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON^
Sad the frosty moonbeam shone
O'er the snows with corses strown,
Where the frightful shriek and groan
Rose amain :
Loud the night-wind rang their knell :
Fast the flaky horrors fell,
Hiding in their snowy cell
Heaps of slain !
Many a year hath passed and fled
O'er that harvest of the dead ;
On thy rock the Chief hath sped,
St. Helene !
Still the Polish peasant shows
The round hillocks of the foes,
Where the long grass rankly grows,
Darkly green.
NAPOLEON AT GOT HA.
DlRKCTLV after the battle of Eylau, Napoleon endeav-
oured to bring about a settlement of peace with Russia
and Prussia, and he made propositions to that effect ; but
his efforts were unavailing. The Allies, considering his
proposal an indication of weakness, determined on a con-
tinuation of the war, and awaited only the event of
spring in order to test once more the fate of battle. Na-
poleon returned with his army to their winter quarters
upon the Vistula, which were, in a few months, to be
again vacated for the bloody field. On the fifth of June,
1807, the Russians attacked the French in their canton-
ments ; and on the fourteenth of the same month the
battle of Friedland was fought, and another glorious vic-
tory added to the long list already won by Napoleon.
Friedland was followed by the famous meeting of the
Emperors upon a raft in the middle of the river Nicmen,
and the proclamation of the Peace of Tilsit, which was
signed in July. The Continent was again at peace. Eng-
land alone refused to acknowledge the Conqueror, and
went steadily on in her determination to crush him and
his government out of existence. The Emperor .Alexan-
der of Russia, on the other hand, was completely infatu-
ated with Napoleon : and while yet at Tilsit the two
entered into a secret treat}' which had for its objects.
198 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Constantinople for Alexander and the rest of Europe for
Napoleon ; or, at least, that was about the way Alexander
understood it. Napoleon had no thought of permitting
the key to all India to fall into the hands of Alexander;
but it was his policy to make Alexander believe he would.
To keep up the delusion and to further fascinate the
Czar, the conference at Erfurt was appointed by Napoleon,
and on the twenty-seventh of September, 1808, the two
Emperors again met. Napoleon was the host, and to aid
in entertaining the Czar he had for guests, kings, dukes,
princes, and high dignitaries of the church, the army, and
the state. All the splendour and the beauty of Germany
flocked to the little town. It was there that Talma
played to '' a pit full of kings." It was there that Napo-
leon and Alexander united in a letter to the King of
England imploring peace. It was there the two Em-
perors parted, never again to meet. Napoleon, it is true,
did go to Moscow, and certainly received a warm wel-
come, but liis old friend Alexander was not there to
receive him. In 1809, at Schonbrun, while holding a
grand review in celebration of the victory at Wagram and
of the treaty of peace signed with Austria, Napoleon
narrowly escaped assassination at the hands of a young
German. It must have been this incident, which Bayard
Taylor had in mind when he wrote the following lines, as
we are \vholly unable to find mention anywhere of an
attempt on Napoleon's life during the meeting at Erfurt.
NAPOLEON AT GOTH A. 199
NAPOLEON AT (1OTHA.
r.AVAKD TAYIOK.
We walk amid the currents of actions left undone,
The germs of deeds that wither, before they see the sun.
For every sentence uttered, a million more are dumb :
Men's lives are chains of chances, and History their sum.
Not he, the Syracusan, but each enpurpled lord
Must eat his banquet under the hair-suspended sword ;
And one swift breath of silence may fix or change the fate
Of him whose force is building the fabric of a State.
Where o'er the windy uplands the slated turrets shine,
Duke August ruled at Gotha, in Castle Friedenstein,
A handsome prince and courtly, of light and shallow
heart,
No better than he should be, but witli a taste for Art.
The fight was fought at Jena, eclipsed was Prussia's sun,
And by the French invaders the land was overrun ;
But while the German people were silent in despair,
Duke August painted pictures, and curled his yellow hair.
Now, when at Erfurt gathered the ruling royal clan,
Themselves the humble subjects, their lord the Corsican,
Each bade to ball and banquet the sparer of his line :
Duke August with the others, to Castle Friedenstein.
Then were the larders rummaged, the forest-stags \\vrv
slain,
The tuns of oldest vintage showered out their golden rain :
The towers were bright with banners -but all the people
said :
" We, slaves, must feed our master- would God that lie
were dead !
200 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
They drilled the ducal guardsmen, men young and
straight and tall,
To form a double column, from gate to castle-wall ;
And as there were but fifty, the first must wheel away,
Fall in behind the others, and lengthen the array.
" Parblcn / " Napoleon muttered : " Your Highness'
guards I prize,
So young and strong and handsome, and all of equal
size ! "
" You, Sire," replied Duke August, " may have as fine, if
you
Will twice or thrice repeat them, as I am forced to do ! "
Now, in the Castle household, of all the folk, was one
Whose heart was hot within him, the Ducal Huntsman's
son ;
A proud and bright-eyed stripling ; scarce fifteen years
* he had
But free of hall and chamber : Duke August loved the
lad.
He saw the forceful homage ; he heard the shouts that
came
From base throats, or unwilling, but equally of shame ;
He thought : " One man has done it one life would free
the land.
But all are slaves and cowards, and none will lift a hand !
"My grandsire hugged a bear to death, when broke his
hunting-spear ;
And has this little Frenchman a muz/.le I should fear'
If kings are cowed, and princes, and all the land is scared,
Perhaps a boy can show them the thing they might have
dared ! "
NAPOLEON AT GOTH A. 2OI
Napoleon on the morrow was coming once again,
(And all the castle knew it) without his courtly train ;
And, when the stairs were mounted, there was no other
road
But one, long, lonely passage, to where the Duke abode.
None guessed the secret purpose the silent stripling kept.
Deep in the night he waited, and, when his father slept,
Took from the rack of weapons a musket old and tried.
And cleaned the lock and barrel, and laid it by his side.
He held it fast in slumber, he lifted it in dreams
Of sunlit mountain - forests and stainless mountain-
streams ;
And in the morn he loaded the load was bullets three:
" For Deutschland for Duke August and now the third
for me ! "
" \Yhat ! ever wilt be hunting? " the stately Marshal cried ;
" I '11 fetch a stag of twenty ! " the pale-faced boy replied,
As, clad in forest colour, he sauntered through the court,
And said, when none could hear him : " Now. may the
time be short ! "
The corridor was vacant, the windows full of sun ;
He stole within the midmost, and primed afresh his gun ;
Then stood, with all his senses alert in ear and eye
To catch the lightest signal that showed the Kmperor
nigh.
A sound of wheels ; a silence ; the muffled, sudden jar
Of guards their arms presenting; a footstep mounting far.
Then nearer, briskly nearer a footstep, and alone!
And at the farther portal appeared Napoleon !
202 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Alone, his hands behind him, his firm and massive head
With brooded plans uplifted, he came with measured
tread ;
And yet, those feet had shaken the nations from their
poise,
And yet, that will to shake them depended on the boy's !
With finger on the trigger, the gun held hunter-wise,
His rapid heart-beats sending the blood to brain and eyes,
The boy stood, firm and deadly another moment's space,
And then the Emperor saw him, and halted, face to face.
A mouth as cut in marble, and eye that pierced and stung
As might a god's, all-seeing, the soul of one so young ;
A look that read his secret, that lamed his callow will,
That inly smiled, and dared him his purpose to fulfil !
As one a serpent trances, the boy forgetting all,
Felt but that face, nor noted the harmless musket's fall :
Nor breathed, nor thought, nor trembled ; but, pale and
cold as stone,
Saw pass, nor look behind him, the calm Napoleon.
And these two kept their secret ; but from that clay began
The sense of fate and duty that made the boy a man ;
And still he lives to tell it. and. better, lives to say :
"God's purposes were grander: lie thrust me from his.
way ! "
TALLEYRAND.
From an engraving by Le Vachex.
Paris, 1804. '
INSCRIPTION FOR A MONUMENT AT
VIMEIRO.
IT was soon after the peace of Tilsit that the first idea
of an intervention in the affairs of Spain was suggested to
Napoleon, and the suggestion came from that evil genius,
Talleyrand. It is true that the secret treaty entered into
at Fontainebleau between France and Spain on the
twenty-seventh of September, 1807, had for its only
apparent object the wiping of Portugal, as a nation, from
the map of the world ; but behind that Talleyrand had in
view the same fate for Spain. In fulfilment of the above
treat}' the French army, in conjunction with that of Spain,
entered Portugal, and, without resistance or bloodshed,
Lisbon was occupied on the thirteenth of November,
1807. The royal family had fled, and but the day before
had sailed for Brazil. The commander of the French
forces, General Junot, was made governor of the country,
anil ruled it with varying degrees of success until the
twenty-first of August following, when the result of the
battle of Vimeiro led to the Convention of Cintra and the
evacuation of Portugal by the entire French force.
INSCRIPTION FOR A MONUMKNT AT VIMFIRo.
This is Vimeiro ; yonder stream, which flows
Westward through heatherv highlands to the
204 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Is called Maceira, till of late a name,
Save to the dwellers of this peaceful vale,
Known only to the coasting mariner ;
Now in the bloody page of war inscribed.
When to the aid of injured Portugal
Struggling against the intolerable yoke
Of treacherous France, England her old ally,
Long tried and always faithful found, went forth,
The embattled hosts, in equal strength arrayed
And equal discipline, encountered here.
Junot, the mock Abrantes, led the French,
And confident of skill so oft approved,
And vaunting many a victory, advanced
Against an untried foe. But when the ranks
Met in the shock of battle, man to man,
And bayonet to bayonet opposed,
The flower of France, cut down along their line,
Fell like ripe grass before the mower's scythe ;'
For the strong arm and rightful cause prevailed.
That day delivered Lisbon from the yoke,
And babes were taught to bless Sir Arthur's name.
BATTLE OF CORUNNA.
NAPOLEON'S interference in Spanish affairs was more
than a mistake on his part ; it was a blunder. It is diffi-
cult to find a single good excuse for his conduct towards
that nation. It was wholly unwarranted, no matter from
what point of view one looks at it. The meeting at
Bayonne between Napoleon, Charles IV., and Ferdinand
VII. took place on the fifteenth of April, 1808; on May
first, Ferdinand abdicated in favour of his father, and on
May fifth, the father surrendered the crown of Spain to
Napoleon, who, on June sixth, following, gave the same
to his brother Joseph. From that time forward every-
thing went wrong on the Peninsula. Had Napoleon
stopped before taking the course he did with regard to
Spanish affairs, and had he been content with the glory
already won, he might have gone down into history as
the founder of an empire second only to that of Rome in
its extent, power, and duration. It was at this period in
his career he reached the xenith. Combined Europe lay
at his feet. His brothers and sisters were kings and
queens by virtue merely of their relationship to him. He
\vas absolute master of the whole situation. Why then
endanger it all by seizing a crown which he could not
hope to keep? Why waste so much blood and treasure
in trying to subjugate a people so bigoted and so priest-
20;
2O6 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEOA T .
ridden? He never gave any satisfactory answer himself;
but he did say at St. Helena that the impolicy of his
conduct in relation to Spain was irrevocably decided by
the results, and that the unfortunate war in the Peninsula
was a real affliction and the first cause of the calamities
which afterward befell France ; and he often expressed
regret at having undertaken it. Joseph not being able
to cope with the insurrections which were taking place in
every part of his kingdom, and England having taken an
active part in trying to restore the Bourbons to the
throne by sending her armies to the help of Spain, Napo-
leon resolved once more to take the field in person, and
on the fourth of November, 1808, he entered Spain at
the head of an army of veterans. In less than five weeks
he defeated every Spanish army he met and compelled
the English army, under Sir John Moore, to beat a most
disastrous and humiliating retreat towards the sea. In
consequence of the news received by him that Austria
had entered into an alliance with England and was about
to attack him in the north, Napoleon turned over the
command of his army to Marshal Soult and started for
Paris. Soult drove the English army to Corunna, where
it. made its final stand before embarking, and where its
gallant leader, Sir John Moore, was killed. Had Napo-
leon been allowed to retain personal command of the
army, the result of the war in the Peninsula would no
doubt have been just the opposite from what it turned
out to be.
BATTLE OF COKUNA'A. 2O;
HATTU-: OF CORUNXA.
WILLIAM LISLE BOWI.KS.
The tide of fate rolls on ! heart-pierced and pale,
The gallant soldier lies, nor aught avail
The shield, the sword, the spirit of the brave,
From rapine's armed hand thy vales to save,
Land of illustrious heroes, who, of yore,
Drenched the same plains with the invader's gore.
Stood frowning, in the front of death, and hurled
Defiance to the conquerors of the world !
Oh, when we hear the agonising tale
Of those who, faint and fugitive and pale,
Saw hourly, harassed through their long retreat.
Some worn companion sinking at their feet,
Yet even in danger and from toil more bold,
Back on their gathering foes the tide of battle rolled ;
While tears of pity mingled with applause,
On the dread scene in silence let us pause.
Yes, pause, and ask, Is not thy lawful hand
Stretched out, O God, o'er a devoted land,
Whose vales of beauty Nature spread in vain,
Where Misery moaned on the uncultured plain,
Where Bigotry went by with jealous scowl.
Where Superstition muttered in his cowl ;
Whilst o'er the Inquisition's dismal holds,
Its horrid banner waved in bleeding folds !
Bl'RIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE, 1809.
SIR JOHN MOORE could no doubt have made terms with
Marshal Soult, whereby he would have been permitted
to embark his troops under very reasonable conditions ;
but he chose to ask no favours from the French com-
mander, and he fell, fighting gallantly for the honour of
his country. His burial at midnight upon the ramparts
of Corunna, from which place he had hoped to take his
army in safety on the morrow, has been made familiar to
all of us in the following lines:
BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE, 1809.
RKV. CHAKI.KS WOLFK.
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart we hurried ;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
We buried him darkly, at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning ;
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.
No useless coffin enclosed his breast,
Nor in sheet, nor in shroud, we wound him ;
But he lay, like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.
BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. 209
Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow ;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead.
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed.
And smoothed down his lonely pillow,
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his
head,
And we far away on the billow !
Lightly they '11 talk of the spirit that 's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ;
But little he '11 reck, if they let him sleep on,
In the grave where a Briton has laid him !
But half of our heavy task was done,
When the clock struck the hour for retiring,
And we heard by th' distant and random gun,
That the foe was sullenly firing.
Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame, fresh and gory !
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone,
But we left him alone with his glory !
THE MAID OF SARAGOSSA.
SARAGOSSA was besieged twice before it was finally
taken, and each time it was defended with the greatest
valour by General Palafox, a brave and gallant Spanish
soldier. In June, 1808, the French army, under com-
mand of General Lefebvre, appeared before the walls of
the city, and for over two months the terrible contest
went on. The Spaniards defended their homes with the
fierce determination of their race, and with the resolve to
beat back the invaders or die beneath the ruins of their
city. When called upon to surrender, Palafox sent back
the old Spanish challenge, " War at the knife's point."
Every man within the city became a soldier, and even
the women enlisted in the service. The monks either
took up arms or engaged in the manufacture of gunpow-
der as the supply ran low. The suffering among the
people was terrible, and the carnage caused by the bom-
bardment and the assaults of the enemy was something
horrible. Foot by foot the French army advanced, until
fully one half of the city was in their possession. Hand-
to-hand conflicts were of daily occurrence, and at one
time it looked as if nothing could save the devoted in-
habitants from the sword of the conquerors. A battery
had been swept clean of its gunners by the awful fire of
the foe ; men could not be found brave enough to fill
THE MAID OF SAKAGOSSA. 211
the empty places : a woman sprang to the front, seized a
lighted match from the hand of a dead artilleryman and
poured the contents of a loaded cannon into the breasts
of the advancing Frenchmen. Her example was conta-
gious. The battery was served and the enemy repulsed
at every point. This deed won for the noble woman the
title of " The Maid o/ Saragossa."
In August Lefebvre raised the siege and withdrew from
before the city.
THK MAID OF SAKAGOSSA.
CHAKI.KS S\VAIN.
There were murmurs through the night ;
As of multitudes in prayer ;
There were tears of wild affright.
And the wailing of despair :
For Invasion's gory hand
Scattered havoc o'er the land.
The startled morn arose
To the trumpet's fierce acclaim,
To the ringing steel of foes.
And the battle-bolts of flame;
Whilst the Gallic wolves of war
Round were howling, and afar.
The matron armed her son,
And pointed to the walls :
" See, the carnage hath begun.
' F is thy bleeding country calls !
Better, son, the patriot's tomb
Than a slave's ignoble doom."
212 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
The gray-haired father took
His time-worn brand and shield ;
The pale monk closed his book,
The peasant left his field :
And daughters, e'en a scar had grieved,
No\v deeds of dauntless heart achieved.
Right onward clashed the foe,
O'er the red and reeking ground,
Till the giant gates below
Burst with an earthquake sound ;
And the rocking walls yawned deep,
'Neath the cannon's shattering sweep.
Yet ne'er with tyrant warred
A firmer, bolder band :
Again the gates were barred,
Again the walls were manned ;
Again, as with prophetic sight,
The hallowed cross advanced the fight.
But heavier woes befell
The still unvanquished brave,
Mid sounds that seemed the knell
Of freedom's hopeless grave :
A hurricane, a blazing shower,
Swept shivered rampart, rock, and tower !
In that appalling hour
\Yhen Fate with Gaul combined
To quell the freeman's power
To crush the valiant mind,
When e'en the last defence had died,
Who braved the storm ? who stemmed tin- tide?
THE MAID Of-' SAXAGOSSA. 21
No steel-girt knight of fame,
No chief of high emprise ;
A maiden's soul enshrined the flame
Which lit Hope's darkening skies ;
A maiden's valour dealt the blow,
And stepped 'tween conquest and the foe ;
Stood on that fatal brink,
Defying pain and death!
And could Napoleon's legions shrink
Before a woman's breath ?
Could Gaul's proud eagle, from its height,
Stoop to a mean, disastrous flight ?
Yes : that fair arm withstood
The chivalry of France,
And poured destruction, like a flood,
On quailing helm and lance :
Leonidas in maiden's stole,
A woman's breast with Curtius' soul.
Heroic heart and true!
Thy deeds shall find a voice
To bid usurping tyrants rue,
And Freedom's sons rejoice:
The loved of Time, the prized of Fame.
Spain's noblest boast, and Gallia's shame !
THE BENEDICTION.
WHILE Napoleon and Sou It were driving the English
army under Moore out of Spain, Marshal Lannes was
engaged in the second siege of Saragossa. Palafox made
this one of the most memorable defences recorded in
history. One hundred thousand souls filled the city, of
whom about forty thousand were soldiers. For t\vo
months the horrible butchery went on, without cessation
and without mercy. The crude fortifications were bat-
tered down, and the French army rushed over the walls
only to meet a foe determined to fight while a stone re-
mained standing in the city. Houses were demolished
and convents blown into the air ; still the conflict went
on, from street to street and from house to house. The
monks, with crucifixes in their hands, were unremitting in
their endeavours to stimulate the exertions of the citizens
and soldiers, and they contributed much, by their example
and by their influence, to the obstinacy of the defence.
They preached, they absolved, they fought, as the occa-
sion demanded. They died storming a convent which
the French had taken, and they died defending the sacred
altar still in their possession. But all in vain ; the French
veterans were in the end victorious, and on the twenty-
first of February, 1809, the intrepid Palafox surrendered.
One third of the city was entirely demolished ; one half
214
TV/A' BENEDICTION. 215
of the inhabitants and two thirds of the soldiers were
dead. Disease and starvation had killed those whom the
bullet spared. The hatred of the French soldier towards
the monks, and the way they treated them during the
awful siege, is vividly told in the following lines.
THE BENEDICTION.
FRANCIS Con-fin.
It was in eighteen hundred yes and nine,
That we took Saragossa. What a day
Of untold horrors ! I was sergeant then.
The city carried, we laid siege to houses,
All shut up close, and with a treacherous look,
Raining down shots upon us from the windows.
'' 'Tis the priest's doing ! " was the word passed round ;
So that, although since daybreak under arms.
Our eyes with powder smarting, and our mouths
Bitter with kissing cartridge-ends, piff ! paff !
Rattled the musketry with reach' aim.
If shovel hat and long black coat were seen
Flying in the distance. Up a narrow street
My company worked on. I kept an eye
On every house-top, right and left, and saw
From main' a roof flames suddenly burst forth,
Colouring the sky. as from the chimney-tops
Among the forges. Low our fellows stooped,
Filtering the low-pitched dens. When they came out,
With bayonets dripping red, their bloody fingers
Signed crosses on the wall ; for we were bound,
In such a dangerous cletile, not to leave
Foes lurking in our rear. 'I here was no drum-beat,
Xo ordered march. Our officers looked grave :
The rank and file uneasy, logging elbows
As do recruits when flinching.
2l6 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
All at once,
Rounding a corner, we are hailed in French
With cries for help. At double-quick we join
Our hard-pressed comrades. They were grenadiers,
A gallant company but beaten back
Inglorious from the raised and flag-paved square,
Fronting a convent. Twenty sahvart monks
Defended it, black demons with shaved crowns.
The cross in white embroidered on their frocks,
Barefoot, their sleeves tucked up, their only weapons
Enormous crucifixes, so well brandished
Our men went down before them. By platoons
Firing we swept the place ; in fact we slaughtered
This terrible group of heroes, no more soul
Being in us than in executioners.
The foul deed clone deliberately done
And the thick smoke rolling away, we noted
Under the huddled masses of the dead,
Rivulets of blood run trickling down the steps ;
While in the background solemnly the church
Loomed up, its doors wide open. We went in.
It was a desert. Lighted tapers starred
The inner gloom with points of gold. The incense
Gave out its perfume. At the upper end,
Turned to the altar, as though unconcerned
In the fierce battle that had raged, a priest,
White-haired and tall of stature, to a close
Was bringing tranquilly the mass. So stamped
Upon my memory is that thrilling scene,
That, as I speeik, it comes before me now
The convent built in old time by the Moors
The huge brown corpses of the monks ; the sun
Making the red blood on the pavement steam ;
And there, framed in by the low po/ch, the priest;
And there the altar brilliant as a shrine;
THE BENEDICTION, 2 \ ;
And here ourselves, all halting, hesitating.
Almost afraid.
I. ccrtcs, in those days
Was a confirmed blasphemer. 'T is on record
That once, by way of sacrilegious joke,
A chapel being sacked, I lit my pipe
At a wax candle burning on the altar.
This time, however, I was awed, so blanched
Was that old man !
"Shoot him ! " our captain cried.
Not a soul budged. The priest beyond all doubt
Heard ; but, as though he heard not, turning round,
He faced us with the elevated Host,
Having that period of the service reached
When on the faithful benediction falls.
His lifted arms seemed as the spread of wings;
And as he raised the pyx, and in the air
With it described the cross, each man of us
Fell back, aware the priest no more was trembling
Than if before him the devout were ranged.
But when, intoned with clear and mellow voice.
The words came to us
" / \>s (>ciit'(fic. What fren/v.
2l8 A METRICAL HISTOKY OF NAPOLEON.
What maddening thirst for blood, sent from our ranks
Another shot, I know not ; but 't was done.
The monk, with one hand on the altar's ledge.
Held himself up; and strenuous to complete
His benediction, in the other raised
The consecrated Host. For the third time
Tracing in air the symbol of forgiveness,
With eyes closed, and in tones exceeding low,
But in the general hush distinctly heard,
" P.t Sane tits SpiritJis / "
He said ; and ending
His service, fell down dead.
The golden pyx
Rolled bounding on the floor. Then, as we stood,
Even the old troopers, with our muskets grounded.
And choking horror in our hearts, at sight
Of such a shameless murder and at sight
Of such a martyr, with a chuckling laugh,
" Amen ! "
Drawled out a drummer-boy.
INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP.
Ox the night of the twenty-second of January, 1809,
Napoleon entered Paris on his return from Spain. The
next day found him hard at work, mastering the situa-
tion in which he found France. Another war with
Austria was about to be fought. Four hundred thou-
sand soldiers, confident of their ability to win, were in
full march against him. Napoleon, with his usual hercu-
lean energy and activity, inspired all France by his ex-
ample. Still hoping for peace, he made the most gigantic
preparations for w r ar. Every possible emergency was
provided against. But all negotiations for peace failed
and Austria determined to force the fight. It was argued
by that nation that the time was propitious for success ;
that the Spanish campaign had weakened France by de-
manding the presence there of so large a force of veter-
ans, and that Napoleon, if he accepted the challenge to
combat, would be compelled to take the held with an
army of raw conscripts, easy to be beaten in the first
battle. Never was foe more mistaken, (hi the ninth ot
April the advance guard of the Austrian army crossed
the river Inn, and entered the territory of the King of
Bavaria, one of Napoleon's allies. Napoleon at Paris
was informed of this hostile act on the evening of the
twelfth, and before midnight of that dav he was on his
220 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
way to the seat of war as rapidly as post horses could
carry him. On the seventeenth he was with the army.
With not over two hundred thousand men, he was about
to engage double that number, with all the advantages
of position in their favour. The odds were terribly
against him, but not for a moment did he hesitate. His
whole army was at once set in motion, and victory after
victory again perched upon its banners. At the battle
of Eckmuhl the Austrians lost six thousand in dead and
wounded ; twenty thousand prisoners were taken from
them, together with fifteen standards and the greater
part of their artillery. Defeated in every battle, they
endeavoured to cover their retreat by defending Ratis-
bon, but their effort was a vain one. Marshal Lanncs
stormed the walls of that city, and drove the foe over
the Danube and out of the territory of Bavaria. It was
at this place Napoleon received a slight wound in his
foot by a spent ball.
It is hard to trace, to any reliable source, all the varied
incidents and traditions connected with Napoleon's life,
but the following has more of the elements of truth in it
than many that pass current :
INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP.
K.ORKRT ?>Kf>\YMN<;.
You know we French stormed Ratisbon :
A mile or so away,
On a little mound, Napoleon
Stood on our storming dav,
INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. 221
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,
Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow,
Oppressive with his mind.
Just as perhaps he mused, " My plans
That soar, to earth may fall,
Let once my army-leader Lannes
Waver at yonder wall "
Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew
A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew
L T ntil he reached the mound.
Then off there flung in smiling joy,
And held himself erect
By just his horse's mane, a boy :
You hardly could suspect
(So tight he kept his lips compressed,
Scarce any blood came through),
You looked twice ere you saw his breast
Was all but shot in two.
" Well," cried he, " Emperor, by God's grace.
We 've got Ratisbon !
The Marshal 's in the market-place.
And you. '11 be there anon
To see your flag-bird flap his vans
Where I, to heart's desire,
Perched him ! " The chief's eye flashed : his
plans
Soared up again like fire.
The chief's eye flashed ; but presently
Softened itself, as sheathes
222 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
A film the mother-eagle's eye
When her bruised eaglet breathes :
"You 're wounded!" " Nay," his soldier's pride
Touched to the quick, he said :
" I 'm killed, sire ! " And, his chief beside,
Smiling, the boy fell dead.
MACDONAU>.
From an engraving by Haller, after Gumoens.
Place and date of publication unknown.
WAGRAM ; OR, VICTORY IN DEATH.
AFTER the battle of Ratisbon, Napoleon advanced di-
rectly on Vienna, and on May tenth, exactly one month
after the Austrians had crossed the Inn, he appeared
before the walls of the capital and demanded its surren-
der. His demand being refused, a bombardment at once
took place, which lasted until the thirteenth, when the
city capitulated. At the commencement of the bombard-
ment the royal family of Austria fled the city, leaving
behind them, however, the Archduchess Marie Louise,
who was confined to her bed by sickness. The imperial
palace being in a direct line of the fire of one of the
French batteries, the shot and shell falling around it threat-
ened the life of the Archduchess. A flag of truce was
sent to Napoleon advising him of this fact, whereupon he
immediately ordered the battery to cease firing in that
direction. This was Napoleon's first introduction to his
future bride, as the sick Archduchess in less than a year
became the wife of the man who was then storming her
father's home.
The battles of Aspern and Essling, fought May twenty
first and twenty-second, were nearly fatal to the plans of
Napoleon. The destruction of the bridge across the swol-
len Danube cut his army in t\vo, and left far too small
a number across to contend successfully with the powerful
224 A METRICAL HISTORY OF A'APOLEON.
army of the Archduke Charles ; and the death of Marshal
Lannes was a serious loss, as it deprived the Emperor of
one of the most fearless, reliable, and gallant supporters
he ever had. Napoleon's genius, however, saved his army,
which, under his personal supervision, withdrew in good
order across the smaller arm of the river to the island of
Lobau, where the troops at once began to prepare for the
awful struggle soon to take place. On the night of the
fourth of July, the French army began its passage back
across the Danube, and on the sixth, three hundred thou-
sand men, with one thousand pieces of artillery, fought
the famous battle of Wagram. The result was a com-
plete overthrow of the Austrians and another glowing
victory for Napoleon. It was the charge of the Guard
under Macdonald, that turned the fortune of the day and
won for that gallant soldier his Marshal's baton. The
Austrian empire, prostrated in the dust, only escaped dis-
memberment by yielding the hand of an Archduchess to
the Imperial victor. Wagram deservedly ranks among the
decisive battles of Napoleon's career. Had it been lost to
the French, the catastrophe of Waterloo might have been
anticipated in 1809, an ^ the "Star" of Napoleon have
sunk forever on the shores of the Danube.
WAGRAM; OK, VICTORY IX DEATH.
ANON.
I saw a sunrise on a battle-field.
E'en at that early hour the gladsome beams
Broke upon smoke-wreaths and the roar of war ;
And o'er the dewy grass rush'd hurrying feet,
IVAGRAM ; OR, VICTORY IN DEATH. 225
Austria's white uniforms sweeping to the charge,
While France's eagles trembled in the gale.
Full 'gainst the Gallic left, not half array 'd,
The Austrian horse are charging home ; and foot
And cannon follow fast, quick-belching forth
Their thunders. Troop on troop, amidst the smoke,
Napoleon sees them sweeping between him
And the broad Danube ; and their loud hurrahs,
Heard o'er the din of battle, tell how nigh
They come upon his rear, and threat with fire
The floating bridge that brought his troops across.
Already stragglers flying from the charge,
Are seen, and baggage-waggons with their startled team.
Scampering in hot haste for the river's bank.
But in the centre, where the Old Guard stands
Like serried granite 'ncath the enemies' fire,
Paces " the Emperor" to and fro, in front
Of the tall bearskin shakos, where the shot
And shell of Austria's cannon make huge gaps.
Courier on courier, breathless spurring up,
Bring him untoward tidings of the fight.
Vet in a marble calm, as if tio turn
Of Fortune's wheel could shake his clear-eyed soul,
He paces steadily that storm-swept spot,
Rooting by his example to their place
His vext brigades, now mustering dense and fast
For the bold game on which his soul is set.
" Massena ! keep the Archduke's right in check :
Roll it but backward from the bridge apace,
And the day yet is ours." But still his ear
Dreads every moment on his right to hear
The thundering of the Archduke's brother's horse,
The vanguard of the host on march from Rhab.
Charging with freshness on his press'd array.
226 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON,
At last the moment comes, the word is given,
The Emperor's self, as past his squadrons rush,
Down-bending o'er their chargers in hot haste,
Stabbing the air, cries out, " Give point ! give point !
And on sweep cuirassiers, hussars, and all,
Spurring, and thundering their " Vive 1' Empereur ! "
Rank after rank bright-flashing in the sun
Like brazen waves of battle, charging on
Right into smoke of th' enemies' batteries.
Roar upon roar, and flash upon flash, break out
Like a volcano bursting, a red chaos glares ;
And back they come, the routed horse, pell-mell,
Gnashing their teeth in fury at defeat ;
Rallying with dinted helms and batter'd mail,
Again to plunge into the thick of fight.
And still the saddles empty, and scared steeds
Rush backwards riderless ; and with oaths and cries
Again a broken flood of horse o'erspreads the plain.
'' Macdonald ! take the Guards, and lead them on.
The Plateau must be won ! " And through the mass
Of flyers straight the serried column moves,
And the war storms anew. Right on they go,
Like men who hold life as a bagatelle,
Up the brief slope, and in among the guns,
Giving and taking death, yet still advancing,
Pushing their way with shot and bayonet-thrust
Amidst the foe, who round them like a wall
In front and on each flank hang dense ; and still
The cannon thunder on the advancing band.
Oh, then there was grim conflict ! and the ranks
Of the French column melted fast away
In the unequal strife; and oft their chief
Sends word for help, and hears no help can come,
And that he must eo on. " Go on : the clav
WAGRAM ; OA\ VICTORY IN DEATH. 22~
Hangs on your sword ! " And on they went in sooth.
And as the hostile fire, or want of breath,
Or the re-forming of their shatter'd line,
Brings to a halt that foe-encompass'd band,
Nigh ruin'd by success, the Imperial Voice
Still sends them for sole word : " No aid Go on ! "
'T was a brave, bitter sight ! Blacken'd and scorch'd,
Circled with fire and thunder, and the shouts
Of a most maddening war, where each man knows
Ruin or victory is in the scales,
Hewing their way, each step o'er fallen foes,
That Column marches on. On over guns
Dismounted, and rent banners, and the wreck
Of war's magnificence, with blood-stain'd step,
O'er brothers, kinsmen, comrades dropping fast,
With clenched teeth and flashing eyes they press,
Panting, fainting, dwindling 'neath the fire ;
Yet back and back and back compelling still
The focmen to give ground. Oh ! sure
In that fell strife, with all its wasted wealth.
And wasted lives, and broken hopes, and hearts
Bleeding in far-off homes, and fever'd cries
Of mangled myriads, there 's enough of woe
To glut Ambition for a thousand years !
I saw the sun set on that battle-field.
A remnant of that Column, paused at last
On ground shot-furrowed, all begrimed and scorch'd
Like men escaped from out a crater's mouth,
Lean wearily on their arms. The clarion's call
Is pealing through the air ot Victory !
Anil banners wave, and the bright setting sun
Streams o'er the armed field, from whence arose
The exultant music of a hundred bands,
'228 A METRICAL HTSTOKY OF NAPOLEON.
Making war glorious. But no paean comes
From that lone Victor-Column. They have fought
And won, but won at what a cost ! They have
No heart or breath for triumph : so they stand,
And hear but join not in the loud acclaim,
Sad, mute, erect. 'T was Victory in Death !
SCHILL.
IN consequence of the victory won at Wagram, an
armistice was at once entered into between the French
and Austrian armies, and on the fourteenth of October,
I 09, a treaty of peace was concluded at Vienna, between
Napoleon and Francis II. In the meantime, while Aus-
tria was being crushed beneath the juggernaut of Napo-
leon's genius, Prussia was not resting at all easy under
the galling chains in which this same colossal power had
bound her. The king, timid and irresolute, dared not
make a move towards freeing his country from the yoke
of the oppressor, but the people were in revolt against
the hated Napoleon, and the queen and her party were
ever ready to try the issue of battle once more. The
leaven which was to work destruction to the " perfidious
invader " was making itself felt throughout all Germany.
Major Scliill, commanding a regiment at Berlin, was
heart and soul for the queen and his beloved fatherland,
and, notwithstanding the fact that Prussia and France
were at peace, he determined, wholly on his own respon-
sibility, to make a bold attempt to arouse Prussia and to
force his king into a declaration of war. On the twenty-
eighth of March, 1809, he rode out of Berlin, at the head
of his hussars, on that ride from which he never was to
return. There could be but one result to this brave.
22(J
230 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
but foolish enterprise, and that was complete failure.
Schill's career was a short but brilliant one. The end
came at Stralsund, on the thirty-first of May, where he
died, gallantly leading his men against his country's foes.
sen ILL.
ERNEST MORITZ AR\If woe !
No more on thy ramparts his banner shall wave :
The bullet was sent, and the warrior lies low,
And the dastard may trample the dust of the brave '
He was plunged in the grave without trumpet or toll,
No prayer of his warriors was heard on the wind ;
No peal of the cannon, no drum's muffled roll,
Told the love ami the sorrow that lingered behind.
232 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
They cut off his head ; but his triumph is won,
And the love of his country shall weep o'er his bier ;
And her high-hearted sons, from the cot to the throne,
Shall honour the dust of the chief that lies here!
When the fight is begun, and the Prussian hussar
Comes down, like a cataract burst from its hill ;
Thy glory shall flash thro' the storm like a star,
And his watchword of vengeance be, Schill, brave
Schill !
ANDREW HOFKR.
BY the terms of the treaty of Presburg, in 1806, the
Tyrol was taken from Austria and given to Bavaria, an
ally of France. In April, 1809, a * ^ le ca ^ f tne Archduke
John of Austria, the Tyrolesc arose in rebellion against
the Bavarian Government. Andrew Hofer, the landlord
of a village inn, became one of the heroes of that insur-
rection, and he was finally elected commandcr-in-chief of
the Tyrolean army. As Schill fought in Germain- for
freedom, so did Hofer fight among the mountain-passes
of his native country. It was liberty or death with him.
After Austria had been beaten at \Yagram and the peace
of Vienna had been signed, and there was no possible
chance for his making headway against the might}- power
of the French conqueror, this patriot struggled on, de-
serted by Austria and by his own troops. In the end he
was captured, taken as a prisoner to Mantua, and there
tried bv court marshal ami shot.
At Mantua in chains
The gallant Hofer lay.
In Mantua to death
Led him the fee away :
His brothers' hearts bled for the chiet.
234 ^ METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
For Germany, disgrace and grief,
And Tyrol's mountain-land !
His hands behind him clasped,
With firm and measured pace,
Marched Andrew Hofer on ;
He feared not death to face,
Death \vhom from Iselberg aloft
Into the vale he sent so oft
In Tyrol's holy land.
But when from dungeon-grate,
In Mantua's stronghold,
Their hands on high he saw
His faithful brothers hold,
" O God, be with you all ! " he said,
"And with the German realm betrayed,
And Tyrol's holy land ! "
The drummer's hand refused
To beat the solemn march,
While Andrew Hofer passed
The portal's gloomy arch ;
In fetters shackled, yet so free.
There on the bastion stood he,
Brave Tyrol's gallant son.
They bade him then kneel down.
He answered, " I will not !
Here standing will I die,
As I have stood and fought,
As now I tread this bulwark's bank,
Long life to my good Kaiser Frank,
.And, Tvrol, hail to thee ! "
ANDREW HOFEK, 235
A grenadier then took
The bandage from his hand,
While Hofer spake a prayer,
His last on earthly land.
" Mark well ! " he with loud voice exclaimed,
" Now fire ! Ah ! 't was badly aimed !
O Tyrol, fare thee well ! "'
TALAVERA.
WHILE Napoleon was winning victory after victory
against Austria and the coalition in the north, everything
was going wrong in the Peninsula. Joseph Bonaparte was
In no sense a soldier. The art of war was a mystery to
him, and of its wants and necessities he knew nothing.
So little confidence had the marshals, sent by Napoleon
to fight his battles in Spain and Portugual, in the military
operations of Joseph that they paid no attention to his
orders ; on the contrary, they seemed to think that it was
proper to act each for himself, totally disregarding the
good of the service, and the commands of the king.
Personal comfort and aggrandisement were sought after.
Spite and jealousy prevailed among these veteran gen-
erals like among a band of schoolboys. There was no
concert of action ; no willing aid lent each other. The
whole campaign went wrong from beginning to end.
The French soldiers fought with their accustomed brav-
ery ; but, with quarrelsome leaders, against British valour
and guerrilla warfare, their efforts were unavailing. The
battle of Talavera, fought the twenty-eight of July, 1809,
resulted in a defeat of the French army, and a most sig-
nal victory for the Duke of Wellington, then Sir Arthur
Wellcsley. Alternate victory and defeat attended until
the twenty-first of June, 1813, when Napoleon's enter-
prise in Spain met its Waterloo at the battle of Vittoria.
236
TALA VERA. 237
TALAVKKA.
I.OKI) HVKoN.
Awake, ye sons of Spain ! awake ! advance !
Lo ! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries ;
But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance,
Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies :
Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies,
And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar !
In every peal she calls, " Awake ! arise !"
Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore,
When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore ?
Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note?
Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath ?
Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote ;
Nor saved your brethern ere they sank beneath
Tyrants and tyrants' slaves ? the fires of death,
The bale-fires flash on high : from rock to rock
Kach volley tells that thousand cease to breathe ;
Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc,
Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock.
Lo ! where the Giant on the mountain stands.
Mis blood-red tresses deepening in the sun,
With death-shot glowering in his fiery hands,
And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon !
Restless it rolls, now fixed, and now anon
Flashing afar, and at his iron feet
Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done ;
For on this morn three potent nations meet,
O shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet.
238 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
By Heaven ! it is a splendid sight to see
(For one who hath no friend, no brother there")
Their rival scarfs of mixed embroidery,
Their various arms that glitter in the air!
What gallant war-hounds rose them from their lair.
And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey !
All join the chase, but few the triumph share :
The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away,
And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array.
Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice ;
Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high ;
Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies :
The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory !
The foe, the victim, and the fond ally
That fights for all, but ever fights in vain,
Are met as if at home they could not die-
To feed the crow on Talavera's plain,
And fertilise the field that each pretends to gain.
There shall they rot, Ambition's honoured fools !
Yes, honour decks the turf that wraps their clay !
Vain Sophistry ! in these behold the tools.
The broken tools, that tyrants cast away
By myriads, when they dare to pave their way
With human hearts to what ? a dream alone.
Can despots compass aught that hails their sway ?
Or call with truth one span of earth their own,
Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone ?
LAMENT OF JOSEPHINE.
IT was in 1806, while Napoleon and Talleyrand were
holding midnight conferences at Fontainebleau concern-
ing the secret part of the treaty of Tilsit, that Fouche,
not knowing what was going on, but wrongly suspecting
the subject of the meetings to be the divorce of Josephine,
determined to bring about that result, and so gain credit
to himself. He went to Josephine, and, enlarging upon
the interests of France, which called for a successor to
the Emperor, and the glory which would redound to her,
he succeeded in gaining her permission to draft a letter
from her to the President of the Senate offering to relin-
guish her position as Empress and wife. She was to sign
the letter the next morning; but Madame de Remusat.
being informed of what was going on, and not wishing to
give up her position under the Empress, determined to
advise Napoleon of what had taken place. She waited
that night until the Emperor had left his Cabinet to go
to bed, which was at one o'clock. She demanded an
audience, but, being a young and a beautiful woman and
the hour being unseemly, was refused. She persisted in
her request, and insisted so strongly that her business was
of the utmost importance, that she was admitted as
Napoleon was about to retire. She told the story in all
its details, and Napoleon, thanking her, went at once to
240 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEOX.
Josephine and told her there was no truth in the story,
and he promised her that if reasons of state ever de-
manded a divorce, he himself would be the first to tell
her ; which he did, when the time came.
Napoleon's first serious mistake was his interference in
Spanish affairs; his second was his divorce from Joseph-
ine. The only excuse he ever gave for it the welfare of
France was a weak one, and one devoid of all merit.
In after years, shorn of his power and wasting his life
away as a captive in the hands of an unrelenting foe, he
acknowledged his act of injustice and admitted he had
made a mistake, which left for him thereafter only defeat,
humiliation, and sorrow. The true reason for the divorce
was Napoleon's instinct of approaching weakness. He
felt that the mighty empire he had reared was carrying
the utmost weight it could bear and that any more drain
upon its resources would cause it to tumble to the ground.
He, therefore, sought to strengthen himself by an alliance
with some one of the great powers of Europe most to be
feared. Russia was first asked to bolster up his cause
with the hand of the Emperor's sister. Alexander was
willing to grant the request made, but his mother refused,
and she gained the day. Austria, with the smoke of Wag-
ram still in her eyes, saw less clearly the result, and upon
being asked, consented to furnish the bride. On the six-
teenth of December, 1809, Josephine was banished to Mal-
maison with the title of Empress, and on the second of
April, 1810, Marie Louise, Archduchess of Austria, took
her place in the Tuileries.
LAMENT OP yO.VA/V/AVA\ 24 I
LAMKXT OF JOSKPHINK.
MAKV K. I \\-.\\i 11.
The Empress ! what 's to me the empty name !
This regal state this glittering pageant-life ?
A tinsell'd cheat ! Am I not crovvn'd with shame?
Shorn of my glorious name, Napoleon's Wife !
Set with a bauble here to play my part.
And shroud with veil of pomp my breaking heart.
'T is mockery ! thought is with the days ere thou,
Seeking the world's love, unto mine grew cold
Ere yet the diadem entwined my brow,
Tightening around my brain its serpent fold
When each quick life-pulse throbbed, unschool'd of art,
When my wide empire was Napoleon's heart !
My spirit quails before this loneliness-
Why did no warning thought within me rise,
Telling thy hand would stay its fond caress
To wreathe the victim for the sacrifice !
That joy, the dove so to my bosom prest.
Would change to this keen vulture at my breast !
Parted forever! who hath dared make twain
Those He hath join'd ?--- the nation's mighty voice !
And thou hast bounded forward from my chain.
Like the freed captive, therefore, heart ! rejoice
Above the ashes of my hopes, that he
Hath o'er their ruin leapt to liberty !
NAPOLEON AND THE MOTHER.
TFIK birth of Napoleon's son, which took place on the
twentieth day of March, i8ii,was the occasion for the
wildest enthusiasm in Paris and throughout FYance, and
no doubt the proudest moment in the great Emperor's
life was when he appeared before the assembled crowd of
awaiting courtiers, holding in his arms his infant heir,
whom he introduced as the King of Rome. What hopes
and ambitions must have filled his breast, and how cruelly
were father and son to be disappointed, and what a fall
both were to experience so near in the future ! From
the height of his ambition to the deepest depth of humilia-
tion for the father: from the Imperial throne to the rank
of a subject to a foreign nation for the son.
The following incident, is doubtless, based upon the
one related by Madame Junot in her memoirs; the only
difference being that Napoleon's son was in reality be-
tween two and three years of age at the time of the oc-
currence, and that the petitioner was a young widow with
her little boy by her side, asking a pension for the loss of
her husband shortly before killed in Spain. The petition
was actually placed in the King of Rome's hands and by
him taken to the Emperor, who immediately granted the
pension asked for, saying that it was his majesty the King
of Rome who gave it.
-4-
NAPOLEON, AND THE MOTHER. 243
NAPOLEON AM) T1IK MOTHER.
EDWARD J. O'REILLY.
A mother paced the Tuilerics
With hopes as changeful as a wave,
And wildly prayed, on bended knees.
Napoleon, her son to save !
The cruel conscript claimed his arm.
And made the widow desolate :
And now, she deemed her words might charm
A king, to change his martial fate !
Within her trembling hand, she bore
A missive to the " King of Rome '
A child to whom three days before.
The light of earth had been unknown.
'T was soiled : the ink, with tear-drops stored,
Grew pallid with the grief it spoke,
But shone more bright, when it implored
The " King" to break the soldier's yoke !
The Emperor, his royal sire,
Then read it to the cradled king.
And knelt to hear with feigned desire.
The words his majesty would bring!
Then, turning to the mother there.
Napoleon, with joy replied :
" The King in silence heard your prayer.
And silence is consent, implied !
Such deeds, like some bright stranger stars
Which light a drearv winter's eve,
Throughout Napoleon's ruthless wars,
Their saving rays of glory leave!
And, through his carnage, blond, and strife
Amidst his smiles above the slain
Thev tell us of that purer life
Which bared his breast to pity's reign !
THE FLIGHT OF MASSENA, OR THE PROPHET
MISTAKEN.
ONE of Napoleon's mistakes in carrying on the war
in the Peninsula was his persistent underrating of the
magnitude and difficulty of the task assigned to his lieu-
tenants. He thought his presence in the field wholly
unnecessary, and that he could remain in Paris and suc-
cessfully direct a campaign, which in its every feature
was totally different from any theretofore engaged in by
him. When Massena, who was probably the best soldier
he had, was sent to the front with his army of veterans
and directed to drive Wellington into the sea, it was
taken for granted that the campaign would be a short
one, and that Lisbon would soon be in the Marshal's pos-
session and the English army on its way home, completely
routed. The result proved how easy it is to plan a cam-
paign away from the field of operation, and how difficult
it is to have others carry it out, especially when such
obstacles arc met with as Wellington placed in the way of
the Prince of Essling. The " spoiled child of victory "
was compelled to admit that fate was no longer kind to
him, and, for the first time in his history, he ordered a re-
treat. The English writers at once took advantage of the
Marshal's misfortune and greatly did they exult therein.
244
MASSENA.
From an engraving by Fiesinger. after Bonne-maison.
Paris, 1801.
THE I-' LIGHT Of MA SSI: A' A. 245
THE H.IOHT OF MASSEXA ! OR TIIK PKOPHKT MISTAKKX.
" Go," said the Tyrant swell'd with pride,
" Drive Wellington into the tide,
And, Prince of Essling, I decree
Tliat Lusitania thine shall be."
The Prince of Essling made his bow
Thank'd his kind master pledg'd his vow
To die, or do the doughty deed-
Then vaulted on his warrior steed.
Full fourscore thousand veterans form
The columns of his chosen swarm ;
A well-train'd, desperate, hardy brood.
Inured to scenes of death and blood-
True dogs of war, by rapine fed,
And to compassion's dictates dead.
Onward they march with awful sweep
O'er fruitful drll and rugged steep,
Leaving behind them as thev go
o - o
A frightful waste of want and woe.
( )nward they urge their vengeful way
To where the boast of Britain lay -
Dreaming of nothing but sttcce>s,
Against the British van they press :
But at Busaco's bloody height
Their haste was check'd by British might.
Here victory fir-4, that long had Miiil'd.
Began to frou n on her spi:'d chiM.
And seem'd to cry. " Adu u ! adieu !
Proud Massena, I '\ e clone \\ith you :
My f.u'ours henceforth 1 'il bestow
(For he deserves them) on \'our I - "oe !
246 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLKOX.
Nay look not, my old pet, so gruff,
I find I Ye spoil'd you long enough
A crown is a precarious thing
I never meant you for a king-
Take my advice, return to France-
You '11 rue your trip if you advance."
As on his ear her accents rung;
O '
His grim soul winced, to madness stung;
Yet, maugre menace of mischance.
Boldly resolv'd he to advance :
For still before his gloating eyes,
Glitter'd ambition's promis'd prize
" Drive Wellington into the sea,
And Lusitania thine shall be."
Meanwhile sagacious Wellington,
Undazzled by his triumph won,
Resolv'd to quit his laurell'd seat.,
And seek a more secure retreat.
Where he his far out-numbering foes
Might with less risk of loss oppose.
More circumspection taught to use,
His track the fierce French Chief pursues,
Till on his view the grandeur shines
Of Mafra's strong embattled lines ;
The mighty bar, whose lofty length
Marr'd all his hopes, mock'cl all his strength.
Here, like some gaunt wolf, baulk'd of food,
The baffled Warrior, growling, stood
o o 7
Manoeuvring, threat'ning, ail in vain,
Fhro' winter's cold inclement reign.
Fatigu'd, dishearten'd, held at bay,
His troops disease, and famine's prey.
At length he on a stated night,
In doleful dumps, betook to flight,
THE FLIGHT Ol' MASSKXA. 2.\J
And left behind his high renown,
And lost (O sad ! ) his promis'd crown.
Mistaken C BB TT ! lack-a-day !
The confident has run away,
And left another wreath of glory,
To deck " Lord Talavera's " story !
INSCRIPTION FOR THE LINES OF TORRES
VEDRAS.
IN the spring of 1810 the French army in the Penin-
sula numbered about three hundred thousand. Napo-
leon had thought to take command in person, but the
divorce, his marriage with Marie Louise, and the cares
of the empire prevented him from carrying out his pur-
pose. He certainly made a mistake in not being with
his army. The quarrels and jealousies existing between
his marshals rendered his presence positively necessary,
if success was to be obtained. England kept up a bitter
and a most determined struggle, and Wellington in plan-
ning and executing the Lines of Torres Vedras, laid the
foundation for the defeat and the expulsion of French
arms from the Peninsula. The Lines of Tou - es Vedras
were a vast system of formidable defences erected be-
tween the ocean and the Tagus in front of Lisbon.
Wellington is said to have remarked that behind these
fortifications he " deposited the independence of Por-
tugal and even of Spain." It was here Massena met
the obstacle which prevented his advance upon Lisbon,
ami which eventually compelled him to withdraw his
entire army from Portugal.
INSCRIPTION 1 MR TIIK LINKS OF TORRKS YKDRAS.
RoHI-.K I S(>! THK'i .
Through all Iberia, from the Atlantic shores
To far Pyrene, Wellington hath left
248
THE LINES OF TORRES VEDKAS, 24' >
His trophies ; but no monument records
To after-time a more enduring praise
Than this which marks his triumph here attained
By intellect, and patience to the end
Holding through good and ill its course assigned,
The stamp and seal of greatness. Here the chief
Perceived in foresight Lisbon's sure defence,
A vantage-ground for all reverse prepared,
Where Portugal and England might defy
All strength of hostile numbers. Not for this
Of hostile enterprise did he abate,
Or gallant purpose : witness the proud day
Which saw Soult's murderous host from Porto driven ;
Bear witness, Talavera, made by him
Famous forever ; and that later fight
When from Busaco's solitude the birds.
Then first affrighted in their sanctuary.
Fled from the thunders and the fires of war.
But when Spain's feeble counsels, in delay
As erring as in action premature,
Had left him in the field without support.
And Bonaparte, having trampled down
The strength and pride of Austria, this way turned
His single thought and undivided power.
Retreating hither the great general came ;
And proud Massena, when the boastful chief
Of plundered Lisbon dreamt, here found himself
Stopped suddenly in his presumptuous course.
From Lriceyra on the western sea,
By Mafra's princely convent, and the heights
Of Montichique, and Bucellas famed
For generous vines, the formidable works
Extending, rested on the guarded shores
Of Tagus, that rich river who received
Into his ample and rejoicing port
250 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEOX.
The harvests and the wealth of distant lands,
Secure, insulting with the grand display
The robber's greedy sight. Five months the foe
Beheld these lines, made inexpugnable
By perfect skill, and patriot feelings here
With discipline conjoined, courageous hands,
True spirits, and one comprehensive mind
All overseeing and pervading all.
Five months, tormenting still his heart with hope,
He saw his projects frustrated ; the power
Of the blaspheming tyrant whom he served
Fail in the proof ; his thousands disappear,
In silent and inglorious war consumed ;
Till hence retreating, maddened with despite,
Here did the self-styled Son of Victory leave,
Never to be redeemed, that vaunted name.
BAR ROSA.
FOR the next two years the Peninsular war was carried
on in Spain. Victory and defeat, alternately, came to
the French cause, but the end brought complete triumph
for the Allies. King Joseph and the armies which kept
him on the throne by the power of their bayonets only,
went back to France, having accomplished nothing. In
all human probability had Napoleon made no King Jo-
seph, and had he not sent his best captains and the flower
of his veteran armies to waste their time and their blood
in an uncalled-for and an unjustifiable warfare, the history
of Europe would not be what it is. The battle of Barrosa
was fought the fifth of March, iSii.aml resulted in a
most decisive defeat for Marshal Victor.
HARROSA.
Though the four quarters of the world have seen
The British valour proved triumphantly
Upon the French, in man}- a field far-famed.
Yet may the noble Island in her rolls
Of glory write Barrosa's name. For there.
Xot by the issue of deliberate plans
Consulted well, was the fierce contest won,
Nor b the leader's ee intuitive,
\2 A METRICAL H '1 STORY OF NAPOLEON.
Nor force of either arm of war, nor art
Of skilled artillerist, nor the discipline
Of troops to absolute obedience trained ;
But by the spring and impulse of the heart.
Brought fairly to the trial, when all else
Seemed, like a wrestler's garment, thrown aside ;
By individual courage and the sense
Of honour, their old country's, and their own,
There to be forfeited, or there upheld ;
This warmed the soldier's soul, and gave his hand
The strength that carries with it victory.
More to enhance their praise, the day was fought
Against all circumstances ; a painful march.
Through twenty hours of night and day prolonged,
Forespent the British troops ; and hope delayed
Had left their spirits palled. But when the word
Was given to turn, and charge, and win the heights,
The welcome order came to them like rain
Upon a traveller in the thirsty sands.
Rejoicing, up the ascent, and in the front
Of danger, they with steady step advanced.
And with the insupportable bayonet
Drove down the foe. The vanquished Victor sa\v.
And thought of Talavcra, and deplored
His eagle lost. But England saw, well pleased,
Her old ascendency that day sustained ;
And Scotland, shouting over all her hills,
Amonir her worthies ranked another Graham.
ALBUERA.
TlIE only poetry we have been able to find relating to
the Peninsular war is that written in favour of the cause
of the Allies, or in laudation of the noble deeds per-
formed by the English, Spanish, and Portuguese during
that long struggle. The friends and admirers of Na-
poleon have not cared to eulogise his course of action
with regard to the affairs of Spain and Portugal, and with
some considerable good reason. On the other hand,
English poets have taken great delight in " writing up "
the misfortunes of the French armies in the Peninsula,
and verses innumerable have told the story of their great
enemy's ill luck in that quarter of the globe. At
Albuera Marshal Soult suffered defeat at the hands of the
combined allied forces commanded by the English Mar-
shal Beresford. The Spanish forces fought with more
than usual bravery, and, without doubt, the old French
Marshal owed his defeat as much to them as lie did t<>
the valour of the English soldiers.
ALHUKRA.
t Al'l 1 1 ' >H I .
Xerxes, when the Three Hundred he beheld
Who drove his myriads, broke his tented pride.
And with Eeonidas at Pyl;e died,
With venerating awe his heart was quelled.
254 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Philip, thy stern breast 'gainst itself rebelled
At Chaeronea, as thy victor stride
Passed by the Theban band ; who, side by side,
Like brothers fell, nor one his comrades knelled.
Does not the dread Napoleon think of these,
These " sons of glory, these sure heirs of fame,"
At Albuera who have left a name,
True Spaniards, which oblivion ne'er shall seize ?
Glory to them eternity decrees :
Does not his inmost heart revere their hallowed flame ?
THE BATTLE OF SALAMANCA.
SALAMANCA only added to the misfortune of the
French cause in Spain. Wellington there gained a signal
victory over Marshal Marmont, who, besides defeat, re-
ceived a serious wound which compelled him to give up
the command of the army and retire to France. The
Peninsula proved a field of but little glory for these great
French captains, who. in all other quarters of the world
had won such famous renown. Wellington, on the other
hand, was there making for himself a record which would
soon earn for him the title of the " Iron Duke," and
finally entitle him to engage personally the " Little
Corporal " himself.
TIIK I'.ATTI.K OK SALAMANCA.
WILLIAM THOMA> Kl T/I:I- .KAI.II.
Hark ! the deep mouth'd cannon's sound.
Tells the list'ning world around,
Marmont 's vanquish'd ! -Victory 's won !
By our glorious Wellington.
Oh ! ma>' some Bard, like Scott, relate
His deeds in arms, so nobly gre.it.
That, to do justice to his name,
The Poet ought to share his fame !
Yet still my bosom warmly glows.
When England triumphs o'er her foes ;
256 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
And wishes, though in humble lays,
To celebrate my country's praise !
Marmont, in numbers proud and strong,
Drove the fierce tide of war along,
To crush on Salamanca's plain,
At one great blow, the hopes of Spain !
Or else, perhaps, he thought to shield
The Phantom King, who dared the field ;
And thus to save the Tyrant's race,
He met his own, and Gaul's disgrace.
The British Chief, with piercing eye,
Saw when to retrograde not fly
And thus deceiv'd the sanguine foe,
Who rush'd on fate, defeat, and woe !
For, at the word, the Britons turn,
And, while their bosoms nobly burn,
Strangers to ev'ry thought of fear,
They trample on the Gallic spear ;
Renew the deeds that Cressy saw,
And turn at once the tide of war!
In dreadful charge, the British van
Bore down whole squadrons, horse and man
From hill to hill, pursued, they run,
Like shadows chas'd before the Sun !
Fetlock'd in gore, the Victors prest
On many gallant Frenchman's breast.
Who might have liv'd in happier times,
Exempt from Bonaparte's crimes ;
But now in mangled heaps they lie,
Cursing their Tyrant ere they die,
Who dragg'd them from their native plain
To perish, for his cause, in Spain !
The Tonnes, once a limpid flood,
Red with the slaughter, swell'd with blood.
THE BATTLE OF SALAMAA'CA.
And join'd the Douro to the Sea,
Proclaiming England's Victory !
While Portugal may proudly say,
She shar'd the honours of the day,
When by the British Hero led,
Her sons, with Britons, nobly bled !
Long time the work of Death was done,
Nor ceas'd but with the setting Sun,
When shclter'd by the gloom of night,
The routed Foe urged on his flight.
Next morn (our Victory complete),
The Eagles saw at Wellesley's feet,
With countless prisoners in his train,
And thousands breathless on the plain !
All the proud Leaders of the Foe
Are captives, wounded or laid low ;
While Spanish hills and valleys ring,
Blessing England's Prince and King,
Who sent Their Hero to sustain,
Th' invaded Monarchy of Spain ;
What Meed 's for Wellington in store ?
Whose brows were laurel-crown'd before
In every clime ! on every shore !
Our Edward 's mighty in renown.
And Henry fam'd in story.
Marlb'rough, who shook the Gallic cro\\:i,
Did not surpass your glory !
They fill'd of Fame the brightest page ;
You live the Hero of your age;
The Nation's boundless Gratitude 's your own.
With honours trebled, from the British Throne
England beheld the Wave to Nelson yield.
As He the Ocean, You command the P'ield !
THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA.
MATTERS in Spain were assuming a serious and an
alarming character. Napoleon, busy with his plans for the
invasion of Russia, had no time, money, or soldiers to spare
in the cause of his sorely tried marshals in the Peninsula.
The guerilla warfare adopted by the Spaniards and the
obstinate valour displayed by the English veterans were
more than a match for the hitherto unconquered war-
riors of France. The struggle, it is true, was kept up in
a gallant and heroic manner until the twenty-first of June,
1813, when the battle of Vittoria was fought, which
proved the Waterloo of the French cause in the Penin-
sula. Five years of continued cruel and inhuman war-
fare, costing rivers of blood and untold fortune, resulted
in absolutely nothing but disaster to the great hopes of
Napoleon.
THK BATTLE OF VITTORIA.
\YII.I.IAM GLEN.
Sing, a' ye bards, wi' loud acclaim,
High glory gie to gallant Graham,
Heap laurels on our marshal's fame,
Wha conquer' d at Vittoria.
Triumphant freedom smiled on Spain,
An' raised her stately form again,
Whan the British lion shook his mane
On the mountains of Yittoria.
255
THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA. 259
Let blustering Suchet crouscly crack.
Let Joseph rin the coward's track,
An' Jourdan wish his baton back
He left upon Vittoria.
If e'er they meet their worthy king,
Let them dance roun' him in a ring,
An' some Scots piper play the spring
He blew them at Vittoria.
Gie truth and honour to the Dane,
Gie German's monarch heart and brain.
But aye in sic a cause as Spain
Gie Britain a Vittoria.
The English rose was ne'er sac red,
The shamrock waved whare glory led.
An' the Scottish thistle rear'd its head
In joy upon Vittoria.
Loud was the battle's stormy swell,
Whare thousands fought an' mony fell,
But the Glascow heroes bore the bell
At the battle of Vittoria.
The Paris maids may ban them a',
Their lads are maistly wede awa'.
An' cauld an' pale as wreaths o' snaw
They lie upon Vittoria.
Wi' quakin' heart and tremblin' knees
The eagle standard-bearer flees,
While the " meteor Hag" floats to the bree/e.
An' wantons on Vittoria.
Britannia's glory there \\as shown.
By the undaunted Wellington,
An' the tyrant trembled <.n his throne.
Whan hearin' < >' \ it t ori.i.
260 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Peace to the spirits o' the brave,
Let a' their trophies for them wave,
An' green be our Cadogan's grave,
Upon thy field, Vittoria !
There let eternal laurels bloom,
While maidens mourn his early doom,
An' deck his lowly honour'd tomb
Wi' roses on Vittoria.
Ye Caledonian war-pipes, play,
Barrosa heard your Hielan' lay,
An' the gallant Scot show'd there that day
A prelude to Vittoria.
Shout to the heroes swell ilk voice,
To them wha made poor Spain rejoice,
Shout Wellington an' Lynedoch, boys,
Barrosa an' Vittoria.
THE MARCH TO MOSCOW.
THE Russian campaign proved a serious matter for all
concerned in it. Southey, who delighted in using his pen
against everything pertaining to Napoleon, made this
campaign the subject of a poem, called at the time hu-
morous, but which lacks all the elements of good taste.
" Prolix buffoonery " are the proper terms to apply to it.
There is, as has been well said, too much "jaunty hilar-
ity " in it. The author might far better, and with much
more credit to himself, have treated his theme with sobri-
ety, as the occasion certainly called for such treatment.
But it was the fashion in those days for English writers
to ridicule Napoleon, and Southey was not the man to
let such an opportunity as this go by without giving ex-
pression to his personal feelings. The poem will amuse
the reader, and it will, at least, afford him a chance to try
his skill at unravelling the Russian puzzle of proper name--
embraced therein.
Tin: MARCH TO MOSCOW.
Ki'UKKr S<>nnr\
The Emperor Nap he would set oil
On a summer excursion to Moscow ;
The fields were green, and the sky was blue,
Morbleu ' Parblcu !
\Vhat a pleasant excursion to Moscow!
261
262 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Four hundred thousand men and more
Must go with him to Moscow:
There were Marshals by the dozen,
And Dukes by the score ;
Princes a few, and Kings one or two :
While the fields are so green, and the sky so blue,
Morbleu ! Parbleu !
What a pleasant excursion to Moscow !
There was Junot and Augereau,
Heigh-ho for Moscow !
Dombrowsky and Poniatowsky,
Marshal Ney, lack-a-day !
General Rapp, the Emperor Nap ;
Nothing would do,
While the fields were so green, and the sky so blue,
Morbleu ! Parbleu !
Nothing would do
For the whole of this crew,
But they must be marching to Moscow.
The Emperor Nap he talk'cl so big
That he frightcn'd Mr. Roscoe.
John Bull, he cries, if you '11 be wise,
Ask the Emperor Nap if he will please
To grant you peace, upon your knees,
Because he is going to Moscow !
He '11 make all the Poles come out of their holes,
And beat the Russians, and eat the Prussians :
For the fields are green, and the sky is blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!
And he '11 certainly march to Moscow !
And Counsellor Brougham was all in a fume
At the thought of the March to Moscow :
The Russians, lie said, they were undone.
THE MARCH TO MOSCOW. 263
And the great Fee Fa\v Fum
Would presently come,
With a hop, step, and jump, unto London.
For, as for his conquering Russia,
However some persons might scoff it,
Do it he could, and do it he would,
And from doing it nothing would come but good.
And nothing could call him off it.
.Mr. Jeffrey said so, who must certainly know,
For he was the Edinburgh Prophet.
They all of them knew Mr. Jeffrey's Review,
Which with Holy Writ ought to be rcckon'd :
It was, through thick and thin, to its party true ;
Its back was buff, and its sides were blue,
Morblcu ! Parbleu !
It served them for Law and for Gospel too.
But the Russians stoutly they turned t<>
Upon the road to Moscow.
Xap had to fight his way all through ;
They could fight, though they could not/w /'/<.; TV//.V .-
Hut the fields were green, and the sky was blue,
Morblcu ! Parbleu !
And so he got to Moscow.
He found the place too warm tor him,
For they set fire to Moscow.
To get there had ot him much ado,
And then no better course he kne\v.
While the fields were green, and the sky was blue-.
Morbleu ! Parbleu !
But to march back again from Moscow.
The Russians they stuck close to him
All on the road from Moscow.
There 1 was Torma/.on and |emalon.
264 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
And all the others that end in on ;
Milarodovitch and Jaladovitch,
And Karatschkowitch,
And all the others that end in itch ;
Schamscheff, Souchosaneff,
And Schepaleff,
And all the others that end in eff,
Wasiltschikoff, Kostomaroff,
And Tchoglokoff,
And all the others that end in off ;
Rajeffsky, and Novereffsky,
And Rieffsky,
And all the others that end in effsky ;
Oscharoffsky and Rostoffsky,
And all the others that end in offsky ;
And Platoff he play'd them off,
And Shouvaloff he shovell'd them off,
And Markoff he mark'd them off,
And Krosnoff he cross'd them off,
And Tuchkoff he touch'd them off,
And Boroskoff he bored them off,
And Kutousoff he cut them off,
And Parenzoff he pared them off,
And Worronzoff he worried them off,
And Doctoroff he doctor'd them off,
And Rodionoff he flogg'd them off.
And last of all, an Admiral came,
A terrible man with a terrible name,
A name which you all know by sight very well,
But which no can speak, and no one can spell.
They stuck close to Nap with all their might ;
They were on the left and on the right,
Behind and before, and by day and night ;
lie would rather parlc'j-i'ous than fight ;
THE MARCH TO MO SCO II'. 265
But he look'd white, and he look'd blue,
Morbleu ! Parbleu !
When parlcz-i>ons no more would do.
For they remembered Moscow.
And then came on the frost and snow,
All on the road from Moscow.
The wind and the weather he found in that hour.
Cared nothing for him nor for all his power ;
For him who, while Europe crouch'd under his rod.
Put his trust in his fortune, and not in his God,
Worse and \vorse every day the elements grew,
The fields were so white, and the sky so blue.
Sacrebleu ! Ventrebleu !
What a horrible journey from Moscow !
What then thought the Emperor Nap
Upon the road from Moscow ?
Why, I ween he thought it small delight
To fight all day, and to freeze all night ;
And he was besides in a very great fright,
For a whole skin he liked to be in ;
And so, not knowing what else to do,
When the fields were so white, and the sky so blue
Morbleu ! Parbleu !
He stole away I tell you true,
Upon the road from Moscow.
" 'T is myself," quoth he. " I must mind most.
So the Devil may take the hindmost."
Too cold upon the road was he ;
Too hot had he been at Moscow ;
But colder and hotter lie may be,
For the grave is colder than Muscovy ;
And a place there is to be kept in view.
266 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEOX.
Where the fire is red, and the brimstone blue,
Morbleu ! Parbleu !
Which he must go to,
If the Pope say true,
If he does not in time look about him ;
Where his namesake almost
He may have for his Host ;
He has reckon'd too long without him ;
If that Host get him in Purgatory,
He won't leave him there alone with his glory
But there he must stay for a very long day.
For from thence there is no stealing away,
As there was on the road to Moscow.
VIVE L' EM PER EUR.
\APOLEON and Alexander were, no doubt, both, in a
great measure, responsible for the rupture which took
place in 1812 between their respective nations; but the
great responsibility for the Russian campaign and the
awful results which attended it, must rest, in justice, with
England. She had resolved that the complete overthrow
of Napoleon and his government was the only condition
that would be accepted by her for a cessation of hostility
against the hated usurper of the French throne. French
commerce was driven from the seas and destroyed ; coa-
lition after coalition was formed with European nations
to act against the common enemy and for ten years there
had been no truce in her efforts to destroy her great and
only rival. Carrying on an incessant warfare in the Pen-
insula, which demanded the presence of the flower of the
French army to hold in check, England had sought to
surprise and cripple France by entering into a coalition
with Austria and inducing that nation to declare war.
YVagram put an end to that scheme, and the marriage of
Napoleon to the Archduchess of Austria was not just the
result anticipated by England. Russia was the only con-
tinental nation unconquered by the might}* legions of
France. Alexander had sworn eternal friendship to Na-
poleon at Tilsit ; but with the understanding that G >nstan-
268 A METRICAL II I STORY OF NAPOLEON.
tinople should be his. Napoleon had agreed to this, but
with the mental reservation that he would never permit
the key to India to be placed in the hands of any one but
himself ; and he had further resolved that Russia must
join in the continental blockade against -English com-
merce. . Peace between England and France meant an
end of the war with Spain and no war with Russia ; but
England would not have it that way. With Napoleon's
veterans and mightiest marshals engaged in the Penin-
sula, the time was ripe for more intrigue, and the coali-
tion between England and Russia was formed. It was,
indeed, a serious matter for I 7 ranee, at that time, to en-
gage in a war with so powerful an adversary as Russia,
backed, as she was, by the influence and wealth of Eng-
land. Her allies, it is true, embraced all the nations of
Europe, Spain, Portugal, and Sweden excepted ; but the
friendship of most of them was a forced and a strained
one. Austria and Prussia stood ready to break their
compacts at the first auspicious moment, and Bernadotte,
traitor at heart to Napoleon's cause from the early days
of the republic, had already entered into an alliance
with Russia, and was about to turn his guns upon the
man who had made it possible for him to wear a crown.
It was within the power of England, and England alone,
to stop the invasion of Russia, and to give the world
universal peace ; but to give the world peace never was
her purpose, so long as Napoleon sat at the head of the
government of France. Russia could not, with honour,
submit to the demands of France, and France, in justice
to herself, could not recede, and so war was invoked.
VIVE LEMPEREVR. 269
Never before in his whole history had Napoleon assem-
bled such an army as crossed the Niemen under his
command, on the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth of June,
1812. It seemed but the matter of a short campaign
when terms of peace would be dictated by him from
Russia's ancient capital, as the}- had been from Berlin
and Vienna. But such was not to be the case. Things
went wrong with him from the beginning of the campaign
to the end. On the banks of the Niemen, before cross-
ing into Russian territory, the Emperor was thrown from
his horse on the sands ; which incident caused some one
present to remark : " That is a bad omen, a Roman would
turn back." But, instead of turning back, he rode with
the advance guard, urging everything forward. Reach-
ing the river Wilia, he found the bridges destroyed, and
the stream swollen with recent rains. Anxious to get on
he ordered a squadron of Polish cavalry to cross by swim-
ming. They instantly plunged into the water, but before
they could reach the middle of the stream the torrent
broke their ranks and swept them away, almost to a man,
before the very eyes of Napoleon, to whom main- of them
in their last struggle turned their faces, and as they sank
from sight exclaimed in loud tones, " Vive 1'Kmpereur."
This historical incident is the subject of the following
lines :
VIVK I/K.MPKKKrR!
R. MoNTCOMItfiY.
By Wilia's banks the rushing river swept
Like a careering whirlwind ; white with foam.
And plunging on in many a gurgled roar
Of furious nitre . So fiercelv flies the steed.
2/0 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Unmanaclcd, that with his upshot cars,
And limbs vein-swelling with their wrathful glow,
Undaunted gallops over hill and dale,
His mane dishevelled and his eyes on fire :
Each massy bridge was ruined, and afar
The giddy wrecks were battling with the flood,
Till whirl'd below. 'T was then Napoleon came
With his embattled hosts. That wondrous man
Whose daring spirit, with volcanic rage,
Breathed flame and ruin on the affrighted world.
His eye could span the Universe ! His soul
Had fire enough to vanquish all ! In vain
Wild Nature barred his progress with her piles
Tiar'd by the clouds ; in vain the rocks
Upreared their ice-haired heads to block his path,
Or hurled their torrents at him ! With a glance
Fierce as the eagle's, when his piercing eye
Gleams through the darkening air, he looked beyond
Them all ! Nature and he were giants twin,
And her impediments but forced the flames
Of genius from his soul ; as thunder clouds,
Together clashed, dart forth their lightning gleams.
Upon the howling flood he casts a glance.
Such as the tiger darts, ere on his prey
lie springs, to gnash it in his rav'nous fangs ;
Then fiercely cried, " On, on ! my valiant Poles !
They answer'd not ! but with a clanging stir
Goaded their panting battle-steeds, and plunged
Amid the torrent's rush. Like loosened crags
l>own dashing on the sea, the warriors sank,
Emburied in the stream ; then buoy'd again,
And panting, cleaved their roaring track. Beneath
Their gallant burdens, bravely pawed the steeds.
With blowing nostrils, and red-rolling eves.
L'EMPEREUR. 2/1
And many a furious snort : against their breasts
The cloven waters foam'd, and flash'd behind
Their darting hoofs ; and roar'd and raged around
The dripping ranks, like a disturbed den
Of lions in the wood ; but vain the rush ;
Midway the maddening torrent overwhelm'd
The struggling files ; like a tremendous blast
Among autumnal leaves, it scatter'd all !
Rank after rank was buried in the flood,
Upon their panting steeds ; while round their heads
The waters yell'd, as victors o'er their foes ;
But in that gasp while yet their spirits hung
'Tween life and death, as feathers in the air
They turned their heads, and with triumphant shrieks
Of valour, wildly sounded, "Vive 1'Empereur!
He heard their death-cries rolling on the blast.
And as a lake just rippled into life,
His features flutter'd with terrific throes
Of agony; and then he gnash'd his teeth.
And dug his nails into his palms, and heav'd
His breast, and glanced his eyes, and groan 'd for words !
BORODINO.
ALEXANDER'S tactics during Napoleon's advance on
Moscow were a series of masterly retreats. His policy,
which, no doubt, was the only one which could have suc-
ceeded, was to draw the invaders as far as possible into
his own country and away from their source of supplies.
He did not dare risk the fate of Russia upon the fortune
of battle, for he well knew what the result would be.
His army destroyed, he would be at the mercy of a foe
who would make him pay dearly for his temerity in
opposing him in arms. He chose rather to let desolation
and want do what his soldiers could not. In pursuance
of this policy, the Russians in their retreat left behind
them an utterly barren waste. Cities and villages were
burned to the ground ; provisions for man and beast were
removed far beyond the reach of the advancing armies;
bridges were destroyed and roads made as nearly impas-
sable as human ingenuity could accomplish such a task.
A show of battle was made at several points, but only
enough to encourage the pursuit. Moscow was twenty-
five hundred miles from Paris, and the nearer Napoleon
approached to that city the nearer he was to his own
destruction. Alexander knew this, Napoleon did not.
Counselled by his marshals not to push on further, the
Emperor paid no attention to their advice. A retreat,
ALEXANDER I.
From an engraving by Ant. V. Cardon, after Gerard KUcheulien.
London, 1804.
BORODINO. 273
to him, was disgrace ; to tarry in the midst of his enemies
meant ruin. In a steady advance, though at a cost which
was frightful, he saw his only chance for success, his only
hope for honour and for glory. Every battle he could
force his foes to fight, resulted in victory; but victory
void of any decisive meaning. At last, Moscow was near
at hand, and Alexander determined to make one mighty
effort to prevent Napoleon from entering the city, which,
once entered by the invading armies, was doomed to self-
destruction. On the seventh of September the battle of
Borodino was fought. Three hundred thousand men
hurled themselves against each other with the fury of
unchained demons. From early dawn until the close of
day the awful struggle went on, and when in the end,
the Russians were forced to retire from their strongly
entrenched position, it was without disorder, fighting
inch by inch the ground they were obliged to yield. The
losses, on both sides, were simply horrible and the vic-
tory won by Napoleon, if victory it was, turned out to be
of little worth.
BORODINO.
I-"K<>M THK RrssiAN <>r 1't SHKIN.
All ni\\ tierce and last.
2/4 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Like freedom's war song, yon wild blast ? "
But wrapt in dreams of years long past,
My comrade did not hear.
The drums beat loud the mist-cloud dun
'Gan eastward lighter grow,
And launched from unexpected gun
Came greeting from the foe.
Then spake our chief before our line ;
" Moscow 's behind us, children mine !
Moscow we die to shield ;
'T was thus our brethren did the deed ! "
And one and all we vowed to bleed ;
And well that promise did we heed
On Borodino's field.
I shudder at the thought ah me !
Poltava, Rymnik there
In hope of glory battled we,
But here in grim despair.
We closed our ranks without a sound,
Guns thundered, bullets whistled round ;
I crossed myself when nigh
My comrade fell, all bleeding red ;
I panted to avenge the dead,
And from my levelled gun the lead
With deadly aim did fly.
" March forward, march ! " No more I know
Of what befell that day ;
Six times we yielded to the foe,
Six times the foe gave way ;
And shadowy banners waved above,
And shadowy foes against us strove,
And fire through smoke did rain ;
BORODINO.
Full on the guns the horsemen broke,
The wearied arm refused its stroke,
And rushing balls their flight did choke
In hills of gory slain.
There dead and living mingled lay,
The cold night gathered round,
And all who yet survived the fray
In deepest gloom were drowned ;
The roaring cannon ceased to boom,
But guns that beat amid the gloom
Showed where the foe withdrew.
How welcome was the morning red !
" Now God be praised ! " I only said,
For shivering on a couch of dead
I lay the long night through.
There, in death's sleep our bravest lay.
Beneath the fatal shade ;
How gallant and how stanch that day !
Alas ! that could not aid.
But ever in the roll of Fame,
Above Poltava's, Rymnik's name
Rings Borodino's praise.
Sooner the Prophet's tongue shall lie.
Sooner shall fade Heaven's shining eye.
Than from our Northern memory
Shall time that field erase.
THE JEWELLED GLOVE.
Ox the fourteenth of September, 1812, the French army
entered Moscow. Here the soldiers expected to find food
and shelter, so long and so urgently needed. Here they
were to obtain that rest, so well earned by the many
weary days and sleepless nights they had passed through.
Here awaited them the ease and comfort, oriental in com-
parison with the hardships they had left behind. How
different the reality from what they had fancied was to
be their lot ! One of the most magnificent of cities,
deserted as the barren face of a desert. Not a soul to be
seen, save those vile and inhuman wretches left behind
to do the will of their masters. Palace and cottage given
up alike to the enemy and to plunder. The French sol-
diers, bidding defiance to the flames, already bursting forth
from all quarters of the city indulged in all kinds of ex-
cesses. The young officers, more refined in their amuse-
ments, sought to forget war and its attendant horrors in
the pleasures of the dance, and many scenes like the one
portrayed in the following lines, so far as the dance is
concerned, is said to have actually taken place, although
"Celia" and the other joyous "daughters" of France
were not present ; at least not at the time they are reprc-
set at last in endless ni4
THE FLIGHT. 305
The magic of his presence was the great hope of his
friends. The English writers, as usual, took advantage
of Napoleon's misfortune ; and the subject of his leaving
the army was handled by them in a way not at all com-
plimentary to his character or to his courage.
TIIK FI.IGIIT.
ANON.
Bonaparte flew off in a pet,
On a sledge, over deep Russian snow,
To proclaim to the world he was beat,
And had met a complete overthrow.
To Paris he hied him away,
Stealing home like a thief in the night ;
Afraid to approach it by day,
Lest the people might view his sad plight.
And calling revenge for their friends.
Left to perish midst Russia's bleak wild.
The child for his father demands,
The mother cries loud for her child.
What answer the Ruffian could make,
'T is hard for one's thoughts to conceive ;
But sure on his throne he must shake,
And his horrors no art can relieve.
In vain may he write Bulletins,
Heaping lies upon lies as before,
The truth now too naked is seen,
And his slaves will believe him no more.
But rising en masse through the realm.
Break their chains on the murderer's head.
306 A METRICAL IIISTOXY OF NAPOLEON.
In his fulness of sin overwhelm
Him, and lay the wretch low with the dead.
Then may Freedom revisit their lands,
And Europe's deep wrongs be redress'd,
When a Tyrant no longer commands,
The people no more are oppress'd.
" fa Ira ! " then let every one sing,
When these joyous events shall arise,
Peace will come then with balm on her wing,
And Gratitude's voice reach the skies.
TO NAPOLEON, FLYING FROM WILNA.
WHAT Napoleon's thoughts were, as, wrapped in si-
lence and gloom, he flew over the barren, inhospitable
snows towards warm and sunny France, no one could
know. Behind him was the starved and frozen wreck
of the grandest army he had ever led into battle ; before
him lowered the dark clouds of doubt and unrest ; and
treason confronted him in the guise of many whom he
had loaded with favours. Had his star betrayed him into
making the fatal mistake of his life ; or was he again to
lead his legions on to greater victories than they had yet
won ? Impenetrable were his thoughts. Not even the
keen eye of an Englishman could pierce the veil which
concealed so well that wonderful mind.
TO NAPOLEON, FLYING FROM \\ILNA.
K. A. I >AVKNI'<)R 1 .
Lone Fugitive, where are the throngs that late
Thou led'st in martial pomp ? \Yell may'st thou start !
Fallen are unnumber'd legions ! small the part
That lives, to curse thee with a rancorous hate.
Close at thy heels the Russ, in victor state.
Comes thundering on ; and terror chills thy heart.
In every hand thou see'st of death the dart.
And hear'st in every bree/e the voice of fute.
308 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Proud Lord, thy boasted star with dimmer light
Begins to burn ! In solitary woe
Thus ever may'st thou fly, and wild affright.
So Persia's king, his countless hosts laid low,
Urged o'er the insulted wave his lonely flight,
And shuddering, thought each sound announc'd the
vengeful foe.
THE RETREAT FROM MOSCOW.
THE Abbe de Pradt, then French Ambassador at \Yur-
sa\v, gives a detailed account in his Embassy to Warsaw in
1812, of the interview he had with Napoleon, as the Em-
peror and those who accompanied him passed through
that city on their way to Paris. It is this story Mr.
Thornbury has taken for the basis of the principal scene
pictured in his poem, and it is the Abbe himself who is
there represented as narrating the occurrence. Xo one
of Napoleon's friends has ever believed the story as
told by Pradt. It is full of prejudice and extravagance,
and reads more like a caricature than an effort at truth
telling. What is said about the condition and conduct
of the wretched remnant of the Grand Army is nearer
the mark. But the story, as a whole, is a curious one, and
it will profit the student of Napoleonic history to read it
in its entirety.
THK RKTKKAT FROM MOSCOW.
A> it appearc'l to a certain Ahlic, a'. Warsaw, l>ereml>er 10. IMJ.
\V.\I.1 KK 'I'll' 'KMH'HN .
The yellow snow-fog curdled thick.
Dark, brooding, dull, and brown.
About the ramparts, hiding all
The steeples of the town ;
3IO A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
The icicles, as thick as beams,
Hung down from every roof,
When all at once we heard a sound
As of a muffled hoof.
'T was nothing but a soldier's horse.
All riderless and torn
With bullets ; scarce his bleeding legs
Could reach the gate. A morn
Of horror broke upon us then ;
We listened, but no drum
Only a sullen, distant roar,
Telling us that they come.
Next, slowly staggering through the fog,
A grenadier reeled past,
A bloody turban round his head,
His pallid face aghast.
Behind him, with an arm bound up
W T ith half a Russian flag,
Came one then three the last one sopped
His breast with crimson rag.
All day the frozen, bleeding men
Came pouring through the place ;
Drums broken, colours torn to shreds.
Foul wounds on every face.
Black powder-waggons, scorched and split,
Broad wheels caked thick with snow,
Red bayonets bent, and swords that still
Were reeking from the blow.
The ground was strewn with epaulettes,
Letters, and cards, and songs ;
The barrels, leaking drops of gold.
Were trampled by the throngs.
THE RETREAT I- ROM MOSCOW. 311
A brutal, selfish, goring mob,
Yet here and there a trace
Of the divine shone out, and lit
A gashed and suffering face.
Here came a youth, who on his back,
His dying father bore ;
With bandaged feet the brave youth limped,
Slow, shuddering, dripping gore.
And even 'mid the trampling crowd,
Maimed, crippled by the frost,
I found that every spark of good
\Vas not extinct and lost.
Deep in the ranks of savage men
I saw two grenadiers
Leading their corporal, his breast
Stabbed by the Cossack spears.
He saved that boy, whose tearful eyes
Were fixed upon the three
Although too weak to beat his drum
Still for his company.
Half-stripped, or wrapped in furs and
The broken ranks went on ;
They ran if anyone called out
" The Cossacks of the Don ! "
The whispered rumour, like a fire,
Spreads fast from street to street,
With boding look and shaking head
The staring gossips meet.
" Ten thousand horses every night
Were smitten by the frost ;
Full thirty thousand rank and file
In Beresina lost.
312 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
The Cossacks fill their caps with gold
The Frenchmen fling away.
Napoleon was shot the first,
And only lived a day
" They say that Caulaincourt is lost
The guns are left behind :
God's curse has fallen on these thieves
He sent the snow and wind."
Tired of the clatter and the noise,
I sought an inner room,
Where twenty wax-lights, starry clear,
Drove off the fog and gloom.
I took my wanton Ovid down,
And soon forgot the scene,
As through my dreams 1 saw arise
The rosy-bosomed queen.
My wine stood mantling in the glass
(The goblet of Voltaire),
I sipped and dozed, and dozed and sipped,
Slow rocking in my chair,
When open flew the bursting door,
And Caulaincourt stalked in
Tall, gaunt, and wrapped in frozen furs
Hard frozen to his skin.
The wretched hag of the low inn
Puffed at the sullen fire
Of spitting wood, that hissed and smoked
There stood the Jove whose ire
But lately set the world aflame,
Wrapped in a green pelisse,
Fur-lined, and stiff with half-burnt lace,
Trying to seem at ease.
THE RE TA'EA T FROM At SCO {V. 313
" Bali ! Du sublime au ridicule
II n'y a qu'un pas,"
He said. " The rascals think they 'vc made
A comet of my star.
The army broken ? dangers? pish !
I did not bring the frost.
Levy ten thousand Poles, Duroc
Who tells me we have lost ?
" I beat them everywhere, Murat
It is a costly game ;
But nothing venture, nothing win
I 'm sorry now we came.
That burning Moscow was a deed
Worthy of ancient Rome
Mind that I gild the Invalides
To match the Kremlin dome.
" Well? well as Beelzebub himself ! "
He leaped into the sleigh
Sent for to bear the Caesar off
Upon his ruthless way.
A flash of fire ! the court-yard stones
Snapped out the landlord cheered
In a hell-gulf of pitchy dark
The carriage disappeared.
BONAPARTE'S RETURN TO PARIS, INCOG.
NAPOLEON reached Paris on his return from Moscow
at midnight on the eighteenth of December, 1812, and
history relates how, upon being ushered into the room of
the Empress, she did not, at first, recognise him as the
Emperor, and how, for a moment, great confusion ensued ;
she thinking some intruder had broken in upon her slum-
bers. The scene must have been ludicrous in the extreme ;
the ci-devant mighty conqueror stealing back to his own
like a thief in the night, instead of with the blare of trum-
pets and the booming of cannon, that had always there-
tofore announced his triumphant return from the field of
battle. Upon this occasion he and his famous twenty-
ninth bulletin arrived in Paris about the same time. What
a revelation they brought to every fireside in France.
Instead of the usual victory, they brought news of such
a disaster as had never before fallen to the lot of the
brave soldiers of the Grand Army. If there ever was an
occurrence in the history of this great man, which would
excuse the writing of such verses as the following, it was
upon the occasion of his return to Paris, for surely the
manner of his return, and the reception he met with at the
hands of his august spouse, were anything but dignified.
Although the author does not confine himself strictly to
the truth, there is enough of the reality in his recital to
save it from being called pure fiction.
NAPOLEON, EMPEROR.
From the engraving by Wilson.
Published at Stockport, England, in 1805, as the frontispiece of a work
entitled the " Nativity of Napoleon Bonaparte," etc., etc.,
by John Worsdale.
BONAPARTE'S RETURN TO PARIS, INCOG. 313
HONAI'ARTF.'S RETURN TO PARIS, IXCOC.
ANON.
As Maria Louisa lay pond'ring in bed
With the sweet King of Rome, the delight of beholders.
" I wonder," thought she, "where old Nap rests his head.
Or indeed if he 's got e'en a head on his shoulders.
" For 't is whispered, I hardly know how to believe it,
That Nap has in Russia been terribly bang'd,
So drubb'd and disgraced, he can never retrieve it,
Yet if it be true, I 'd as lieve he were hang'd.
" To drag me from home and each tender relation,
In France, every horror, and danger to brave,
In hourly terror of assassination,
For being of Honey, the wife and the slave.
" Oh ! would that I never had left my dear Father,
I Ve repented but once ever since, to my sorrow,
Were the time to come over again, I would rather
Than be Boney's Empress be buried to-morrow.
" For none here surmise how basely he treats ivu ,
Ve Frenchmen, the English, ye call Johnny Bull,
Yet, if they but knew how Napole cheats ye.
They well might return, and call you Fanny Gull.
" Alas, and alas, 1 hope that he never,
He never again, to me will come back,
Oh ! then I would sing, '/'< Dcitni for ever.
And marry for joy some handsome Cossack."
So ponder'd Maria, when all in a minute,
A terrible ringing was heard at the gate-
" 'T is a Courier," thought she, " I hope there 's sonic
good in 't,
And that rascal Old Nappy has met with his fate.
316 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
" Fly, my maids," she exclaims, "ye soldiers, all fly
I faint with impatience what is it, you log?
Come tell me be quick " Please, your Majesty,
The Emperor himself has arrived incog."
" You villain, you lie," cried Maria Louisa,
" 'T is a falsehood you utter to torture your Queen.'
" Oh, I am arrived, of her troubles to ease her! "
Exclaims a gruff varlet, of horrible mien.
Maria turn'd round, and full in her view
Stood an object, of shoes, and of breeches bereft,
His skin of a swarthy and mud-colour'd hue,
And on his thin back, scarce a tatter was left.
" What, you ! " cried Maria, and scream'd with affright
"You sans-culotte ruffian, what is it you say?
Here, soldiers a thief under cover of night
Has led all the sentinels' senses astray.
" Here, seize him, and bind him the infamous dog
Would pass himself off for your Emperor Nap,
And coming stark naked, to call it incog,
Besides, he 's a thousand miles off, by the map."
" Oh, this is too bad, parbleu ! I declare,"
Cried Nappy the Great for 't was him all the while
" Madame, dis is carrying de joke too far,
I 'm de Grand Napoleon, I swear you may smile
' Vincenza ! diable ! what, can you not speak !
Am I le Grand Napoleon ? say yes, or no :
Where 's the King of Rome ? Were he but awake,
In a moment, his Father the Emperor, he 'd know.
" What, smiling again ! Vincenza ! you 're dumb !
I shall surely go mad how 's this ? I 'm betray'd !
BONAPARTE'S RETURN TO PARIS, IXCOG. 317
Vincenza reflected the time was not come
To strike a safe blow so he stammering said :
" Madame by gar, it is all very true,
Dis is de Grand Emperor, I do assure you,
Through frost, and through snow, full many a mile
We 've scamper'd the Cossacks behind us the
while
" Peace, idiot ! " cried Nap, " a plague on your throat,
What have Cossacks with me, or your story to do ?
You know while I slumber'd they pilfer'd my coat,
And this rag is one that I borrow'd of you."
Vincenza bow'd low, and Maria with grief
Saw the Tyrant again, as her Lord she must own,
And swallow the tale of the Cossack and thief,
And share with a sans-culotte Emperor the throne.
So she rush'd to his arms with well-acted surprise,
And wept on his shoulder, tears true from her heart ;
When Boney exclaim'd, " Now, Madame, use your eyes,
And trace thro' his tatters the great Bonaparte."
" Yes, yes, I can trace him," she archly replied,
" Yet I ne'er saw so much of his person before ; "
" Yet, Madame ! " cried Nap, distending with pride,
I 'm cover'd with glory for evermore."
" It may be," said Maria, " yet you don't seem to warm,"
Cried Vincenza, " With cold, and with hunger, we 're
dead ! "
" Peace, worm ! " thundered Nap, "You the Empress
alarm,
" Retire Madame, will vou lead me to bed ? "
THE FRENCH ARMY IN RUSSIA.
MR. WORDSWORTH was one of the few English writers
who treated Napoleon as a rational fellow being, and who,
while not in favour of him as a ruler of the French nation,
was willing to give him fair treatment. In his summing
up of the cause and effect of the terrible fate which over-
took the French army on its retreat through the frozen
wilderness of Russia, Wordsworth frankly admits that it
was not Alexander's skill, nor his soldiers' valour which
conquered those legions that had never before known
defeat, and he asserts that it was the elements, alone,
which accomplished the task of obliterating from the face
of the earth one of the finest armies the world ever saw.
THE FRENCH ARMY IN RUSSIA.
1812-13.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
Humanity, delighting to behold
A fond reflection of her own decay,
Hath painted Winter like a traveller old.
Propped on a staff, and, through the sullen day,
In hooded mantle, limping o'er the plain,
As though his weakness were disturbed by pain ;
Or, if a juster fancy should allow
An undisputed symbol of command,
The chosen sceptre is a withered bough,
Infirmly grasped within a palsied hand
THE FRENCH ARMY IN RUSSIA. 319
These emblems suit the helpless and forlorn,
But mighty Winter the device shall scorn.
For he it was dread Winter ! who beset,
Flinging round van and rear his ghastly net,
That host, when from the regions of the Pole
They shrunk, insane ambition's barren goal
That host, as huge and strong as e'er defied
Their God, and placed their trust in human pride !
As fathers persecute rebellious sons,
He smote the blossoms of their warrior youth ;
He called on Frost's inexorable tooth
Life to consume in Manhood's firmest hold ;
Nor spared the reverend blood that feebly runs ;
For why unless for liberty enrolled
And sacred home ah ! why should hoary Age be bold ?
Fleet the Tartar's reinless steed,
But fleeter far the pinions of the Wind
Which from Siberian caves the Monarch freed,
And sent him forth, with squadrons of his kind,
And bade the Snow their ample backs bestride,
And to the battle ride.
No pitying voice commands a halt,
No courage can repel the dire assault ;
Distracted, spiritless, benumbed, and blind,
Whole legions sink and, in one instant, find
Burial and death ; look for them and descry,
When morn returns, beneath the clear blue sky,
A soundless waste, a trackless vacancy !
SONG OF LIBERTY.
AFTER his return to Paris from the ill-fated Russian
campaign, Napoleon began at once to prepare for another
struggle ; a struggle which was to prove more disastrous
to his hopes than the one through which he had just
passed. He was once more about to enter the field
against combined Europe, and this time, for the first since
he had come into power, were the frontiers of France to
be invaded by her foes. Prussia was the first of his allies
to break away from him and enter into an alliance with
Russia. Sweden had already joined the coalition, and
Austria was about to join hands in the fight. Spain and
Portugal were lost, and Wellington \vas on the march to
invade France from the South. Murat, to save his own
throne, agreed to turn his guns against the man who had
given him his sister in marriage, and who had made it
possible for him to be a king. Jomini was about to de-
sert his flag in the face of the enemy, and Moreau was
already on his way from America to join the Emperor
Alexander. The death struggle of the mighty con-
queror was at hand and terrible the struggle was to be.
All Germany was being aroused and united in a common
cause against the " French Usurper." The song-writers
of the Fatherland were soon to rrap the harvest 'if their
labours.
SONG OF LIBERTY. 321
The following song was composed on the march of the
Prussian army from Potsdam to Breslau, and was the first
German song of liberty published in 1813.
SONG OF LIBERTY.
LA MOTTE K
Mount ! mount ! for sacred freedom fight !
The battle soon must be.
The night is past, and red the light
Streams o'er the dewy lea.
Up ! let the coward idlers sleep !
Who envies them their rest?
We march with joyful hearts to keep
Our honoured king's request.
To us he said : " My brave ones all !
My chasseurs ! where are they?"
Responsive to his patriot call
We hastened to obey.
We vowed to strike with mighty hand
As it becomes the free
A safeguard for our native land
With heaven's grace to be.
Sleep calmly, wives and children dear !
To God your sorrows tell.
The hour, alas ! of blood is near,
But all your fears dispel.
Approved we hasten to the field ;
What though the strife begins !
I' is joy our loved ones thus to shield,
For pious courage wins.
322 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Returning, all may not be found !
But some, in glory's grave,
Shall never hear the songs resound
Of those they died to save.
Come, glowing heart ! despise the pain
Of death ; for, evermore,
Shall he who falls, a kingdom gain
On heaven's eternal shore !
THE VISIT TO THE MILITARY HOSPITAL.
ON the fifteenth of April, 1813, Napoleon left Paris for
headquarters. The veterans of the Grand Army, the
soldiers who had fought at Lodi, at Marengo, and at
Austerlitz, had disappeared, nearly to a man, beneath the
snows of Russia, or under the burning suns of Spain and
Portugal. The army which was about to undertake the
gigantic task of beating back the threatened tide of in-
vasion consisted, almost wholly, of conscripts ; boys who
had never faced a foe or fired a gun upon the field of
battle, and yet these boys, every one of them, were to
prove themselves heroes. With these youthful warriors
the battles of Lutzen and Bautzen were fought and won.
Never in his whole military career did Napoleon prove
himself a greater general than he did during the campaign
of 1813. The odds against him were simply overpower-
ing, and it was fated that mere numbers alone were soon
to crush him.
The battle of Lutzen was fought on the second of May,
1813, and what, at first, looked like a most disastrous defeat
was turned, by the timely appearance of Napoleon upon
the field, into one of his most glorious victories. A few
days before the battle the Old Guard lost its gallant leader.
Marshal Bessieres, who had commanded this invincible
band since 1/96, but, even without him, the Guard had
still to experience its first defeat, and it finished at Lut-
zen the work which the conscripts had so well begun.
Bautzen was fought on the twenty first of May, following,
and it resulted in another brilliant victory for the French
cause. Both these battles were won, because the love the
young conscripts bore to their Emperor equalled that of
his old veterans; it was a devotion on their part till death.
The scene pictured in the following poem is not a fancy
one, but one that shows how Napoleon was worshipped
by his soldiers, even as they fought, with death for their
foe, their last fight.
THE VISIT TO THE MILITARY HOSPITAL.
(After Baut/.en, 1813.')
WAI.TKK TIIORNIU'RY.
" This is the fate of those who war,"
Napoleon said to me ;
" High at the morn, but low at night.
Take down that map and see
How many leagues we won to-day.
Ten losses. I retire.
One Victory. Berlin, Breslau,
Shall crumble at my fire."
We stood outside the Thirteenth Ward,
1 le spoke as hushed and low
As if each word on some sick man
Would fall a smitiilg blow ;
lie turned the handle very soft
As to one sleeping, then
\\ e stood beside the line of beds,
AmoiiLT the wounded men.
THE VISIT TO THE MILITARY HOSPITAL. 325
He laid his hand with woman's care
Upon a soldier's brow ;
The dying face turned slowly up.
" Do you not know me now?
Your Emperor ? " The dying lips
Struggled for life, the heart
Beat once, the sick man faltered out,
" Comrades, 'tis Bonaparte ! "
Then with a groan lay down again,
To pray for him and die.
The tears sprang up into my eyes
When faint and weak, the cry
Ran through the ward of Austerlitz,
" The Emperor is come ! "
And one poor boy with bandaged hand
Caught at his broken drum.
The dying on their pillows rose,
To swell the hoarse, low cheer
That rolled along 't was pitiful,
Yet saddening to hear.
" My children," cried the Emperor,
' My old Imperial Guards,
My ' Salamanders,' ' Never-turns,'
My ' Lions,' my ' Die-hards,'
" I love you as I love my life ;
We are the self-same stock.
France cares for you- 't was you who bled
To build her on the rock;
Your wives and orphans she will take
To her capacious heart.
Dare she forget them while lie reigns.
Your little Bonaparte - 1
326 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
" My children But the rare seen tears
Rose up and filled his throat,
As every bugler took his horn
And blew the battle note ;
And then the wounded drummer boy,
Two dead men's beds betwixt,
Crawled to the floor and slung his drum,
And plied his little sticks.
A one-armed man took off a flag
He 'd bound around his waist,
To stop and staunch the brave heart's blood
That from his gashes raced,
lie waved it round his feeble head,
His large eyes all a-fire,
Then let it drop, and laid him clown,
The brave man to expire.
BONEY AND DUROC.
THE comrades of his early triumphs were dropping out,
one by one. Lannes was the first to answer the final
roll call. Bessieres' turn came next, and now, by a bullet
which seemed to have spent its force and to have already
performed its deadly work, Duroc was for ever separated
from his beloved chief. "One after the other the stars
were setting in the constellation of his first years of
glory." Duroc was, perhaps, nearer to Napoleon, and
knew him more intimately, than any other of the brilliant
warriors who had followed him through all his years of
wonderful success. There can be no possible doubt that
the death of Duroc deeply affected the Emperor, and
that he lost in him one of the few really faithful friends
he had among all those famous marshals, who were great
because Napoleon had made it possible for them to be-
come so. What a vile parody the following lines are on
the last interview which took place between these two
friends as Duroc lay dying, and yet, they are only in tune
with all that was written in those days by Englishmen
about any and every thing connected in any way with
the " hated tyrant " who occupied the " usurped " throne
of France.
328 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
BOXKY AND DUROC.
Tune " The Vicar and Pluses."
ANON.
When the darkness of night
Put an end to the fight,
And the thunder of Death ceas'd to shock ;
To supply a full stop,
A huge cannon-ball pop,
Came and brought on his marrows Duroc.
Tol de rol, etc.
When he heard this mishap,
Soon appeared mighty Nap,
His eyes for defeat were o'erflowing ;
Duroc thought 't was for him.
Bid him dry up each glim,
But exclaimed " Sire, for you I am going!
Tol de rol, etc.
Boney cried, " Yes, I see
You 're no longer for me,
I 'm sorry such hero to lose ;
Too true you have said,
In glory's great bed,
You must take a bit of a snooze."
Tol de rol, etc.
" But Marshal, my Brother,
Life there is another ;
And, Duroc, oh, think what a treat !
When enough fam'd in story,
I '11 go there to glory,
And there without fail we will meet."
Tol de rol, etc.
BONEY AND DUROC, 329
" That the Pris'ncrs I Ye shot.
And the sick sent to pot.
Make my claim good, I think clear as mud ;
Eternally happy,
You '11 be when there, Nappy,
Has sailed on the ocean of blood."
Tol de rol, etc.
" Yes," Duroc replied,
" But my grief I can't hide,
My speech is all broken by tears ;
I fear, sad presage !
You will live to old age,
And stop here some thirty years longer."
Tol de rol, etc.
"Such period I own,
Bonaparte on the throne,
I 'm afraid France is destin'd to see ;
Nor think it a crime,
When I say that the time
Will seem long to the Devil and me."
Fal de ral, de rol, etc.
THE BATTLE OF DRESDEN.
AFTER the victory won at Bautzen, Napoleon, as was
usual with him, offered peace to the Allies ; but the terms
they insisted upon were such as in honour he could not
accept. Austria, as yet neutral, pretended to act as
mediator between the hostile nations; but, seeking war
rather than peace, she proclaimed the fact that if peace
was not accepted by France on the basis laid down by
herself, she would at once declare war and join the coali-
tion. Napoleon, knowing well the critical position he
occupied, offered new concessions to his enemies ; which
were about to be accepted when the news came of Wel-
lington's great victory over Soult at Vittoria. This vic-
tory meant the invasion of France from the south by the
English army. All terms of peace were at once refused.
Austria, showing her true colours, declared war, and, with
two hundred thousand more soldiers to aid them, the
Allies began the fight, which, this time, was to end in the
downfall of the man who, alone, had concluered them,
combined, so many times. Hoping to capture the city
of Dresden, the Allies attacked it when they knew the
dreaded Napoleon was far away in Silesia engaged with
Blucher. Marshal St. Cyr, in command of the city, de-
fended it nobly, but his young soldiers were no match for
the overwhelming forces hurled against them, and a sur-
THE BATTLE OF DKESDEX. 331
render seemed the only alternative left. Napoleon, hear-
ing of the situation, turned back and with forced marches
retraced his steps with almost unexampled rapidity tow-
ards the apparently doomed city. He appeared in sight
just as the routed garrison were flying from the place,
and coming with his legions thundering down the sides
of the mountains and over the bridges of Elbe, he called
the retreating soldiers back to their duty, and, turning
suddenly the tide of battle, he never rested until the
scattered forces of the allied armies were driven far over
the hills of Erzgebirge.
THE BATTLE OF DRESDEN.
MRS. H. E. G. A KEY.
Back to your posts ! Again, again,
Yon falt'ring flag let victory fill ;
Pour from your ranks the fiery rain,
And bid the exulting foe be still.
Hack to your posts ! \Yc come we come,
A thousand legions, fresh for war,
Arc rushing through the forest's gloom,
Are pouring down the mountains far.
Go, bid th' " astonished eagles " stand,
And on yon bristling hosts advance;
Up, coward heart and fainting hand !
Who yields where rides the " Heir of France " ?
Far where Silesia's waters sweep,
Beneath us quaked the coffined dead ;
The Saxon, from his slumbers deep,
\Yoke, startled at our midnight tread.
332 A METRICAL H '1 STORY OF NAPOLEON.
And, thundering through each lofty arch,
Thy bridges, Elbe, our strength have known
We pause not from our rushing march,
On to the breathless conflict On !
The arms of France are burnished still ;
Yon countless hosts before us met
May league their legions as they will ;
Their shouts shall change to waitings yet.
Forth on their track ! Those hosts in flight
Shall seek the heather's dreamless bed ;
And far o'er Erzgebirge's hills, to-night
The wolves shall match their gory dead.
Hail, glorious field! Not yet, not yet
Hath sunk Napoleon's peerless star ;
And, where his glittering lance is set,
Far backward streams the tide of war.
THE SONG OF THE SWORD.
IN the early spring of 1813 there was published in Ger-
many the " Fatherland's Call to Arms in the Struggle for
Liberation," and Karl Theodor Koerner was among the
first to respond. Not yet twenty-two years old, when he
fell fighting gallantly for his country, this brilliant young
German poet did more for the cause of the Fatherland,
both with his pen and with his sword, than would be
thought possible in one so young. He was mortally
wounded in a skirmish which took place on the twenty-
sixth of August, 1813, between the Prussian free-corps,
commanded by Major Lutzon, of which he was a member,
and the French, near Gadebusch, and he died the same
day. It was on the morning of the day he was killed that
he wrote the following song, one of the wildest of his war
songs, a love-rhapsody to his sword the soldier's bride.
Germany owes a great deal to her song-writers, and at
that time, the period of her sorest need, Koerner did his
part well, and cheerfully he gave up his young life that
his country might be free.
Till-: SONG OF TIIK SWORD.
KARL THKOIHJK KOKKM-.K.
Sword ! on my left side gleaming,
What means thy bright eye's beaming?'
It makes my spirit dance
To see thy friendly glance.
Hurrah !
334 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON,
" A valiant rider bears me ;
A free-born German wears me :
That makes my eye so bright,
That is the Sword's delight."
Hurrah !
Yes, good Sword, I am free !
And love thee heartily ;
And clasp thee by my side
Even as a plighted bride.
Hurrah !
" And I to thee, by Heaven,
My light steel life have given
When shall the knot be tied ?
When wilt thou take thy Bride ? "
Hurrah !
The trumpet's solemn warning
Shall hail the bridal morning ;
When cannon-thunders wake,
Then my true love I take.
Hurrah !
" O blessed, blessed meeting !
My heart is wildly beating :
Come, Bridegroom ! come for me !
My garland waiteth thee."
Hurrah !
Why in the scabbard rattle,
So wild, so fierce for battle ?
What means this restless glow ?
My Sword? why clatter so?
H urrah !
THE SONG OF THE SWORD. 335
" Well may thy prisoner rattle :
My spirit yearns for battle.
Rider ! 't is war's wild glow
That makes me tremble so."
Hurrah !
Stay in thy chamber near,
My Love ! what wilt thou here ?
Still in thy chamber bide !
Soon, soon I take my Bride.
Hurrah !
" Let me no longer wait,
Love's garden blooms in state
With roses bloody-red,
And many a bright death-bed."
Hurrah !
Now then, come forth, my Bride !
Come forth, thou Rider's Pride !
Come out, my Good Sword ! come
Forth from thy father's home !
Hurrah !
" Oh in the field to prance
The glorious wedding dance !
How, in the sun's bright beams,
Bride-like the clear steel gleams ! "
Hurrah !
Then forward ! valiant fighters !
And forward ! German riders !
And, when the heart grows cold.
Let each his Love enfold !
Hurrah !
336 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Once on the left it hung,
And stolen glances flung ;
Now clearly on your right
Doth God each fond Bride plight.
Hurrah !
Then let your hot lips feel
That virgin cheek of steel !
One kiss ! and woe betide
Him who forsakes the Bride !
Hurrah!
Now let the Loved One sing !
Now let the clear blade ring
Till the bright sparks shall fly,
Heralds of victory !
Hurrah !
For hark! the trumpet's warning
Proclaims the marriage-morning;
It dawns in festal pride :
Hurrah! thou Iron Bride!
Hurrah !
MOKEAI:.
From an engraving by Elizabeth ('. Ilerhan, after duerin.
I'aris 1799.
ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL MOREAU.
" THROW a dozen bullets at once into that group ; per-
haps there are some little generals in it." The above
words, pronounced by Napoleon at the battle of Dresden,
sealed the fate of his old rival Moreau. It is said that
when Moreau met Jomini in the camp of the allied
armies, Moreau expressed surprise to find Jomini bearing
arms against France, to which Jomini replied : " Yes, but
I am not a Frenchman." Moreau felt the rebuke keenly
and turned away without further remark. The hero of
Hohenlinden, fighting against his own countrymen, was
certainly a strange turn in history ; but it was then a
time when one after another the men who had been
heroes were fast becoming traitors. They were the rats
deserting the ship that had carried them safely to fame
and glory, now that the ship itself was in hourly danger
of being wrecked. The fate which overtook Moreau was
a terrible price to pay for a few hours of vain-glorious
boasting. With both legs carried away by a cannon ball
-he died, taking with him to the grave the hatred he
bore towards the man who had it in his power in 1804 to
have had him shot as a traitor and a conspirator.
The praise bestowed upon Moreau in the lines which
follow were little deserved by him, however great his
ability and his early glory.
22
337
338 A METRICAL HISTORY 01-' NAPOLEON.
ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL MOREAU.
JOHN AMKKOSE WILLIAMS.
Soul of the Chief! whose glory-crested name,
Whose worth, whose valour lives in endless fame,
A tear wet tribute to thine urn I pay,
For all my heart is melted in my lay.
When Europe, bursting from oppression, shook
A despot's power, and dar'd his fiercest look,
Thy genius smil'd, and from Columbia's shore
Flew to the aid of millions slaves no more.
" To arms ! to arms ! " each gallant sovereign cried,
" To arms ! to arms ! " each patriot voice replied :
Forth thousands rush'd, impetuous, for the flight,
And hail'd Moreau their blest protecting light.
The chief beheld the patriot bands advance,
And charge, with souls of fire, the hosts of France,
" On ! on ! ye brave ! " th' ill-fated hero cries,
" Slavery 's your doom, or freedom be your prize ;
Maintain the conflict, blood, 't is true, must flow,
War still must breed fresh ravage and fresh woe ;
But virtuous blood shall not in vain be spilt,
Peace it shall purchase and o'erpower guilt."
He said bright Heaven ! death speeded with the wind,
And instant struck the hope of half mankind.
Destructive fire, O fatal scene ! he fell.
Cold are his shatter'd limbs, brave chief, farewell !
ELI/CHER'S BALL.
THE victory won at Dresden was barren of any decisive
advantage to the French cause. Even before the roar
of the battle had ceased, Macdonald was compelled at
Katzbach to acknowledge a signal defeat at the hands of
that sturdy old Prussian, Marshal Blucher ; Vandamme
was overthrown in Bohemia ; Oudinot was confronted by
his old comrade-in-arms, Bernadotte, and victory perched
upon the banner of the King of Sweden ; Key was as-
sailed and beaten by an overwhelming force of the Allies.
Such were the tidings brought to Napoleon as he lay on
a sick bed at Dresden, worn out and exhausted by
almost superhuman exertion.
Blucher was forging to the front in those days, and his
was the fiery spirit which was to push the fight, even to the
very walls of Paris. The " debauched old dragoon " was
becoming the leader and the inspiration of all Germany.
BI.UCIIKK'S KAI.I..
A DI u. K l.rmvio Km I.KN.
By the Katzbach, by the Katzbach, ha ! there was a merry
dance ;
Wild and weird and whirling waltzes skipped ye
through, ye knaves of France !
For there struck the great bass-viol an old German master
famed.
Marshal Forward. Prince of YVallstadt, Gebhardt Lebrecht
Blucher named.
34O A METRICAL HISTORY OF A T APOLEON.
Up ! the Bliicher hath the ball-room lighted with the
cannon's glare !
Spread yourselves, ye gay, green carpets, that the dancing
moistens there !
And his fiddle-bow at first he waxed with Goldberg and
with Jauer ;
Whew ! he 's drawn it now full length, his play a stormy
northern shower !
Ha ! the dance went briskly onward, tingling madness
seized them all :
As when howling, mighty tempests on the arms of wind-
mills fall.
But the old man wants it cheery, wants a pleasant danc-
ing chime ;
And with gun-stocks clearly, loudly, beats the old Teu-
tonic time.
Say, who, standing by the old man, strikes so hard the
kettle-drum,
And, with crushing strength of arm, down lets the thun-
dering hammer come ?
Gneisenau, the gallant champion : Alemannia's envious
foes
Smites the mighty pair, her living double-eagle, shivering
blows.
And the old man scrapes the sweep-out : hapless V ranks
and hapless trulls !
Now what dancers leads the graybeard ? Na ! ha ! ha !
't is dead men's skulls !
But, as ye too much were heated in the sultriness of hell,
Till ye sweated blood and brains, he made the Katzbach
cool ye well.
From the Katzbach, while ye stiffen, hear the ancient
proverb say,
''Wanton varlets, venal blockheads, must with clubs be
beat awav !
THE BATTLE OF LEIPZIG.
THE battle of Leipzig, fought on the sixteenth and the
eighteenth of October, 1813, was most disastrous in its
result to the already waning fortune of the great Em-
peror. It had been the purpose af the Allies all through
this campaign to avoid coming in contact with Napoleon
personally. At Dresden they did not think it possible
for him to be in the city ; hence their attack. Moreau
and Jomini had given them good advice; to fight the
French marshals on ever}' occasion offered, but to run
from the invincible chief. At Leipzig they felt strong,
and confident enough to risk a combat, with Napoleon
in personal command of the French Arm}'. During two
days the awful conflict was kept up, and had it not been
for vile treachery and infamous desertion the result of
the battle might have been the reverse of what it was.
Assailed by double his own number, betrayed and de-
serted by those in whom he trusted, Napoleon was forced
to order a retreat a retreat which was to prove second
only to the retreat from Russia in calamity and woe.
After his victory at Dresden Napoleon proposed the
scheme of advancing direct!}' on Berlin ; thus compelling
the Allies to retrace their steps in order to defend that
city and their own country ; but he was overruled, and
Leipzig was the result. Perhaps, had the Emperor fol-
34!
342 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
lowed out his plan, the mighty genius with which he was
endowed would again have astonished the world by de-
ferring his near downfall, if not avoiding it altogether.
Ernest Moritz Arndt, the author of the following poem,
was one of the German writers of those days who did so
much in uniting the Fatherland in its efforts to over-
throw the hated French ruler.
THE BATTLE OK LKIPXIC.
ERNEST MORITZ A KNOT.
" Whence comest thou in thy garments red,
Soiling the hue of the green grass plain ? "
" I come from the field where brave men bled,
Red from the gore of the knightly slain,
Repelling the crash of the fierce assailing ;
I o o *
Mothers and brides may be sorely wailing,
For I am red."
" Speak, comrade, speak, and tell me true ;
Mow call ye the land of the fateful fight? "
"At Leipzig the murd'rous fierce review
Dimmed with full tear-drops many a sight ;
The balls like winter snowflakes flying,
Stifled the breath of thousands dying,
By Leipzig town."
" Name me the hosts that in battle array
Let fly their diverse banners wide."
" All lands to join in the dread affray
Against the hated French took side ;
The gallant Swede and the valiant Prussian,
The Austrian famed in fight and the Russian
All, all went forth."
THE BATTLE OF LEIPZIG. 343
" And who in the strife won the hard-fought day,
And who took the prize with iron hand ? "
" God scattered the foreigner like the sea-spray,
God drove off the foreigner like the light sand ;
Many thousands covered the grass sward lying,
The rest like hares to the four winds flying,
\Yith Napoleon too."
" God bless thee, Comrade, thank thee well !
A tale is this the full heart to cheer,"
Sounds like a cymbal of heavenly swell,
A story of strife and a story of fear,
Leave the widows and brides to their wail of sorrow ;
We '11 sing a glad song for full many a morrow
Of the Leipzig fight.
Leipzig, good town of the fair lindens shade.
A day of proud glory shall long be thine ;
So long as the years roll their ceaseless grade,
So long as the suns shall continue to shine,
So long as the streams to the ocean are seeking,
So long shall thy sons be the fond praise speaking
Of the Leipzig fight.
PONIATOWSKI.
IT was a fatal mistake, on the part of some one, that
but a single bridge afforded passage across the river
Elster to the retreating French army after the battle of
Leipzig. The result proved how great an oversight it
was. The premature blowing up of this bridge, which
was an inexcusable blunder, cut Napoleon's army in two
and left more than twenty-five thousand men without
means of escape and completely at the mercy of the vic-
torious Allies. To Marshals Macdonald and Poniatowski
had been assigned the forlorn task of defending the city
and of holding back the enemy until the rest of the army
had safely crossed the river. Bravely were these gallant
warriors striving to perform that duty when the sound of
the awful explosion at the bridge reached their ears and
told them of the utter impossibility of their saving the
devoted soldiers who had so nobly stood by them. It
became at once a question of every man for himself.
Macdonald plunged with his horse into the river and
escaped to the opposite side ; but not so the brave and
heroic Pole. Thrice wounded, he endeavoured to cross
the stream which lay between him and safety, but the
struggle was too much for the sorely tried marshal and
lie sank, never again to rise. For his gallant conduct on
the field of battle Poniatowski had received from the
hand of Napoleon but the day before the baton of a
344
PON I A TO U '.VAY. 345
Marshal of France. Commanding the extreme rear guard
of the French army, and almost surrounded by the enemy
he was fighting to hold back, he drew his s\vord when he
heard the noise of the fatal explosion, and turning to those
around him, said : " Gentlemen, it now becomes us to die
with honour." It is hard to believe the story of the death
of such a hero, as it is told by Beranger, himself a
Frenchman.
PONIATOWSKI.
PIERKK JKAN DE BF.RANC.KR.
What ! are ye flying, conquerors of the world ?
Hath Fortune blundered before Leipzig's walls ?
What, flying ! whilst the bridge blown up and hurled
In ruins back, to the hoarse torrent falls !
Men, horses, arms, all wildly mingled, there
Are plunged ; the Elster rolls encumbered by ;
But deaf it rolls to vow or tear or prayer :
" Frenchman, give but a hand, and I am saved ! "
the cry.
4i Naught but a hand? a plague on him who craves!
Press on, press on ! for whom should we delay ? "
'T is for a hero sinking in the waves,
'T is Poniatowski, wounded thrice to-day.
Who cares? Fear bids them haste with savage speed,
To stern, cold hearts for aid doth he apply ;
The waters part him from his faithful steed :
" Frenchman, give but a hand, and I am saved !
his cry.
He dies not yet he struggles swims once more
The charger's mane his clutching fingers feel.
" What ! to die drowned ! whilst there upon the shore
I hear the cannon, and I see the steel !
346 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Help, comrades, help! You boasted I was brave!
I loved you this my blood should testify.
Ah ! 't is for France some drops I still would save !
Frenchman, give but a hand, and I am saved ! "
his cry.
There is no succour ! and his failing hand
Lets go its guide : " Poland, adieu, adieu ! "
But lo ! a dream descends at Heaven's command,
With brilliant image dawning on his view.
" Ha ! the White Fagle to the combat wakes ;
All soaked with Russian blood I see it fly,
Loud on mine ear a hymn of glory breaks :
Frenchman, give but a hand, and I am saved ! "
his cry.
There is no succour! he is dead, the foe
Along the reedy shore their camp have made.
That day is distant ; but a voice of woe
Still calls beneath the waters' deepest shade.
And now (great God ! give man a willing ear)
That mournful voice is lifted to the sky !
Wherefore from heaven re-echoed to us here,
'' Frenchman, give but a hand, and I am saved ! '
the cry.
T is Poland, 't is her faithful sons' lament :
How oft our battles she hath helped to gain !
She drowns herself in her own heart's blood, spent
With lavish flow, her honour to maintain.
As then the Chief, whose mangled corse was found
In Elster's waves, he for our land did die,
Now calls a nation, o'er a gulf profound,
" Frenchman, give but a hand, and we are saved '
the cry.
PRINCE WREDE'S DEATH.
DESERTED by all his allies, his own brother-in-law,
Murat, among the number, Napoleon's days of triumph
were over. Borne down by the irresistible force of brute
strength alone, he made in 1813 a truly wonderful strug-
gle for the cause of France, and bitterly did his foes pay
for every advantage gained by them. At Hanau the
Austrian and Bavarian armies sought to cut off his re-
treat. It cost them ten thousand men to try the experi-
ment ; which proved a most disastrous failure on their
part. The Bavarian General Wrede forfeited his life in
this battle as a penalty for fighting against his old com-
mander, whom he had followed so often to victory.
PRINCE WREDE'S DEATH.
ARTHUR RAPT.
By Hanau, where the Kinzig dark and deep.
To meet the Main, rolls on its treacherous way.
Right on the road to Frankfurt, it is spanned
By an old bridge, built strong of basalt grey.
Midway, encased within the basalt wall,
A narrow marble tablet marks a name.
'T is but the one word, '' \Vredc," but it speaks
To German hearts of glory and of fame.
Napoleon, after Leipzig's stern defeat,
To gain his France once more, here on hi^ way
347
348 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEOX.
Met proud Bavaria's proudest prince. At last
The dauntless lion found himself at bay.
But, though ten thousand French were forced to find
In Kinzig's treacherous flood a horrid grave,
Prince Wrede, too, fell, wounded unto death.
Yon tablet marks the spot. God rest the brave !
And now the legend goes, that on this spot
Where Wrede fell, his ghost is often seen.
For, when the moon with her full flood of light
Upon that tablet throws her silver sheen,
'T is said, the prince, casting upon the flood
A pitying look, tries, so the story goes,
To stem the rushing waters, and to save
The drowned thousands of his ghostly foes.
Bl.OCHER.
Fr.., a an engraving by J. Swaine, after a drawing from life In F. Kehbeiy
London (no date).
BLUCHER AT THE RHINE.
WITH the close of the year 1813 came an end to all
hope for any material success on the part of the French
army. One after another, the strongholds and fortresses
held by France in Germany succumbed, and over eighty
thousand soldiers became prisoners in the hands of the
Allies. It was no longer a question of conquest beyond
the Rhine, but one of whether France could prevent the
crossing of that stream by the armies of her foes. Fate
was against him. Napoleon's star approached the hori-
zon in its downward course, and in a short time it was
destined to disappear altogether. On the twenty-first of
December the Austrian army crossed the Rhine, and on
the last day of the year the Prussian army followed. It
was Blucher who urged and inspired this movement. The
Allied Sovereigns, strong as they were, hesitated to at-
tack the lion in his own den, but the sturdy old marshal
had his way and the march to Paris began.
BLUCHER AT THE RHINE.
Arc.rsr K onsen.
' T was on the Rhine the armies lay :
To France or not ? is 't yea, or nay?
The\' pondered long, and pondered well ;
At length old Blucher broke the spell :
349
350 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
" Bring here the map to me !
The road to France is straight and free.
Where is the foe ? " " The foe, why here !
"We '11 beat him ! forward ! never fear !
Say, where lies Paris ? " " Paris here ! "
" We '11 take it ! forward ! never fear!
So throw the bridge across the Rhine,
Methinks the Frenchman's sparkling wine
Will taste the best where grows the vine ! '
THE GAULS AND FRANKS.
ON the morning of the twenty-fifth of January, 1814,
Napoleon left Paris for the last time, but one, to take
command of his army. He had invested the Empress
with the Regency, and had confided her safety and that
of their son to the guardianship and protection of his
subjects in the capital. He never saw either wife or son
again. More than a million men were pouring in from all
sides upon unhappy France. The Rhine no longer held
back the advancing hosts on the one side, nor did the
Pyrenees prove a barrier on the other. Napoleon could
not muster over two hundred thousand soldiers, all told,
to check the flood that was sweeping everything from its
path. So much intrigue, so much desertion and treachery,
so much misery, and so many vacant firesides had frozen
the blood of France, until even such a stirring appeal as
the following had no effect to bring about a general up-
rising. As Napoleon himself once said : " Frenchmen in
times of victory are heroes; in times of defeat they are
children." At the date of the following noble invocation,
the armies of the Allied Sovereigns were rapidly advan-
cing on Paris.
THE (1AULS AM) FRANKS.
(January, 1814.)
PlKRKE Jr.AN ]>K Hi KANC.I K.
Checrly, chcerly, close the ranks !
( )n, advance,
I lope of France !
352 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Cheerly, cheerly, close the ranks !
Forward, forward, Gauls and Franks!
Blindly following the call
Of Attila, again
Comes the barbarian train,
Doomed a second time to fall,
Vanquished on the fields of Gaul.
Cheerly, cheerly, close the ranks !
On, advance, etc.
Leaving his morass behind,
Mark how the rude Cossack,
In place of bivouac,
Trusts the English that he '11 find
Comfort, in our halls reclined.
Cheerly, cheerly, close the ranks!
On, advance, etc.
Shivering all his days, ill-fed,
The Russ, in snowy waste
Pent up, no more would taste
Acorns and his own black bread,
Craving ours, so white, instead.
Cheerly, cheerly, close the ranks !
On, advance, etc.
Wines we have in luscious store,
Laid up for us to toast,
The victories we boast
These shall thirsty Saxons pour?
Ours the song, the cup, no more?
Cheerly, cheerly, close the ranks !
( )n, advance, etc.
THE CAL'LS A XI) //vV/A'A'.V. 353
Daughters passing fair have \ve
Too fair for foul embrace
Of hideous Calmuck race
Wives, whose charms are rare to see-
Sons of theirs should Frenchmen be?
Cheerly, cheerly, close the ranks !
( )n, advance, etc.
What ! the monuments so dear
Trophies that no\v so well
Of all our 14-1 ory tell -
These in ruins disappear !
What, in Paris! Prussians here !
Cheer!}-, cheerly, close the ranks !
On, advance, etc.
Noble Franks, and honest Gauls !
Peace, man's best friend belo\v,
Ere lon^- herself will show,
Blessing, here within your walls,
Triumphs won where honour calls.
Checrly, cheerly, close the ranks!
On, advance, etc.
ODE.
IF Southey had had no other theme to write about than
" Napoleon and His Misdeeds," he would have had sub-
ject enough. He was such an intense hater of the head
of the French Government, and had such a desire to write
him down, that his fertile pen could hardly keep pace
with the rapid working of his mind. Honesty of purpose
and truth in recital had no place with this poet. His only
aim, seemingly, was to slander and villify the man he
hated.
Early in January, 1814, Napoleon sought peace with
the Allies, which was refused by them with scorn. They
offered a cessation of hostilities, not a peace, but at the
price of a surrender by Napoleon of all he had gained for
France during the preceding twenty years. The Rhine,
the Pyrenees, and the Alps were to be the boundaries be-
yond which France could not go. These terms, harsh as
they were, were accepted and would, probably, have been
the basis of a treaty had not England interfered. She
would listen to no terms but the dethronement of Na-
poleon and the restoration of the Bourbons, and she had
her way.
ODE.
(Written during the negotiations with Bonaparte, in January, 1814.)
KOBKKT SOUTHKY.
Who counsels peace at this momentous hour.
When God hath given deliverance to the oppress'd
And to the injured power."
354
ODE. 355
Who counsels peace, when vengeance, like a flood.
Rolls on, no longer now to be repress'd ;
When innocent blood
From the four corners of the world cries out
For justice upon one accursed head;
When freedom hath her holy banners spread
Over all nations, now in one just cause
United ; when, with one sublime accord,
Europe throws off the yoke abhorr'd,
And loyalty, and faith, and ancient laws
Follow the avenging sword !
Woe, woe to England ! woe and endless shame
If this heroic land,
False to her feelings and unspotted fame,
Hold out the olive to the tyrant's hand !
Woe to the world, if Bonaparte's throne
Be suffer'd still to stand !
For by what name shall right and wrong be known,
What new and courtly phrases most we feign
For falsehood, murder, and all monstrous crimes.
If that perfidious Corsican maintain
Still his detested reign,
And France, who yearns even now to break her chain
Beneath his iron rule be left to groan ?
No ! by the innumerable dead,
Whose blood hath for his lust of power been shed.
Death only can for his foul deeds atone ;
That peace which death and judgment can bestow,
That peace be Bonaparte's, that alone !
For sooner shall the Ethiop change his skin,
Or from the leopard shall her spots depart.
Than this man change his old, flagitious heart.
Mavo yo not seen him in the balance weigh'd
And there found wanting ? On the stage of blood
Foremost the resolute adventurer stood ;
And when by many a battle won,
He placed upon his brow the crown,
Curbing delirious France beneath his sway,
Then, like Octavius in old time,
Fair name might he have handed down,
Effacing man)- a stain of former crime.
Fool ! should he cast away that bright renown !
Fool ! the redemption proffer'd should he lose !
When I leaven such grace vouchsafed him that the way
To good and evil lay
Before him, which to choose.
But evil was his good,
For all too long in blood had he been nursed,
And ne'er was earth with verier tyrant cursed.
Bold man and bad,
Remorseless, godless, full of fraud and lies,
And black with murders and with perjuries.
Himself in hell's whole panoply he clad ;
No law but his own headstrong will he knew,
No counsellor but his own wicked heart.
From evil thus portentous strength he drew,
And trampled under foot all human ties,
All holy laws, all natural charities.
( ) France! beneath this fierce barbarian's sway
Disgraced thou art to all succeeding times;
Rapine and blood, and fire have mark'd thy way
All loathsome, all unutterable crimes.
A curse is on thee, France ! from far and wide
It hath gone up to heaven. All land-- have cried
For vengeance upon thy detested head!
ODE. 357
All nations curse thcc, Franco ! for whereso'er,
In peace or war, thy banner hath been spread,
All forms of human \voc have follow'd there.
The living and the dead
Cry out alike against thee ! They who bear.
Crouching beneath its \veight, thine iron yoke,
Join in the bitterness of secret prayer
The voice of that innumerable throng,
Whose slaughtered spirits day and night invoke
The everlasting Judge of right and wrong.
How long, O Lord ! Iloiy and Just, how long !
A mercilesss oppressor hast thou been,
Thyself remorselessly opprcss'd meantime ;
Greed\ - of war, when all that thou coulclst gain
Was but to dye thy soul with deeper crime,
And rivet faster round thyself the chain.
Oh ! blind to honour, and to interest blind,
\\ hen thus in abject servitude resign'd
To this barbarian upstart, thou coulclst brave
(jod's justice, and the heart of human-kind !
Madly thou thoughtest to enslave the world,
Thyself the while a miserable slave.
Heliold, the flag of vengeance is unfurl'd !
I he dreadful armies ot the North advance ;
\\hile England, Portugal, and Spain combined,
(iive their triumphant banners to the wind,
And stand victorious in tin: iields of France.
One man hath been for ten long, wretched years
The cause of all this blood and all these tears;
One man in this most awful point of time
Draws on thy danger, as lie caused thy crime.
Wait not too long the event.
For now whole Furope comes against thee bent.
358 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
His wiles and their own strength the nations know.
Wise from past wrongs, on future peace intent,
The people and the princes, with one mind,
From all parts move against the general foe ;
One act of justice, one atoning blow,
One execrable head laid low,
Even yet, O France! averts thy punishment,
Open thine eyes! too long hast thou been blind ;
Take vengeance for thyself, and for mankind !
France, if thou lovest thine ancient fame,
Revenge thy sufferings and thy shame !
By the bones which bleach on Jaffa's beach ;
By the blood which on Domingo's shore
Hath clogg'd the carrion-birds with gore ;
By the flesh which gorged the wolves of Spain,
Or stiffcn'd on the snowy plain
Of frozen Moscovy ;
By the bodies, which lie all open to the sky,
Tracking from Elbe to Rhine the tyrant's flight ;
By the widow's and the orphan's cry ;
By the childless parent's misery ;
By the lives which he hath shed ;
By the ruin he hath spread ;
By the prayers which rise for curses on his head,
Redeem, O France ! thine ancient fame,
Revenge thy sufferings and thy shame.
Open thine eyes ! too long hast thou been blind ;
Take vengeance for thyself, and for mankind !
By those horrors which the night
Witness'd when the torches' light
To the assembled murderers show'd
Where the blood of Conde flow'd ;
ODE. 359
By the murder'd Pichegru's fame ;
By murder'd Wright an English name ;
By murder'd Palm's atrocious doom ;
By murder'd Hofer's martyrdom,
Oh ! by the virtuous blood, thus vilely spilt,
The villain's own peculiar, private guilt,
Open thine eyes ! too long hast thou been blind ;
Take vengeance for thyself, and for mankind!
LETTER FROM THE KING OF ROME.
IT has always been a question in our mind what turn
matters would have taken had Napoleon reached Paris
before the allied armies in the great race for that city in
1814. Victory after victory had crowned his efforts to
hold back the tide, fighting, as he did, against odds which
would have appalled the stoutest heart ; but all his efforts
were of no avail. The resistless torrent of numbers
swept onward and forward and forced him to turn aside
from his victorious course in order to endeavour to suc-
cour Paris, then sorely in need of his personal aid. King
Joseph had been left in command of the army at the
capital with orders to defend the city to the last extrem-
ity. Marmont and Morticr, outside the walls, strove val-
iantly to hold the enemy in check until the Emperor might
be able to come up and defend the city in person ; but the
task was too heavy a one to be carried out successfully.
The Allies won the race ; defeated Marmont and Morticr
before Napoleon could come to their rescue, and Paris
capitulated after a short but heroic defence. Had Joseph
been made of the same stuff as his brother, the contest
\vould surely have been kept up long enough to enable-
that brother to get within the gates of his capital.
But Joseph was never a soldier. Good enough in his
way, he lacked that which would have buried him be-
neath its ruins .\IE TO THK EDITOR OF
THE MORNlNi; CHRONICLE, DATED Al'RII^tll, 1814.
SlR, Having retired from the cares of government, and
the toils of military preparation, to study agriculture and
the fine arts with my Mamma at Rambouillet, I beg to
present your very facetious and celebrated Journal with
the first effusions of my Muse, viz., an English versifica-
tion of my clear Uncle Joe's Proclamation to Papa's good
city of Paris. Your obedient servant,
ROME.
Brave Lads ot Paris! never fear,
Though Bliicher's torce be drawing near :
1. Joseph Buonaparte, am here.
The Empress, I am glad to say.
And little Rome, have run away.
To " live to fight another day."
But. I King Joseph, still remain ;
I. who was lately sent to reign
( >ver those rebel rogues in Spain ;
Who play'd our toes so deep a game,
\\ hen o'er the Pyrenees I came,
Invei< r lin:_!' them to do the- same.
362 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
I trick'd the British to advance,
And led Lord Wellington a dance
Into the very heart of France.
Consider with what wondrous ease
Your Emperor has beaten these,
And all his other enemies.
Consider all he hath achiev'd,
In Bulletins, by us receiv'd,
And, under pain of death, believ'd.
Look on those foes before your gate;
Consider how he did of late
The whole of them annihilate.
Consider, too, the happy plot,
By which behind them he has got,
Whether, I 'in told, he would or not.
Believe me he will soon be here ;
Already he is in their rear ;
See how they hither run for fear !
He drove them here to meet their fate,
And (if they for his coming wait)
He '11 drive them through the city gate
Or else, perhaps, upon the plain,
With scornful eye and proud disdain,
Annihilate them all again.
Meanwhile, 't is requisite and right
For every citizen to fight
A da}- or two with all his might.
THE PARTING WITH THE EAGLES, 1814.
FANCY can only picture the scene when Napoleon
learned that his beloved Paris was in the hands of the
Allies, and that his herculean efforts to save the city had
failed. There was still left him Fontainebleau, and the
army remained faithful, but how different everything was
from the former days of his power and glory. Then, the
mighty in France looked up at him and were dazzled as
with the brilliancy of the sun ; now, all save his old sol-
diers fled from him as if he were the betrayer of his coun-
try and a thing to be despised. The desertion of Mar-
mont. his comrade-in-arms since the days of Toulon, was
cowardly in the extreme; but it was only in keeping with
the fashion of the clay. Is it to be wondered at that he
sought relief in death by his own hands? But relief was
not to come. He had still to bear Waterloo and St.
Helena; he had still to pay the penalty of being great.
Forced by circumstances beyond his control, he signed
his first abdication, and Elba was determined upon as the
place of his future abode. 1 1 is parting with the Old
Guard has been faithfully depicted on canvas by Vernet,
and also well told by Thornbury in verse.
Till-; PARTING \VITH TIIK KAGLKS, 1X14.
(I.-24 The Soldier's Wife l<> lu-r I'.ny, the Drummer.)
W.M.l KR TllOKNIU'RY.
An April morning! Fontainebleau
Stands up and braves the sun ;
The dew still glitters on the turf
Where rabbits race and run ;
363
364 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
No hunting clamour breaks the hush.
No hound, or echoing hoof,
But sprinkling gold falls on the moat
And slants athwart the roof.
A lonely day, and Fontainebleau
Broods o'er its memories
So old, and yet the April bloom
Is white upon the trees.
Ten Rasters since ! a different scene
Was lit by yonder sun.
When through those rosy almond boughs
Roared the meridian gun !
That palace with its thousand eyes
Indeed might look aghast,
As the last scene that closed the play
Before its windows passed.
" What do they call that marble horse.
Just like ours in Sedan
A horse for Cajsar, lion mancd ? "
" That is the Cheval Blanc."
This is the horse-shoe staircase where
The Rmperor came down,
No blood\' sceptre in his hand,
Nor lighting-woven crown,
But like a simple soldier clad,
In his plain grey surtout,
And underneath the epaulettes
The red that faced the blue.
That noble tree that sheltered us
With its extended branch,
\\ as smit by steal and split by fire
Revanche, mon 1 )ieu, revanche!
THE PARTING WITH THE EAGLES. 365
The cruel frosts of Winter came
And stripped the dying trunk ;
The leaves were crowns, the boughs were kings-
Brave blood the tree had drunk.
The traitor dukes and subject kings
Fell off like Autumn leaves,
As stripped as when the April time
Laughs as old Winter grieves.
Like blossoms from that wind-scourged thorn
The traitors dropped from him
No wonder that his head was bent
And that his eye was dim.
Shall I forget that April noon ?
The carriages in line.
Like funeral hearses slowly came
Through slanting sunbeams' shine.
Who did they wait for Balliard,
Bussy, or Montesquieu,
La Place, Jouanne, or Athalin,
Yansowich or Flahaut ?
The rest are gone, with sneer or jest,
Regret, or fierce rebuke,
Lven the valet lured away
Last night the Mameluke.
When Xey was false, who could expect
A scullion to be true ?
Yet still around the close-shut gate
1 saw a faithful few.
"\ es. still the old Imperial Guard
\\ ere under arms in line
Old friends ot Austerlit/ the same
In snow, or rain, < >r shine.
366 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Immovable, a wall of steel,
You might have thought them dead,
But for the sullen smouldering fire-
That in their eyes shone red.
One strikes, and through the opening door
Napoleon appears ;
The ruffle of the drum was heard,
Like thunder came the cheers ;
The crimson flags blew in and out,
The tremble of the steel
Was visible, most visible !
What ! Frenchmen and not feel ?
Their caps upon the bayonets shook
As when a conqueror comes
To greet his soldiers faster speed
The rolling of the drums.
And then a death-like hush so deep
You heard the thoughtless bird
Upon the rosy almond bloom
A sprinkling snow had furred.
You heard his measured steps, as quick
He came down yonder stairs,
His hand extended for those hands
Held out to him in pairs.
He was among them, ringed with steel,
Erect and stern as when
The foes he sought to crush at last
Were gathered in his ken.
" Farewell, my children ; bring the flag
For me to kiss and bless ;
The dying father thinks of thce
In joy or in distress.
THE PARTING WITH THE EAGLES. 367
For twenty years this eagle led
Our tramplers on kings,
We who lit fires with sceptre-staffs,
And counted crowns base things.
" We now must part. With men like you
I could have fought for years ;
But then our country had been drenched
With blood and mothers' tears.
I leave you, but ye still will serve
France, that we so much love :
God guard her from the ravening hawk
As angels guard the dove.
" Farewell and brave, a long farewell
'T is very hard to part ;
Would I could press my children all
Unto their father's heart."
They brought the flag that Bertrand bore,
He clasped it to his arms ;
Not one but wept, the fiercest there
The drum beat the alarms.
The bayonets shook, the storm}- shout
Burst like a thunder-clap,
How lightning-quick the fiery beat
Of the fierce drummer's tap !-
A dash of hoofs the carriage broke
Impetuous through the crowd.
And after it the rolling dust
Rose in a blinding cloud.
ODE ON THE DELIVERANCE OF EUROPE.
1814.
FOR twenty years Europe had been drenched with
blood. From one end of the country to the other the
a\\ ful carnage had gone on without ceasing. Waiving
the question of whether or not Napoleon, alone, was re-
sponsible for all this misery and woe, it is an undeniable
fact that the peace of 1814 came as a welcome boon to
many a household. It was then thought, and with good
reason, that peace had come to stay and that France, re-
duced to the boundaries of the Revolution, would no
longer be an element of disturbance in the politics of
Europe. \Ycll might the people imagine they had cause
to rejoice. But did not the fallen chieftain in his little
island home deserve, at least, pity ? He had paid a fear-
ful price that the world might slumber without being
aroused by the thunder of his guns. Whether FYance
would remain content under the new order of things, and
O
whether her old soldiers would consent to leave their be-
loved " Little Corporal " to languish in exile, a few short
months would determine. The people, for the time be-
ing, at least, were satisfied.
ODE OX THE IJEEIYERAXCE OE EUROPE, 1814.
!;IN HKKMAN MF.KIYAI.E.
ODE ON THE DELIVERANCE OF EUROPE. 369
From hostile shore to shore
The bale-fires blaze no more ;
But friendly beacons o'er the billows shine,
To light, as to their common home,
The barks of every port that cut the salt sea foam.
" Peace to the nations ! " Peace !
O sound of glad release
To millions in forgotten bondage lying ;
In joyless exile thrown
On shores remote, unknown,
Where hope herself, if just sustain'd from dying.
Yet sheds so dim and pale a light,
As makes creation pall upon the sickening sight.
" Peace ! Peace the world around ! "
O strange, yet welcome sound
To myriads more that ne'er beheld her face ;
And, if a doubtful fame
Yet handed down her name
In faded memory of an elder race,
It seem'd some visionary form.
Some Ariel, fancy-bred, to soothe the mimic storm.
Now the time-honour'd few
Her earlier reign that knew,
May turn their eyes back o'er that dreamy flood,
And think again they stand
On the remember'd land,
Ere yet the sun had risen in clouds of blood,
Ere launch'd the chance-directed bark
On that vast world of ocean, measureless and dark.
And is it all a dream ?
And did these things but seem
The vain delusions of a troubled sight ?
3/O A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Or, if indeed they were,
For what did nature bear
The long dark horrors of that fearful night ?
Only to breathe and be once more
Even as she was and breathed upon that former
shore.
O'er this wild waste of time,
This sea of blood and crime,
Doth godlike virtue rear her awful form,
Only to cheat the sight
With wandering, barren light,
The meteor, not the watch-fire, or the storm ?
The warrior's deed, the poet's strain,
The statesman's anxious toil, the patriot's sufferings
vain.
For this did Louis lay,
In Gallia's sinful day,
On the red altar his anointed head ?
For this did Nelson pour,
In Britain's glorious hour,
More precious blood than Britain e'er had shed ?
And did their winged thoughts aspire,
Even in the parting soul's prophetic trance, no higher?
Ye tenants of the grave,
Whom unseen wisdom gave
To watch the shapeless mist o'er earth extending
Yet will'd to snatch away
Before the appointed day
Of light rcnew'd, and clouds and darkness ending,
Oh, might ye now permitted rise,
Cast o'er this wondrous scene your unobstructed eyes.
ODE ON THE DELIl'ERAKCE OF E UK OPE. 371
And say, O thou, whose might.
Bulwark of England's right,
Stood forth, the might of Chatham's lordly son ;
Thou " on whose burning tongue
Truth, peace, and freedom hung,"
When freedom's ebbing sand almost had run.
To the deliver'd world declare
That each hath seen fulfill'd his latest, earliest prayer.
Rejoice, kings of the earth !
But with a temperate mirth ;
The trophies ye have won, the wreathes ye wear
Power with his red right hand.
And empire's despot brand,
Had ne'er achieved these proud rewards ye bear;
But, in one general cause combined,
The people's vigorous arm, the monarch's constant mind.
Yet that untired by toil,
Unsway'd by lust of spoil,
Unmoved by fear, or soft desire of rest.
Ye kept your onward course
With un remitted force,
And to the distant goal united press'd :
The soldier's bed, the soldier's fare.
II is dangers, wants, and toils, alike resolved to share.
And more that when at length.
Exulting in our strength,
In tyranny o'erthrown, and victory won.
Before you lowly laid,
Your dancing eyes survey d
The prostrate form of humbled Babylon,
Ye cried, " Enough ! " and at the word
Vengeance put out her torch, and slaughter sheath'd
his sword
372 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Princes, be this your praise
And ne'er in after days
Let faction rude that spotless praise profane,
Or dare with license bold
The impious falsehood hold,
That Europe's genuine kings have ceased to reign,
And that a weak adulterate race,
Degenerate from their sires, pollutes high honour's
place.
Breathe, breathe again, ye free,
The air of liberty,
The native air of wisdom, virtue, joy !
And, might ye know to keep
The golden wealth ye reap,
Not thrice ten years of terror and annoy,
Of mad destructive anarchy,
And pitiless oppression, were a price too high.
Vaulting ambition !
Thy bloody laurels torn,
And ravish'd from thy grasp the sin-bought prize ;
Or, if thy meteor fame
Still win the world's acclaim,
Let it behold thee now with alter'd eyes,
And pass, but with a pitying smile,
The hopc-abandon'd chief of Elba's lonely isle.
MARIE LOUISE.
I -..in an engraving l.y F. \V. liollinger. after Monsonm (Vienna, i8i,.|
T. B. Schiavunetti, lierlin (IK. Jate).
MARIE LOUISE.
THE conduct of Marie Louise at the time of Napoleon's
downfall was everything bu-t creditable to her. The stand
she should have taken was to have insisted that she be
allowed to accompany him to Elba. But such a thought
never entered her head, seriously, and it would seem that
she lost all further interest or concern in her late royal
consort the moment he ceased to be Emperor of France.
She certainly proved by her course of life, immediately
upon Napoleon's banishment, that she had no love for
him, and that she was utterly indifferent to any disgrace
she might cast upon his name, or to any loss of her own
personal reputation, for we find her the mother of chil-
dren by an Austrian prince, himself a reputed natural
child, even before her husband's death, and we find her
marrying that same prince, morganatically, as soon as she
could do so without committing the crime of bigamy.
Napoleon had thought to strengthen his own position
when he married the Austrian archduchess, and Marie
Louise had been willing enough to fancy she could love
him the mightiest ruler in the world. Both were mis-
taken, and the fate of the one was not more sad than that
of the other.
MARIK LoriSK.
AN ON.
Who journeys thus onward,
Light-hearted and gay.
As it to a triumph
She passed on her way ?
374 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
No exile, most surely
Not thus do they come,
Who are leaving behind them
A heart and a home.
Can she go so lightly,
And joyously back,
Who went to her bridal
So late o'er this track?
Could she smile as when hastening
To welcoming arms,
If shut from the circle
Of home and its charms ?
Oh, matchless in beauty,
And kingly in line!
No heart of a woman
Can surely be thine :
Else wouldst thou, this moment,
Thy husband uncrowned,
Weep in sackcloth and ashes,
And sit on the ground.
Is this, proud Napoleon,
The pride of thy home ?
Can this be thy mother,
O pale King of Rome ?
Alas ! we may mourn thee,
Hut pity who can,
More fickle than woman,
.And falser than man.
It was well that the exile,
Shut in by the sea.
Still might solace his anguish
Hy memory of thee
MARIE LOUISE. 375
Still could keep through all suffering.
Of body and mind,
One blest spot in memory
Where thou wert enshrined ;
Trusting on in a faith
Which no time could remove,
In the strength of thy virtue,
And depth of thy love ;
For his heart, but for this,
In its hardness had been
As the rocks of the ocean
That girdled him in.
Oh regally wedded,
And regally born !
Not thy state nor thy beauty
Can save thee from scorn ;
And more deeply \ve mourn thee,
Content in thy home,
Than the Emperor exiled,
Or dead Kin"- of Rome.
ODE TO NAPOLEON.
WHEN Byron wrote his Ode to Napoleon he little
thought that Waterloo and St. Helena were still to
come ; that France had yet to suffer more terribly than
she had before she would finally consent to give up her
idol. The judgment pronounced by Byron upon the
great Corsican agreed with that of all contemporary Eng-
lish writers; but it is safe to say that if this same poet
were writing upon the same subject to-day he would
judge him in a far more favourable light. It has taken
nearly a century of study to place this wonderful char-
acter, and it is only now that the true history of Napo-
leon is beginning to be known. Byron Avas a lover of
glory and of military greatness, but his English blood
would not allow him to do justice to the man who should
have been his model.
ODE TO NAPOLEON.
LORD PiVRON.
'T is done but yesterday a King !
And arm'd.with Kings to strive-
And now thou art a nameless thing ;
So abject yet alive !
Is this the man of thousand thrones,
Who strew'd our hearth with hostile bones.
And can he thus survive ?
Since he miscall'd the Morning Star,
Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far.
ODE TO NAPOLEON. 377
Ill-minded man ! why scourge thy kind
Who bovv'd so lo\v the knee ?
By gazing on thyself grown blind,
Thou taught'st the rest to see.
With might unquestion'd power to save,
Thine only gift hath been the grave
To those that worshipp'd thee;
Nor till thy fall could mortals guess
Ambition 's less than littleness !
Thanks for that lesson it will teach
The after-warriors more
Than high Philosophy can preach,
And vainly preach'd before.
That spell upon the minds of men
Breaks never to unite again,
That led them to adore
Those Pagod things of sabre sway
With fronts of brass, and feet of clay.
The triumph and the vanity,
The rapture of the strife
The earthquake voice of Victory,
To thee the breath of life;
The sword, the sceptre, and that sway
Which man seem'd made but to obey.
Wherewith renown was rife
All quell'd- -Dark Spirit ! what must be
The madness of thy memory !
The Desolator desolate!
The Victor overthrown !
The Arbiter of other's fate
A Suppliant for his own !
378 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Is it some yet imperial hope
That with such change can calmly cope?
Or dread of death alone ?
To die a prince or live a slave
Thy choice is most ignobly brave !
He who of old would rend the oak,
Dream'd not of the rebound ;
Chain'd by the trunk he vainly broke
Alone how look'd he round ?
Thou, in the sternness of thy strength,
An equal deed hast done at length,
And darker fate hast found !
He fell the forest prowler's prey ;
But thou must eat thy heart away !
The Roman, when his burning heart
Was slaked with blood of Rome,
Threw down the dagger dared depart,
In savage grandeur, home
He dared depart in utter sco.rn
Of men that such a yoke had borne.
Yet left him such a doom !
His only glory was that hour
Of self-upheld abandon'd power.
The Spaniard, when the lust of s\vay
Had lost its quickening spell.
Cast crowns for rosaries away,
An empire for a cell ;
A strict accountant of his beads,
A subtle disputant on creeds,
His dotage trifled well:
Yet better had he neither known
A bigot's shrine, nor despot's throne.
ODE TO NAPOLEON. 379
But thou from thy reluctant hand
The thunderbolt is wrung
Too late thou leav'st the high command
To which thy weakness clung ;
All Evil Spirit as thou art,
It is enough to grieve the heart
To see thine own unstrung ;
To think that God's fair world hath been
The footstool of a thing so mean !
And Earth hath spilt her blood for him,
Who thus can hoard his own !
And Monarchs bow'd the trembling limb,
And thank'd him for a throne !
Fair Freedom ! may we hold thee dear,
When thus thy mightiest foes their fear
In humblest guise have shown.
Oh ! ne'er may tyrant leave behind
A brighter name to lure mankind !
Thine evil deeds are writ in gore,
Nor written thus in vain
Thy triumphs tell of fame no more,
Or deepen every stain :
If thou hast died as honour dies,
Some new Napoleon might arise,
To shame the world again
Hut who could soar the solar height,
To set in such a starless night?
Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust
Is vile as vulgar clay ;
Thy scales, Mortality ! are just
To all that pass away :
380 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
But yet methought the living great
Some higher sparks should animate.
To dazzle and dismay ;
Nor decm'd Contempt could thus make mirth
Of these, the Conquerors of the earth.
And she, proud Austria's mournful flower,
Thy still imperial bride ;
How bears her breast the torturing hour?
Still clings she to thy side ?
Must she, too, bend must she, too, share
Thy late repentance, long despair,
Thou throneless Homicide ?
If still she loves thee, hoard that gem ;
'T is worth thy vanish'd diadem !
Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle,
And gaze upon the sea ;
That element may meet thy smile
It ne'er was ruled by thee !
Or trace with thine all idle hand,
In loitering mood upon the sand,
That Earth is now as free !
That Corinth's pedagogue hath now
Transferr'd his by-word to thy brow.
Thou, Timour ! in his captive's cage
What thoughts will there be thine.
While brooding in thy prison'd rage?
But one " The world was mine ! "
Unless, like he of Babylon,
All sense is with thy sceptre gone,
Life will not long confine
That spirit pour'd so widely forth
So lon^ obev'd so little worth !
ODE TO NAPOLEON. 381
Or, like the thief of fire from heaven.
Wilt thou withstand the shock ?
And share with him the unforgiven,
His vulture and his rock?
Foredoom'd by God by man accurst,
And that last act, though not the worst,
The very Fiend's arch mock ;
He, in his fall preserved his pride,
And, if a mortal, had as proudly died !
THE TWO GRENADIERS.
THE rank and file of the army remained true to Napo-
leon, even after he had been betrayed and deserted by the
officers who had risen from among their number to high
positions of trust and honour. The Old Guard, as a body,
would gladly have accompanied their chief to Elba had
they been permitted to do so. It was from the ranks
Napoleon himself had sprung ; it was the old soldiers who
had made it possible for marshals, dukes, and princes to
blazon with the reflected splendour and glory of the Con-
sulate and the Empire, and now, they were the only ones
who could not forget. They were loyal to the man who
had been loyal to them ; the man they adored ; the man
who had performed such wonders, through them, for
France.
THE TWO GRENADIERS.
(April, 1814.)
JKAN PIERRE HE BERANGER.
[The reader will remember that the first abdication of
Napoleon took place at Fontainebleau, at the date above
mentioned. In calling Glory the godmother, and the
Emperor the godfather of his Marshals, the poet alludes
to the fact, that nearly all of them bore in their titles the
names of the respective battle-fields, whereon they had dis-
tinguished themselves.]
First Grenadier.
Our post has been forgotten in the rounds ;
Richard, hark ! midnight at the palace sounds.
THE TWO GRENADIERS. 383
Second Grenadier.
Once more we turn to Italy our view ;
For, with to-morrow, Fontainebleau, adieu !
First Grenadier.
By Heaven I swear, and thank it too the while,
'T is a fair climate blesses Elba's isle.
Second Grenadier.
Were it far distant, deep in Russia's snow,
Old grenadiers, let us with an old soldier go !
Together.
Old grenadiers, let us with an old soldier go !
Second Grenadier.
How quick they came, the fights we failed to win !
Where now are Moscow, Wilna, and Berlin ?
Again the flames, that wrapped the Kremlin, seem
Bright on our serried bayonets to gleam :
And Paris given up, through traitors lost.
Paris itself has scarce one battle cost !
Our cartouch-boxes were not empty no !
Old grenadiers, let us with an old soldier go !
First Grenadier.
On every side, " He abdicates," I hear:
Comrade, what's that? pray make the meaning clear.
Our old Republic seek they to restore?
384 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Second Grenadier.
No ! for they bring us back a king once more,
The Emperor's crowns a hundred-fold might shine
I can conceive that he would all resign :
As alms, his hand of old would crowns bestow !
Old grenadiers, let us with an old soldier go !
First Grenadier.
The palace windows are but dull to-night ;
Look there 's one faint and solitary light.
Second Grenadier.
Yes ! for the valets, nobly born and bred,
Hiding their noses in their cloaks, have fled :
All, stripping off the lace from their costumes,
Prompt to dispose of the dead eagle's plumes,
To the new chieftain of the State bend low.
Old grenadiers, let us with an old soldier go !
First Grenadier.
The Marshals too, our comrades once of old,
They have deserted, now they 're gorged with gol
Second Grenadier.
To buy their grades successively, we bled :
Joy, that we 've still some drops of blood to shed !
What ! their godmother Glory's self became,
On field of battle giving each his name ;
Vet their god-father thus aside they throw !
Old irrenadicrs, let us with an old soldier go !
THE TWO GRENADIEKS. 385
First Grenadier.
In service five and twenty years I 've past,
And meant my furlough to have begged at last.
Second Grenadier.
And I, all seamed with scars, felt sonic desire
From our old colours also to retire ;
But after drinking all the liquor up,
'T was base ingratitude to break the cup !
Farewell, wife, children, country ! be it so !
Old grenadiers, let us with an old soldier go !
i
Together.
Old grenadiers, let us with an old soldier go {
JOSEPHINE.
JOSEPHINE would gladly have shared Napoleon's exile
at Klba had he permitted her to do so. There can be no
doubt that for many years before her death Josephine
loved the Emperor, and was to him a devoted and a loyal
wife. In the early days of their marriage and up to the
time of his return from Egypt, her conduct was not such
as his fiery and passionate nature could well submit to.
Whether all the rumours that were then circulated about
her were true or not is not within our province to settle.
She was, in more than one sense, a noble woman and
the one, above all others, to fill the difficult position she
was called upon to occupy. Her tact was wonderful, and
she could often successfully manage her imperious hus-
band when it was hopeless for any one else to undertake
the task. Many a pardon did this fair suppliant obtain,
merely by the force of her own loveliness and her supe-
rior wisdom in knowing how and when to approach the
throne. Generous and extravagant to a fault, she re-
ceived main" a scolding for her kindness to others and for
her lavish use of money upon herself. She was naturally
a royalist, and Napoleon, had he acceded to her wishes,
would never have assumed the crown. lie would have
restored the King, and to have been the wife of the High
Constable of France would have pleased Josephine better
THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE.
From an engraving by Dean, after an original miniature
London, 1831
JOSEPHINE. 387
than being Empress. After the divorce Josephine lived
at Malmaison, and there, within a month after Napoleon's
departure for Elba, she died. The prophecy of the old
negress at Martinique had come to pass in its comple-
tion ; the end had come as it had been foretold.
JOSEPHINE.
KK.V. JOSKPH II. NICHOLS.
'T is evening, on a purple southern sea :
The large thick stars, in tropic purity,
Are flashing from the blue, unbending skies,
On a lone isle, that green beneath them lies.
Out in full blossom shine the orange groves,
o o
And lo ! amid their bowers a maiden roves
A fair, West Indian girl ; then takes her seat
To breathe the fragrance of those flowers so sweet.
She touches her guitar, and with a strain
Of superhuman softness, doth enchain
The winds in silence : smiling in their sleep,
Repose the murmuring billows of the deep.
To join her, soon comes forth a virgin band
Of her companions, tripping hand in hand.
A slave strikes up the tabourine, and she
Floats in the dance to some wild island glee ; .
In peerless elegance that maid moves on,
Of all her sex, in grace the paragon.
Her dark eye kindles with imperial light.
A golden crown is glittering in her sight,
For some gray prophetess foretold, ere now,
A diadem should decorate her brow.
Again, broad daylight sheds its sunny smile
Within a tall cathedral's ancient pile ;
388 A METRICAL IIISTOKY OF NAPOLEON.
Along the aisles, brave men, line after line,
Beneath their banners in bright armour shine ;
The galleries gleam with beauty's jewelled forms,
And warlike music every bosom warms.
It ceases : all direct their anxious gaze
To the high altar, where, amid the blaze
Of princesses and princes, stand alone
A man and woman, each before a throne :
He, the stern chief, whose footsteps shook the globe ;
She, in that long and royal crimson robe,
Is that same fair West Indian. One rich crown
He puts on his own brow ; then, she kneels down,
And modestly, from his small hand receives
Another crown a wreath of. golden leaves,
Upon her forehead ; while his eagle glance,
Reflecting hers, proclaims her Queen of France.
The trumpet peals it forth in joyous swells,
And far as her green isle the tidings tell.
Again, in Malmaison, that lady 's seen,
A wife, yet no wife ; a queen, yet not a queen.
If nature's charms could ever banish grief,
The heaviest bosom there might find relief :
The garden blooms, the fountain flows in vain ;
Not Eden's scenery could assuage her pain.
lie, who his greatness owed to her alone,
Has called another bride to share his throne!
Discarded, she loves still, and woman's tears
She sheds, when of her hero's fall she hears.
Too sharp the trial ! Pensive, day by day,
She sits, and pines, at last, her life away.
Now cold, and closed in death's meek sleep her eyes,
Pale on her bier, the lovely Empress lies !
\\ liite as her shroud, her crossed hands calmly rest
Upon that generous and confiding breast.
JOSEPHINE. 389
There, her lone orphans love's last vigil keep.
And earth's great kings pass by, and muse and weep,
Oh, what young maiden here would be a queen,
Who thinks of thy sad fate, poor Josephine !
Who would not rather, than of courts the pride,
Be gathering berries on the mountain side ?
NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.
TlIK rejoicing was almost universal in the Uniten States
when the news came that the Emperor of France had
been driven from his country and that the Bourbons were
again in power. The success of the American Revolu-
tion and the freedom from tyranny gained thereby were,
in a great measure, the forerunners of the French Revo-
lution ; from which came the Consulate and the Empire,
with Napoleon as their recognised head. Me was not the
true product of a revolution based on an American idea
of liberty, and, consequently, the verdict in this country,
at that time, was against him. Since then, however, this
wonderful man has been diligently studied by American
historians, and, as he has become better known, senti-
ment has changed concerning him ; until to-day he has
friends and admirers in this country, second in number
only to those in France.
The following ode was written by L. M. Sargent, Esq.,
and read at a religious service held at the Stone Chapel
in Boston, in 1814, "in commemoration of the goodness
of (iod in delivering the Christian world from Military
Despotism " : the occasion being the downfall of Napo-
leon and his exile to Elba.
39"
NAPOLEON BOXAPARTK. 39!
NAI'OI.KON HOXAI'AKTK.
L. M. SAK(;KNT.
Where turn the tyrant's myrmidons
Their deadly dark array ?
Where seek they laurels dyed in blood
To crown his brows to-day .'
What tide of widow's tears shall flow
For those who fight no more.
Lying slain, on the plain
Where the smoky volumes pour,
Where slaughter rides the battle blast
And bids her thunders roar ?
France ! at the throne eternal
Of great Jehovah bow !
For Heaven's avenging thunderbolt
Has laid the tyrant low ;
The bloody, baleful star shall guide
The monster's way no more.
Where the slain on the plain
Lie weltering in their gore,
And through a thousand, thousand streams
Life's ebbing torrents pour.
What though on glory's record
1 he wretch his name enroll,
'I he bitter tears of orphan France
Shall wash it from the scroll,
Her widows in the despot's ears
An endless dirge shall pour ;
And throw round his brow.
Where laurels late lie wore,
A wreath of deadly nightshade wrought
Steeped in their husband's gore.
392 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
O'er the tomb of hapless Bourbon
Be mournful honours paid,
Go, loyal maids of France, and weep
Where Antoinette is laid,
Where the tyrant's hemlock withered
And fleur de Us shall blow,
And the brave round the grave
Bid their manly sorrow flow,
While the spirit of true loyalty
Shall in their bosoms glow.
The hand of Heaven, whose vengeance
Is 'gainst the despot hurled,
To France her rightful king restored
And freedom to the world ;
Hosannas to the King of kings
Let Freedom's voice bestow,
Again raise the strain
Till the patriot's heart shall glow,
And Heaven on high approves the song
Of grateful man below.
PETITION.
NAPOLEON was no sooner landed at Elba than the
horde of sycophants, who had fawned at his feet when he
had wealth and position at his disposal, hastened to
grovel in the dust before Louis XVIII., now that he was
the one in power. These people were the same who
had deserted Louis XVI. in his time of need and had
cowardly fled their country to escape the scaffold, and
who, afterwards, had plotted the death of Napoleon and
the overthrow of his government. These were the men
Napoleon had forgiven, and recalled from exile to ad-
vance from one position of trust and confidence to an-
other, until, loaded with wealth, they were able to strut
about in all their old-time glory. Honour, was an un-
known word with them. They would cringe to-day and
bite to-morrow. In a few short months this same ignoble
crowd would be tumbling over each other in their mad
haste to show their servility to the man they now thought
it safe to sneer at and despise.
PETITION
FOR FREE ENTRANCE INTO THE GARDEN OF THE TUILEKIES.
PRESENTED BY THE DOGS OF oUAEITY.
(June, 1314.)
JKAN I'IF.KKK UK HHKANCKK.
'One of the numberless satires, that were caused by the
sudden reappearance of many members of the old noblesse
of France, immediately after the fall of Napoleon J
Let your Chamberlain, please you, decree
That to-morrow we do< r s mav obtain
394 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Entrance into the Tuileries, free
We who 're from the St. Faubourg Germain.
Now we are sure that the tyrant 's laid low,
Hinder us not ; we would frolicking go.
'T is our collar our difference shows
From the dogs who the pavement frequent ;
For such vulgar plebeians as those
Royal honours could never be meant.
Now we are sure that the tyrant 's laid low,
Hinder us not ; we would frolicking go.
Though as long as we bowed to his yoke,
The usurper aye drove us away,
When a host of importunate folk
Would be barking we never said nay !
Now we are sure that the tyrant 's laid low,
Hinder us not ; we would frolicking go.
Of his reign should you memoirs indite,
Be not hard on some changeable brutes,
Who to-day at his heels snap and bite,
Though for years they were licking his boots.
Now we are sure that the tyrant 's laid low,
Hinder us not ; we would frolicking go.
Tiny spaniels, and terriers mean.
Something better than fleas having met,
Fawn on Russians and Germans, I ween,
Who with blood, that is French, are still wet.
Now we are sure that the tyrant 's laid low,
Hinder us not ; we would frolicking tl-
What if, sure her vast profits to net,
Fngland boast of her victories his of peril made?
Or when, her ancient glory dim. her winged lion low,
Inglorious Venice shrank a' r ha>t and fell without a blow '
404 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Queen of the Adriatic ! thou still lingerest round the
heart,
Awakening dreams of other days, unworthy as thou art ;
Romance hath cast her spell o'er thee in gorgeous memo-
ries dyed,
And the hour that saw thee in the dust was not an hour
of pride.
Was it when like a " flaxen band," proud Austria's power
was rent,
And o'er her flying myriads thou thy glance of triumph
sent ?
When from her ancient capital abandoned to thy power,
Thy shouts of victory went up was that thy proudest
hour ?
Was it when Russia's giant force in terror and dismay,
Upon the field of Austerlitz before thee prostrate lay ?
That " Battle of the Emperors," with glorious memories
rife,
So cherished mid each after-scene of thy eventful life ?
Or when at thy sublimest height of conquest and renown,
Was placed upon thy laurelled brow the Lombard's iron
crown ?
The iron crown of Charlemagne a symbol of the power
That countless thousands humbly owned ; was that thy
proudest hour ?
Perchance upon thine inmost soul prophetic whisperings
came,
Of the insecurity of thrones, the heartlessness of fame.
Perchance upon thy spirit then dark visions floated past,
To mar the triumph of that hour, its radiant promise
blast.
NAPOLEON AT MELUN. 405
If so, none knew: unwise it were to waken dark distrust ;
But lo ! upon the wildered eye what bridal pageants
burst !
Imperial Hapsburgh ! fated still to feel thine iron thrall,
Thou hero of an hundred fights, and victor in them all !
So reckless of another's claim, by mad ambition led,
Where slept the thunder? why forbore the bolt that
should have sped
To rive that red right hand, before the altar pledged to
tliee,
Imperial victim ! offered up mid mirth and revelry ?
But why, when every breath bespeaks the triumph hour
of mirth,
Why is it mid this festal scene that darker thoughts have
birth?
What curse is brooding in the air? What shadow passing
by?
What demon is abroad to mar this hour's festivity ?
There 's restlessness within that eye, repress it as thou
wilt ;
A deepening hectic on that cheek, it is the flush of guilt !
For memory of that injured one is with thee even now.
And crime is deepening at thy heart and darkening o'er
thy brow.
A fearful vision, undefined, thy very spirit stirs,
That doom is on thee, long foretold, thy star declines with
hers!
"Spoilt child of fortune!" -fated still, ami formed to
move the heart ;
So glorious as thou might'st have been ! so guilt}' as thou
art !
405 A METRICAL HISTOR\ 7 OF NAPOLEON.
A change was wrought a mighty change ; of all thy con-
quests vast,
The memory alone remained, thy day of empire past.
An exile in a lonely isle, yet still unshrinking shone
That spirit which no change could quell, that greatness
all thine own.
Another change : thy footsteps press once more the soil
of France,
And despots madden at the thought, and bid their hosts
advance.
Alone thou comest ; hostile bands meet thy unstartled
view,
The soldier's eye has caught thy form ! The soldier's
heart is true !
At once from countless numbers poured, a deafening shout
arose,
And ranks on ranks prolonged the sound ; thy foes ! where
are thy foes ?
Like wreath of morning mist before the sun's triumphant
ray,
The Bourbon saw his power decline, his legions pass away !
And thou- not in thy proudest day of triumph and re-
nown,
When kings became thy suppliants, and thanked thee for
a crown !
When earth to her remotest bounds thine influence felt
and owned,
And thou thy mandates issued forth in regal splendour
throned
Not then ! not then thine hour of pride, though millions
owned thv swav ;
NAPOLEON AT MEI.U.V. 407
There waited on thy destiny a more triumphant day.
That day on which a fugitive, where all was once thine
own,
A nation's voice with one accord recalled thee to a
throne !
BONAPARTE IN PARIS.
FROM Melun to Paris the journey was as one grand holi-
day parade. The Emperor was received at the capital
with a welcome and an enthusiasm undescribable. Borne
aloft, literally, upon the shoulders of his frantic admirers,
he entered the Tuileries as no ruler had ever entered that
palace. The Bourbons had scarcely gotten their house
settled ere they were compelled to flee in order to make
room for the man so loudly called for by the army and
the people. In twenty days Napoleon had travelled seven
hundred miles through the very heart of France, and at
no place, from the coast to the gates of Paris, had he met
with any but the most emphatic and pronounced marks
of love and admiration. The old soldiers, certainly, were
honest in their protestations of fidelity, and the people, at
least, thought they were expressing their true sentiments.
The army proved its devotion by dying for its beloved
chief ; the people proved theirs by welcoming the Allies
and the Bourbons back to Paris with loud acclaim and with
open arms, while Napoleon, beaten and humiliated, was
on his way to St. Helena.
The following poem, although written by an English-
man, gives a vivid, an amusing, and an historical descrip-
tion of how the news of Napoleon's escape from Elba
was received in London and in Paris ; how the journey
408
BONAPARTE IN PARIS. 409
from the coast to the capital was made, and ho\v the
Emperor was received at the Tuileries. Pindar's style of
writing is too well known to the English reader to need
an introduction. He spares neither friend nor foe in get-
ting at the point he wishes to make, and yet, beneath the
levity and the satire, there is generally found some object
worth\- of thought and reflection ; some good advice,
which, if followed, would make mankind better.
BONAPARTE IN PARIS ! OR THE FLIGHT OF THE
BOURBONS !
A Poem, by Peter Pindar, Esq.
I>r. JOHX WOLCOT.
Napoleon, lo ! has broke his chain,
And boldly stalks in France again,
\Yith lofty crest he breathes defiance,
A furious tiger, joined by Lyons !
Louis, thy fate is hard, I own,
What plagues assail thy short-liv'd throne !
\Yorse ne'er tormented king, I doubt.
Than Bonaparte and the gout.
Does then a !<>\v-born Corsican
Make Bourbon's Heir his warming-pan :
A little while his place to fill.
Till he resumes it at his will ;
Shall he a Royal Sov'reign knock
About, just like a shuttle-cock?
One blow sends him, full drive, to France,
The next to Eni>luml m;ikes him dance.
4IO A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Was it for this, in splendid show,
Our R 1 went, some time ago,
With footmen, pages, gallant forces,
State carriage, and cream-colour'd horses ;
To bring him safe to London, where
Great Louis own'd his princely care,
Vow'd he through life would ne'er forget
How great to Britain was his debt ;
As he, to make no longer stay, meant,
He gave an order, too, for payment,
(Our pious Regent's pride and boast),
The Order of the Holy Ghost !
For this, such mobbing and huzzaing,
Such beauty, rank, and joy displaying ?
For this, such feasting and parading,
Such shouting and such white-cockacling?
For this, did vessels of the line,
Give battle on the Serpentine?
For this, did crackers, squibs, and rockets,
Amuse our eyes and fleece our pockets?
For this, did Sadler mount the sky,
And temples lift their heads on high '
For this, were fairs and revels had,
To make the people drunk and mad '
For this, but I had best pursue
My tale, so wonderful and new,
Form'd to perpetuate my rhymes
In British minds, to latest times.
BONAPARTE IN PARIS, 411
" Begone ! " said I, the other day,
Unto the newsman, " get away
Xo paper will I take, depart !
I 'm weary, I am sick at heart.
" The Corn-Bill, it is sure will pass,
Whoever doubts it is an ass ;
Away ! I will not read their speeches,
Of which, the substance, only teaches
"And, as to foreign politics,
To kingly craft and courtly tricks ;
To that great Congress, where of late,
Monarchs and ministers of state,
" With potent emperors assembl'd,
At whose bare nod whole kingdoms trembl'd.
Danc'd waltzes, din'd, and talk'd the news,
And figur'd, too, at grand reviews,
" I low each pursues his bold design.
Is his concern and none of mine ;
I leave them to their strife and scrambles,
And all their polished courtly gambols.
" We know, the work of peace to crown.
How they together sat them down ;
And (droll comparison to make).
All Europe, like a large twelfth cake,
" At these grand Carvers' mercy laid.
Was on the ample board display'd,
To be cut up there and divided,
lust as these miirhtv men decided.
412 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
" To work they went, at nothing stopping ;
Good lord ! what cutting and what chopping
So greedy all, that, in the pother,
They cut the fingers of each other.
" Disputes their r 1 tempers nettle ;
They find it difficult to settle
A point, that I confess was nice,
Which ought to have the largest slice ?
" ' Coz, you have got the greatest share,
Which I contend is quite unfair ;
Cut off a piece and give it me.'
' No ; I to that cannot agree :
" ' But, hark'ee ! my imperial brother.
Here is a share own'd by another ;
He is a poor defenceless elf,
I know he cannot help himself ;
" ' I '11 give you his with all my heart ;
Then you will have an equal part.
Agreed ! ' thus they hush up the broil,
And socially divide the spoil.
" But now the glorious work is done,
By wisdom so profound begun ;
The compact 's made secure and fast,
That aees clestin'd is to last :
" In time of peace ? \ is more, I swear.
Than mortal patienee well can bear !
Since then abroad the Congress-fiat
Has settled ev'rything so quiet,
BONAPARTE 7/V PARIS. 415
" And since, at home the Corn-Bill, fast,
Against the nation's voice, is past,
Let those inquire the news who will,
My curiosity is still. "-
Twang went the horn ! "Confound that noise ! "
I cried, in pet " these plaguy boys
Are at some tricks to sell their papers,
Their blasts have given me the vapours ! "
But all my senses soon were stranded
At hearing, " Buonaparte landed ! "
" Landed in France ! " so ran the strain,
And " \Yith eleven hundred men."
" Ho, post ! " " Who calls ! " " This way." " I 'm
coming ! "
The public surely he is humming,
Said I, '' A paper what 's the price ? "
" A shilling." " Why that 's payment twice."
" As cheap as dirt, your honour, quite ;
They Ve sold for half-a-crown to-night."
" But is the news authentic, friend ? "
" ( )fishul, sir, you may depend
" The Currier, third edition." " So !
\\"ell, take your money, boy, and go."
Now for the news by what strange blunder
Has he escaped his bounds I wonder.
There's some strange mystery in this ;
Let 's see " Lscape." -Oh, here it is.
Xow, curiosity to quench,
" Kscape- Kscapc from tin- King's Bench!"
414 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
1) n the King's Bench I 'm out of patience,
Stay, here I see the proclamations
Pronounced a rebel, traitor well,
What this will end in, who can tell?
Who can describe the consternation,
Alternate grief and trepidation,
Emotions far too strong to hide,
Which spread around on cv'ry side ?
But chief at Paris now is seen
Th' inquiring look, th' astonish'd mien ;
The news, just like some potent charm.
In ev'ry quarter spreads alarm.
John Bull and family, to France
Who 've had a most delightful dance,
Are struck with panic, ev'ry one,
And back to England, fain would run.
Oh, what a crowd of rueful faces !
I really pity their sad cases,
So full of gloomy apprehension.
And fears beyond what I can mention.
" Boney broke loose ! " is all the cry,
" To Calais let us instant fly."
For carriages they are all mad,
And those can scarcely now be had.
Away they scamper, high and low.
Like children from a bugabo ;
Run, Johnny, run, should Boney meet you,
The cruel monster '11 kill and eat you !
BOXAPARTE IN PA A' IS. 415
" Honey is coming! Oh, tlic devil!
Whoever dreamt of such an evil.
They say I shall expire with fright,
He will be here to-morrow night.
" He '11 seize, and lock us up, I vow
I think I see his John d'Armes now
Coming to drive us and our friends,
Like sheep, before them, into pens.
" Come, let us pack up, and away,
Whatever be the cost, I '11 pay,
Buy my escape, that I am fixton,
E'en should I sell my house at Brixton."
Such was John Bull's sad situation,
By peril caught in Gallia's nation,
Led thither by that gen'ral passion,
Whose reign is like the doe-star's fashion !
But where 's the pen that can reveal.
What, L s, thou didst think and feel,
When this dire information first
A thunderbolt upon thee burst.
The day had past, which was, I hear,
A levee-day, when bishop, peer,
And commoner, their homage pay
To him who holds the regal s\vav.
The day had past, as has been said ;
The < r audv retinue had fled ;
416 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
The mon h now retirement sought,
To give an hour to sober thought.
" Mon Dieu ! " said he, " to be a king
Is very much fatiguing thing!
So much to sign, so much to hear,
'T is too much for my age to bear.
" Now ministers in council chatter ;
Now grand homme tell d d lie and flatter :
Now dis ; now dat ; well, I must still
Endure it all for ma famille."
Scarce had he spoke these words, when, lo !
His minister's announc'd below ;
Soon usher'd up, behold him stand,
With his despatches in his hand :
" O sire ! " he cried, as pale as death,
Then stopp'd awhile to take some breath,
" I come, your Majeste, to tell
About dis terrible nouvelle! "
" Xouvelle ? some news?" The monarch cried,
His ample mouth all gaping wide,
'' What news, my Lord, tell me, dites m<>i ? "
" Ce Bonaparte Helas! mon Roi ! "
" Ha, Bonaparte!" great L s said,
His eyes seem'd starting from his head ;
One would have thought, to mark his stare,
The Corsican himself was there.-.
Strange that a name could thus control.
And petrify a monarch's soul :
BONAPARTE AV PARIS. 417
Whose name, beside ? An exile's, sent,
Disgrac'd, to dwell in banishment,
And dwindle out life's transient hour,
Remote from courts and shorn of power ;
Yet did this name of Bonaparte
Strike terror to a Bourbon's heart.
The K g, his shock somewhat abated,
Occasion'd by a sound so hated,
Cried, " He bien ? Dites moi tell me,
Ce coquin rascal where is he ? "
" Begar, mon Roi, he land in France,
And make to Paris, quick advance : "
" He land in France? " " En verite."
" Diable ! How he get away
" From Elba, I much vish to know,
Vere he vas sent some time ago
By Fred'ric, Francis, Alexander,
And all de oder great Commander?"
" I don't know, sire, Je no scais pas;
But he land here dat true I Idas !
And make terrible proclamation
To all de people in de nation ;
" Dere he abuse your Majeste,
Say you no honnetc will no pay
L'argent de monev vou agree
O * . O
To give him and his family.
" So he come here to make de war
In France, and pay himself, begar;
418 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
He say vos princes be lazy dog,
De C-ng ss, too, be all clam rogue,
" Who call him tief ; and den, for pelf,
Dey all go and turn tief demself,
And, for deir own accommodation,
Rob, cheat, and plunder oder nation."
I will not pause here to relate
What great resources of the state
On this occasion were employ'd,
When bold invasion fierce annoy'd,
Or tell how Parliament assembled,
Where loyalty, most undissembled,
Inspired the members every one
Where much was talk'd, and nothing done.
Could speeches kill, full well we know
They had slain Boney long ago.
I sing not of the princely train
Who march'd out, then march'd back again.
I sing not of brave Marshal Ncy,
The Bourbons' last remaining stay,
Who went th' invader to attack,
Defeat, destroy, or drive him back,
But scorn'd behaviour so uncivil :
While, rapid as the very devil,
To Paris, Bonaparte inclin'd ;
Ney, most politely, march'd behind.
1 sing not of the Melun-force,
So sure to check the Emperor's course ;
BONAPAKTE AV PARIS. 419
But which, as had done all the others,
Beheld his troops and hailed them brothers.
The fact by none is now denied,
That Bonaparte 's ta'en a ride
A sort of pleasurable excursion,
As it would seem, for mere diversion
To Paris, whence, in sad affright,
Poor hapless Louis wing'd his flight ;
While nou r Napoleon, at his ease,
Is seated in the Tuileries.
THE HUNDRED DAYS.
THE advice given by Beranger to Napoleon, upon his
return from Elba, coincided exactly with the Emperor's
wishes and intentions. He sought only the good of
France and that of his subjects. He no longer desired
war, and he endeavoured in every possible way to avoid
it. Immediately upon his arrival at the Tuileries, he noti-
fied the sovereigns of Europe of his resumption of power,
and declared his willingness to accept and abide by the
terms of the Treaty of Paris. The only reply he received
was a decree posting him as an outlaw, and granting per-
mission, to anyone who chose to do so, to shoot him at
pleasure. Had Napoleon been supported at this time
by a united France, and with the same spirit and enthu-
siasm which made him First Consul and then Emperor,
war might have been avoided. Had he acted towards
Louis XVIII. and the Bourbon family in the manner
that the Allies and the Bourbons acted towards him, he
would have seized the King and held him as a hostage
until peace was assured. Instead of this justifiable course,
he allowed the King to depart in safety, and he ordered
the release of the Duke d'Angouleme after he had been
taken prisoner with arms in his hands against him. Eng-
land and the Allied Sovereigns would accept no peace at
the hands of Napoleon, and they banded themselves to-
420
THE HUNDRED DA VS. 42 I
gather by the most solemn oath, and swore never to sheath
the sword until the " outlaw " was again driven from the
throne of France. The world in arms was united against
one man. Into the " Hundred Days" more history was
crowded than in, perhaps, any other equal period of time
since the world began. Between Elba and St. Helena,
from one prison door to another, a might}- empire was
won and lost.
THE HUNDRED DAYS.
JEAN PIERRE DE BERANGER.
[In this admirable song, full of sound political advice, it
is the Emperor Napoleon who is apostrophised, under the
pleasant disguise of Liz.]
O Liz, who reignest by the grace
Of God, who makes us equal all,
Thy matchless beauty holds a race
Of rivals still in thrall.
But vast as may thine empire be,
Liz, in thy lovers Frenchmen see ;
And at thy faults let us to jest be free,
For thy subjects' sake !
How main' belles, and princes, too,
Love to abuse their sovereign strength !
What states, what lovers, not a few,
Come to despair at length !
Dread lest, perchance, revolt some day
To thy boudoir should find its way :
Ah ! never, never, Liz, the tyrant play,
For tin* subjects' sake!
By too much coquetry beguiled.
Women pursue the conqueror's aim,
Who from his country far is wiled,
A hundred tribes to tame.
422 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
A terrible coquette he seems :
Oh ! follow not his empty dreams ;
Nor cherish further, Liz, thy conquering schemes,
For thy subjects' sake !
Thanks to the courtier's zeal, 't is harder
A mighty monarch to come nigh
Than Beauty's self, who has to guard her
Some ever-jealous eye.
But to thy couch, that peaceful throne
Where Pleasure her decrees make known,
Liz, let the way accessible be shown,
For thy subjects' sake !
In vain a king would have us know,
That, if he reign, Heaven wills his sway ;
As, Liz, to Nature thou dost owe
The charms that all obey.
Though without question we resign
The sceptre to such hands as thine,
Of us to hold it thou must not decline,
For thy subjects' sake !
That we for aye thy name may bless,
On these plain truths, O Liz, reflecting,
Strive to become a good princess.
Our liberties respecting !
Wreathe round thy brow, all bright and fair,
The roses that Love reaps, and there
For many a day thy crown securely wear,
For thy subjects' sake !
HERZOU VON WEI.I.INGTON.
N'ach dem Leben von Fleischmann, London, 1814.
NUrnberg (no date).
BEFORE WATERLOO.
Ox the twelfth of June, 1815, the doors of the Tuileries
closed behind Napoleon, never to open for him again,
lie and the Grand Army of France were about to enter
upon their last campaign, a campaign which was fated to
be a short, but a most decisive one. With less than three
hundred thousand men, the difficult problem of how to
beat back more than a million of armed foes, pouring in
from all sides upon the frontiers of his country, confronted
the Emperor. Never had such a stupendous task, and one
fraught with so much weal or woe to the nation, stared
him in the face. Where now was that brilliant galaxy of
warriors who, in the days when victory and glory followed
his departure, always rode out of Paris by the side of
their chief? Where Eugene, Murat, Berthier, Lannes,
Bessieres, Duroc, Marmont, Junot, Oudinot. Macdonald,
and Poniatowski ? None with him in this his last desper-
ate struggle.
The history of the battle of Waterloo has been written
more times and by more writers than that of any other
battle fought since the beginning of time, and to-day how
the result attained was brought about is still an unsettled
question. Was the battle lost to France because the
guide shook his head one way instead of the other, or
was it because of the sunken road which, in fiction, broke
423
424 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
up the charge of Cuirassiers of the Old Guard ? Was it
because Ney refused to obey orders, or was it because
Grouchy refused to disobey ? Was it because the great
Emperor slept at a critical moment, or was it because Old
Bliicher did not sleep at all ? A poet's license is broad
enough to accept any, or all, or none of these explanations
and the answer to the question of how it happened will
not be found in this collection. On the fifteenth of June
Napoleon was at Charleroi, Wellington at Brussels, and
Bliichcr at Namur; each holding, as it were, the corner of
a triangle. It was on that night the Duchess of Rich-
mond gave her famous ball at Brussels, from which
Wellington and his officers were rudely torn by the ne\vs
that Bonaparte had crossed the frontier and was in Bel-
gium. In the early morning of the sixteenth, Napoleon,
supposing Ney to be in possession of Quatre-Bras, ad-
vanced to Ligny, where he met Bliicher and the entire
Prussian army on their way to join the English army at
Waterloo. All clay the battle went on and when night
fell Napoleon was everywhere victorious, and the Prus-
sians were in full retreat toward Wavre. Had Ney actu-
ally occupied Quatre-Bras, as he had been ordered to do,
the Prussian army could not have escaped complete
destruction. But Wellington had possession of that im-
portant position, and the advantage gained by the glorious
victory at Ligny was lost. Why it was that Ney did not
take possession of Quatre-Bras on the night of the fif-
I - O
teenth, as he easily could have done, is still a mystery.
lie made a gallant fight on the sixteenth to gain what
he had lost, but in vain. Perhaps it was at Quatre-Bras
that Waterloo was rcallv decided.
BEFOKE WATERLOO. 425
BEFORE WATERLOO.
LORD BYRON.
There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ;
A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again.
And all went merry as a wedding bell ;
But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell !
Did ye not hear it ? No ; 'twas but the wind,
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ;
On with the dance ! let joy be unconfm'd ;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet
But, hark ! that heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat ;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
Arm ! arm ! it is it is the cannon's opening roar !
Within a window'd niche of that high hall
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear
That sound the first amidst the festival,
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear;
And when they smiled because he deem'd it near.
His heart more truly knew that peal too well
Which strctch'd his father on a bloody bier,
And roused the vengeance bjood alone could quell :
He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.
Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro.
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness;
426 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
Which ne'er might be repeated : who would guess
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise !
And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar;
And near, the beat of the alarming drum
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ;
While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb,
Or whispering, with white lips " The foe ! They come !
they come ! "
And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering " rose.
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes :
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills
Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring which instils
The stirring memory of a thousand years,
And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears '.
And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass.
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,
Over the unreturning brave alas !
Kre evening to be trodden like the grass
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
Of living valour, rolling on the foe,
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.
BEFORE WATERLOO. 427
Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay,
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,
The morn the marshalling in arms, the day
Battle's magnificently stern array !
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent,
The earth is cover'd thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent,
Rider and horse friend, foe in one reel burial blent !
THE DANCE OF DEATH.
ON the seventeenth, Napoleon Joined Ney and started
in pursuit of Wellington, then in retreat towards Water-
loo. Grouchy had been instructed to follow Blucher and
prevent him from combining with the English army.
Wellington made a stand at Waterloo, and there awaited
the coming of his great adversary. The night of the sev-
enteenth was spent by Napoleon, exposed to a drenching
rain, in preparing for the ordeal of the morrow. If Blucher
could be kept from giving aid to the Iron Duke, the re-
sult of the impending conflict would surely be a victory
for the French cause. Daybreak found the rain still pour-
ing down in torrents, and it was not until after eleven
C>
o'clock that an attack was ordered. Perhaps it was this
delay of a few hours that brought about the awful defeat
which overtook the French army.
THE DANCE OF DEATH.
SIR WAI.TKR SCOTT.
Night and morning were at meeting
Over Waterloo :
Cocks had sung their earliest greeting,
Faint and low they crew,
For no paly beam yet shone
On the heights of Mount Saint John ;
Tempest-clouds prolonged the sway
Of timeless darkness over day ;
428
THE DANCE OF DBA TH. 429
Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower
Marked it a predestined hour.
Broad and frequent through the night
Flashed the sheets of levin-light :
Muskets, glancing lightnings back,
Showed the dreary bivouac
Where the soldier lay,
Chill and stiff, and drenched with rain,
Wishing dawn of morn again,
Though death should come with day.
'T is at such a tide and hour.
Wizard, witch, and fiend have power,
And ghastly forms through mist and shower,
Gleam on the gifted ken ;
And then the affrighted prophet's ear
Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear,
Presaging death and ruin near
Among the sons of men;
Apart from Albyn's war-array,
'T was then gray Allan sleepless lay ;
Gray Allan, who for many a day,
Had followed stout and stern,
Where through battle's rout and reel,
Storm of shot and hedge of steel,
Led the grandson of Lochicl,
Valiant Fassiefern.
Through steel and shot he leads no more,
Low-laid mid friends' and foemcn's gore,
Hut long his native lake's wild shore,
And Sunart rough, and high Ardgower,
And Morven long shall tell,
And proud Hen Xevis hear with a\ve.
How, upon blood\- Ouatre-Hras,
Hrave Cameron heard the wild hurra
Of conquest as he fell.
43O A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEOA'.
Lone on the outskirts of the host,
The weary sentinel held post,
And heard, through darkness far aloof,
The frequent clang of courser's hoof,
Where held the cloaked patrol their course ;
And spurred 'gainst storm and swerving horse
But there are sounds in Allan's ear,
Patrol nor sentinel may hear,
And sights before his eye aghast
Invisible to them have passed,
When down the destined plain
'Twixt Britain and the bands of France,
Wild as marsh-born meteors' glance,
Strange phantoms wheeled a revel dance.
And doomed the future slain.
Such forms were seen, such sounds were heard,
When Scotland's James his march prepared
For Flodden's fatal plain ;
Such, when he drew his ruthless sword,
As Choosers of the Slain, adored
The yet unchristen'd Dane.
An indistinct and phantom band,
They wheel'd their ring-dance hand in hand.
With gestures wild and dread ;
The Seer, who watch'tl them ride the storm ,
Saw through their faint and shadowy form
The lightning's flash more red ;
And still their ghastly roundelay
Was of the coming battle-fray,
And of the destined dead.
Wheel the wild dance
While li' r htnin< r s glance.
THE DANCE OF DEATH. 431
And thunders rattle loud ;
And call the brave
To bloody grave,
To sleep without a shroud.
Our airy feet,
So light and fleet,
They do not bend the rye
That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave,
And swells again in eddying wave,
As each wild gust goes by ;
But still the corn,
At dawn of morn,
Our fatal steps that bore,
At eve lies waste,
A trampled paste
Of blackening mud and gore.
Wheel the wild dance
While lightnings glance,
And thunders rattle loud ;
And call the brave
To bloody grave,
To sleep without a shroud.
Wheel the wild dance !
Brave sons of France,
For you our ring makes room ;
Make space full wide
For martial pride,
For banner, spear, and plume.
Approach, draw near,
Proud cuirassier !
Room for the men of steel !
Through crest and plate
The broadsword's weight
Both head and heart shall feel.
432 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Wheel the wild dance
While lightnings glance,
And thunders rattle loud ;
And call the brave
To bloody grave,
To sleep without a shroud.
Sons of the spear !
You feel us near
In many a ghastly dream ;
With fancy's eye
Our forms you spy,
And hear our fatal scream.
With clearer sight
Ere falls the night,
Just when to weal or woe
Your disembodied souls take flight
On trembling wing each startled sprite
Our choir of death shall know.
Wheel the wild dance
While lightnings glance,
And thunders rattle loud ;
And call the brave
To bloody grave,
To sleep without a shroud.
Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers,
Redder rain shall soon be ours-
Sec the east grows wan
Yield we place to sterner game,
Ere deadlier bolts and direr flame
Shall the welkin's thunders shame:
Elemental rage is tame-
To the wrath of man.
TJIE DANCE OF DEATH. 433
At morn, gray Allan's mates with awe
Heard of the vision'd sights he saw,
The legend heard him say ;
Hut the Seer's gifted eye was dim,
Deafen'd his ear, and stark his limb.
Kre closed that bloody day
He sleeps far from his Highland heath,
But often of the Dance of Death
His comrades tell the tale,
On picquct-post, when ebbs the night,
And waning watch-fires glow less bright,
And dawn is glimmering pale.
WATERLOO.
MANY such incidents as the following no doubt actually
took place the day the battle of Waterloo was fought.
It was a glorious day, in June ; a Sabbath day, clear
and warm after the heavy rain of the night, which
had entirely ceased ere the roar of battle began. At
home, mothers and sisters and sweethearts were praying
for the safety of those dear to them who were about to
engage in deadly combat. It was while these loved ones
were engaged in their devotions at church that the
battle commenced, and from many a maiden's heart, in
Kent and elsewhere, went out a fervent petition asking
Divine protection for the one dearer to her than life ; and
many a noble boy fought better and died more heroically
that awful day, knowing that such a woman was praying
for him.
WATERLOO.
DOUGLAS UROOKK. WHKK.LTOX SI.AOKN.
" What struck?"
" Half-past ten o'clock."
As over his saddle-bow he bent,
He thought of the village church in Kent,
And said, " She '11 be kneeling soon to pray
Perhaps for me, on this Sabbath-day."
434
WATERLOO. 435
Ping! ping!
Hark the bullets wing !
Their cuirassiers sweep across the plain.
" Charge them, our Life Guards ! " They turn again ;
While English beauty is on its knees
For English valour across the seas.
There goes
The vanguard of the foes !
They Ve taken the wood by Hougoumont !
" Coldstreams and Fusiliers to the front ! "
Taken again, lads ! that 's not amiss ;
Your sweethearts at home will boast of this.
Pell-mell,
Bullet, shot, and shell
Rain on our infantry thick and fast ;
Many a stout heart will beat its last ;
Blue eyes will moisten many a day
For good lives lightly given away.
Crash, clash,
Like a torrent's dash,
Lancer and cuirassier leap on the square !
Scarcely a third of the bayonets there.
Ve who would look on old England again,
Xo\v must ye prove yourselves Englishmen.
Stamp, stamp,
With its even tramp,
Rolls uphill the invincible Guard :
Falters it at the fiftieth yard?'
Weak, worn, and oft assaulted the foe.
Vet never its heart misirave it so.
43<-> -' METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
On, oil,
And the fight is won !
Shot-stricken linesman and thrice-charged Guard
Glare at them lion-like, hungry and hard ;
His waiting is done his hour has come;
Pent-up fierceness drives bayonets home.
On, on,
Life Guard and Dragoon !
An English charge and a red right hand
Will bring fair years to your fair old land.
With riven corselet and shivered lance,
Is reft and shivered the pride of France.
Still, still,
In the moonlight chill,
A dying Dragoon looks up to a friend :
" Tell her I did my part to the end
Tell her I died as an Englishman should
And give her her handkerchief it is my blood.'
There went,
From a church in Kent,
An eager and anxious prayer to God
For lovers, brothers, and sons abroad :
The fairest and noblest prayed for one
Neither lover, nor brother, nor son.
A calm
After hymn and psalm :
The preacher in silent thought is bowed.
Ere he gives out the bidding prayer aloud.
I lark ! what can that long, dull booming be,
Swept by the east wind across the sea.''
U'ATEKLOO. 437
Boom, boom,
Like the voice of doom !
The preacher has fought, and knows full well
The message that booming has to tell,
And gives out his text : " Let God arise,
And he shall scatter our enemies."
One night
In two memories bright ;
One golden hour unwatched at a ball,
A kerchief taken or given was all.
" Off to the war to-morrow good-by
I '11 carry it with me until I die ! '
He is dead !
" You have come," she said,
" To bring me tidings of him I loved ?
Your face has told me your tale he proved
Worthy the name I did not know,
The man that I thought him a year ago."
" He cliecl
With stern English pride,
But lived to fight the great battle through ;
II is last words were of England and you ;
He died as an English gentleman should,
And sent you- your handkerchief rich with hi>
blood."
" Ah me !
Life is sad," moaned she,
" When all the sun in its sky hath flown ! "
And " One loving bosom is very lone."
And " ( )h, if I might lie by you
In v'our soldier's i/rave at \\ aterloo !"
NEY'S CHARGE AT WATERLOO.
SHORTLY after eleven o'clock, on the morning of the
eighteenth of June, the work of slaughter began. It was
at that time Napoleon ordered the attack upon Hougou-
mont, which was intended as a diversion only, but which
was fated to become a most important factor in the result
of the battle. Napoleon's brother Jerome undertook to
carry out this part of the Emperor's plan, but he signally
failed, not through any lack of bravery on his part, or on
that of his soldiers, but wholly through an apparent un-
justifiable ignorance of the nature of the task assigned
him. It was not until after one o'clock that the first
attack on the centre of the English line was ordered.
D'Erlon, who had charge of this movement, was repulsed
and driven back with fearful loss. While the French
troops were re-forming, and preparations were being made
to again test the strength of Wellington's line, Bulow's
corps of the Prussian army appeared on the field, and
Napoleon was compelled to withdraw a part of his force
from the advance about to be made, in order to meet this
new foe. In this undertaking Napoleon assumed personal
command, leaving Ney in charge of the movement against
the English line. Ney determined to make the attack
with cavalry, and for two long hours his iron horsemen
NEY.
From an engraving by J. Kennerly.
Place and date of publication unknown
NEY'S CHARGE AT WATERLOO. 439
hurled themselves against that line, which would neither
bend nor break. By reason of sheer exhaustion on the
part of the French cuirassiers this assault also failed.
Napoleon having, as he supposed, effectually beaten the
Prussians, returned to the front, where Ney made known
to him the true condition of affairs. The Imperial Guard,
or rather what remained of it, was the only resource left.
Upon this hitherto invincible band of warriors depended
the fate of France. It was about seven o'clock, in the
evening of that awful day, when Napoleon handed over
to Ney all he had the remnant of his Guard. What
followed is told in the following verses.
NEY'S CHARGE AT WATERLOO.
ANON.
T was the Corsican's last struggle dark and lurid rose
the morn
Where, on the field of Waterloo, light waved thetasselled
corn,
And where proud England's chivalry, fresh from the giddy
dance.
Went forth to bide, in war's red title, the Grand Army of
France.
There stood the rival nations, there each ensign fluttered
high,
Nodding its stern defiance as it streamed toward the sky.
There the fanner boys of Yorkshire, the conscript from
the Seine,
The veteran from the Indies, and from Moscow's icy plain.
The shepherd of the Highlands, and Naples' gondoliers,
The high noblesse of England, the Empire's haughty peers,
440 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
All, all went forth that awful morn with hearts of bound-
ing pride,
Went forth, as to a bridal, to meet Death as a bride.
Hark ! to the shrieking trumpet ! hark ! to the rolling drum !
Hark! how the crashing cannon-shot proclaim the battle
storm !
Be merry, Death ! for never yet, in one short summer
morn,
Hast thou reapeu a bloodier harvest than in yonder
trampled corn.
The day wore on where in mad charge the fiery cuiras-
siers
Still spurred against the bayonets of the stout English
squares,
The smoke had settled dark and gray ; and in that battle
cloud
Both armies were enveloped, as in some Titanic shroud.
'T was then an aide rode headlong to where Napoleon
stood :
" Sire ! Sire! " he cried, " the Prussians ! the}' 're debouch-
ing from the wood."
Napoleon turned at those dread words he felt the Km-
pire grand
Sinking like withering ashes from beneath his nerveless
hand.
" Send for the Prince of Moskwa ! hasten my Guard's
advance !
On him and them alone must rest the destiny of France."
The marshal came he cast a glance of anguish not of fear,
To where the Prussians' sullen gun sent warnings to his
ear.
' 1 am here," he said, " my chieftain ; I have erred, but
1 am true- ;
I am here to die, as I have lived, for glory, France, and
vou .
NEY'S CIIARGI: AT U'ATKKl.OO. 441
" Ney ! " said the Emperor, " dear Ney ! tried friend in
brighter days,
Thy brother's star is dull and dim; 't is fading from hi^
gaze.
The men he made immortal have left him. one by
one ;
The princes, kings, and marshals aye, and brothers all
are gone.
Ney! bravest of the brave ! the Empire shivers! must it
fall ?
Go, lead the Guards ! the last great charge must save or
ruin all.
Strike once again for glory safety liberty, dear Ney,
The world's vast fate hangs quivering on thy valiant arm
to-day ! "
The bearskins of the Grenadiers gleam grimly through
the corn ;
No roll of drum, no trumpet tone, is heard to cheer them
on ;
Through blue and livid sheets of flame Ney leads them
on they go,
Till he hurls them, as an avalanche, against the shrinking
foe.
Still on ! two solid ranks before their charge arc scattered
wide,
And yet those foes, like hydras' heads, spring up on every
side ;
Volcanic bursts of red-hot rain are vain to make them
fly
The\' cannot on they will not turn so, tarry there to
die.
They are falling, they are falling, but each -oldier only
sees
His loved tricolour still shivering, torn, deliant in the
bree/e ;
442 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
And though on front, flank, rear is shrieked the Saxons'
mad hurrah,
Each bleeding square dies proudly there, with " Vive
1'Empereur ! "
But fainter fainter are the cries, and fewer are the men ;
The bearskins of the Grenadiers are low upon the plain.
'T is sunset ; o'er red Waterloo the shroud of night is
thrown ;
Napoleon ! thy Guard is dead ! a broken toy thy crown !
AN EPISODE OF WATERLOO.
THE defeat of the Imperial Guard at Waterloo was a
startling revelation to the rest of the French army. Never
before in its history had its stern warriors been known to
move on a field of battle, except in the path of victory. If
tradition be true they now accepted annihilation rather than
acknowledge themselves conquered. The fidelity of the
soldiers of the Grand Army towards their Emperor con-
tinued to the end. To die for him, rather than to live for
another, was their choice. Their devotion was genuine,
and it ceased only when death summoned them from his
side. Ney led the Guard in its last charge, and when
horse after horse was shot under him, he still led these
heroes, on foot, sword in hand. " Come, gentlemen, fol-
low me, and see how a marshal of France can die." was
an expression worth}- the man ; but how much nobler
had it not been supplemented by the- words. "HI 'm not
shot here, I '11 be hanged when I return to Paris." It was
policy for him to die on the field of battle ; to the soldiers,
death was but the fulfilment on their part of the contract
made with the Emperor.
The story told below is founded on an incident said to
have actually occurred at Waterloo. Had the generals
443
444 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON'.
and marshals of Napoleon been made of the same stuff
this private soldier was, Waterloo would never have been
fought.
AN EPISODE OF WATERLOO.
FRANCIS S. SALTUS.
The battle was waning ; the sun had set
Thro' the clouds of smoke on the shrieking plain,
And the scattered bodies of men lay wet
In great pools of blood and great pools of rain.
Then thunders of cannon still rent the air,
And the crimson field had been barely won,
While echoes of anguish drowned the blare,
And greeted the answer of brave Cambronne.
Thro' the dust and gloom from the north advanced,
With helmeted heads and vigorous breath,
The dragoons of Bliicher, equipped and lanced,
To swell the red ties of the river Death.
And the Emperor stood on the gory field,
With his great calm eyes in a strange unrest ;
But his forehead's pale marble ne'er revealed
All the burning hell in his tortured breast.
It was o'er; and the victor's eager cry
Rose up in the night, while the piercing groans
Of thousand of heroes left to die
Blent shrill with the cannon's monotones.
Thro' the heat of fire, thro' the bullets' rain,
Thro' the sea of battle that stormed and waved,
1 he pale man on the prancing horse again
Led his legions on, for France might be saved.
AN EPISODE AT WATERLOO. 445
And though all seemed lost, he was still adored
By those valorous hearts that knew naught of fear ;
And the maimed and dying, with limbs begored,
As he hurried by, would rise and cheer.
There was one poor soldier who lay between
Five mangled Prussians and heard him pass :
lie surmised him near, for he had not seen,
And he struggled to rise from the bloody grass.
He had left his mother in old Touraine,
II is sister Jeanne, and his father blind,
But remembered naught of their love again
When the thought of his Emperor filled his mind.
He thought, as he wallowed in clotted gore,
Of the sweetheart he quitted against his will.
Of the dear old home lie would see no more,
But the Emperor held his heart's love still.
His left arm had been shattered by grape and shell,
And hung to the bone by a single thread ;
Hut he heard the great Emperor's voice and, well.
" 1 '11 give one last proof of my love," he said.
For he felt that his darling chief was nigh.
And wrenched the dead arm from the broken blade,
.And cried with his weak, poor, feeble cry,
" It has served thee well, and for thee it was made !
And he waved it high in his frantic might
As Napoleon passed with a flash and a whir ;
And his last words rang through the awful night,
" /"/;< I' I : .)nf>crcur ! /'/,-< /'/:'////>< rt'iir .' "
AFTER THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.
THE result of the battle of Waterloo was brought about
by so many combinations of circumstances, not counted on
by Napoleon, that it would be idle to fix upon any of
them as the pivotal one. All was staked, and lost ; and
whether disaster came by reason of treason and disobe-
dience on the part of those high in office, the fact remains
that the rank and file of the army gained only honour and
glory. It is now eighty years since the battle was fought.
With it ended the career of the greatest man the world
ever produced. The greatest, because his life began, was
made, and ended within the space of twenty years.
From Toulon to Waterloo means twenty-two years ; but
Napoleon's real career began in 1795, when, at twenty-six
years of age, he was called to the command of the govern-
ment troops in Paris. At forty-six he fought Waterloo,
and retired, leaving behind him the most marvellous his-
tory ever made by mortal man. What the future of
France would have been had Waterloo been won, no
one can conjecture. It is extremely doubtful whether
it was bettered by the loss of the battle. The French
people were certainly not at rest for many years. The
lily and the violet flourished not in the same soil. One
went, and then the other, until now France seems to be at
446
AFTER THE RATTLE OI- WATERLOO. 447
peace. What the coming of a second Napoleon would
portend is indeed a grave question.
AFTER THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.
JEAN FRANC.OIS-CASIMIR DKI.AVHINK.
They breathe no longer ; let their ashes rest !
Clamour unjust and calumny
They stooped not to confute ; but flung their breast
Against the legions of your enemy,
And thus avenged themselves: for you they die.
Woe to you, woe ! if those inhuman eyes
Can spare no drops to mourn your country's weal ;
Shrinking before your selfish miseries;
Against the common sorrow hard as steel:
Tremble! the hand of death upon you lies:
You may be forced yourselves to feel.
Hut no. what son of France has spared his tears
For her defenders, dying in their fame ?
Though kings return, desired through lengthening years.
What old man's cheek is tinged not with her shame?
What veteran, who their fortune's treason hears,
Feels not the quickening spark of his old youthful
flame?
Great Heaven ! what lessons mark that one day's page !
What ghastly figures that might crowd an age !
How shall the historic Muse record the day.
Nor, starting, cast the trembling pen away.'
Hide from me, hide those soldiers overborne.
Hroken with toil, with death-bolls crushed and torn.
Those quivering limbs with dust defiled,
And bloody Corses upon corses piled ;
44> s A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Veil from mine eyes that monument
Of nation against nation spent
In struggling rage that pants for breath ;
Spare us the bands thou sparedst, Death !
O Yarns! where the warriors thou hast led?
Restore Our Legions! give us back the dead !
I see the broken squadrons reel ;
The steeds plunge wild with spurning heel ;
Our eagles trod in miry gore ;
The leopard standards swooping o'er ;
The wounded on their slow cars dying ;
The rout disordered, wavering, flying;
Tortured with struggles vain, the throng
Sway, shock, and drag their shattered mass along,
And leave behind their long array
Wrecks, corses, blood, the foot-marks of their \vay
Through whirlwind smoke and flashing flame, -
O grief ! what sight appalls mine eye ?
The sacred band, with generous shame,
Sole 'gainst an army, pause to die !
Struck with the rare devotion, 't is in vain
The foes at gaze their blades restrain,
And, proud to conquer, hem them round : the cry
Returns, " The guard surrender not ! they die ! "
'T is said that, when in dust they saw them lie,
A reverend sorrow for their brave career
Smote on the foe- : the}' fixed the pensive eye.
And first beheld them undisturbed with fear.
AFTER THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. 449
Frozen in death, those eyes arc terrible;
Feats of the past their deep-scarred brows engrave:
For these are they who bore Italia's sun,
Who o'er Castilia's mountain-barrier passed ;
The North beheld them o'er the rampart run,
Which frosts of ages round her Russian cast :
All sank subdued before them, and the date
Of combats owed this guerdon to their glory,
Seldom to Franks denied, to fall elate
On some proud day that should survive in story.
Let us no longer mourn them ; for the palm
Unwithering shades their features stern and calm :
Franks! mourn we for ourselves, our land's disgrace,
The proud, mean passions that divide her race.
What age so rank in treasons ? to our blood
The love is alien of the common good ;
Friendship, no more unbosomed, hides her tears,
And man shuns man, and each his fellow fears ;
Scared from her sanctuary, Faith shuddering flies
The din of oaths, the vaunt of perjuries.
O cursed delirium ! jars deplored,
That yield our home-hearths to the stranger's sword !
Our faithless hands but draw the gleaming blade
To wound the bosom which its point should aid.
The strangers raze our fenced walls ;
The castle stoops, the city falls ;
Insulting foes their truce forget ;
The unsparing war-bolt thunders yet ;
Flames glare our ravaged hamlets o'er.
And funerals darken every door;
Drained provinces their greedy prefects rue,
Beneath the lilied or the triple hue :
450 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
And Franks, disputing for the choice of power,
Dethrone a banner, or proscribe a flower.
France ! to our fierce intolerance we owe
The ills that from these sad divisions flow ;
'T is time the sacrifice were made to thee
Of our suspicious pride, our civic enmity:
Haste, quench the torches of intestine war ;
Heaven points the lily as our army's star ;
Hoist, then, the banner of the white, some tears
May bathe the thrice-dyed flag which Austerlitz endears.
France ! France ! awake, with one indignant mind !
With new-born hosts the throne's dread precinct bind !
Disarmed, divided, conquerors o'er us stand ;
Present the olive, but the sword in hand.
And thou, O people, flushed with our defeat,
To whom the mourning of our land is sweet,
Thou witness of the death-blow of our brave !
Dream not that France is vanquished to a slave ;
Call not with pride the avengers yet to come :
Heaven may remit the chastening of our doom ;
A new Germanicus may yet demand
Those eagles wrested from our Varus' hand.
THE FAMOUS VICTORY.
IT would never do to let so good an opportunity as
Waterloo pass without taking advantage of it, so the
English writers sharpened their wits, and went at their
friends across the channel in -the usual manner. If all
their efforts had been as harmless as the following,
Napoleon himself might well have enjoyed being made
fun of. But this is a mild example. Most of the things
written and said were bitterly insulting, and wholly un-
worthy the great nation of England, whose boast always
has been to respect a fallen foe.
THE FAMOUS VICTORY.
\YivniKor M. I'KAI i>
Ay, here such valorous deeds were done
As ne'er were clone before ;
Ay, here the reddest wreath was won
That ever Gallia wore :
Since Ariosto's wondrous knight
Made all the Pagans dance,
There never dawned so bright a day
As Waterloo's on France.
The trumpet poured its deafening sound.
Flags fluttered on the gale,
43'
452 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
And cannon roared, and heads flew round
As fast as summer hail :
The sabres flashed ; with rage and fear
The steeds began to prance ;
The English quaked from front to rear,
They never quake in France !
The cuirassiers rode in and out
As fierce as wolves and bears ;
'T was grand to see them slash about
Amongst the English squares !
And then the Polish lancer came,
Careering with his lance ;
No wonder Britons blushed for shame.
And ran away from France.
The Duke of York was killed that day
The King was sadly scarred ;
Lord Eldon, as he ran away,
Was captured by the Guard :
Poor Wellington, with fifty Blues,
Escaped by some strange chance ;
And henceforth never dared again
To show himself in France.
So Buonaparte pitched his tent
That day in Grosvenor Place ;
And Xey rode straight to Parliament,
And broke the Speaker's mace.
" Vive 1'Empereur ! " was said and sung
From Peebles to Penxance ;
The mayor and aldermen were hung,
Which made folks laugh in France.
'1 hey pulled the tower of London down ;
Thev burned our wooden walls;
THE FAMOUS VICTORY. 453
They brought his Holiness to town,
And throned him in St. Paul's :
And Gog and Magog rubbed their eyes,
Awaking from a trance,
And grumbled out in dread surprise,
" Oh, mercy ! we 're in France ! "
They sent a Regent to our isle ;
The little King of Rome ;
And squibs and crackers all the while
Blazed in the Place Vendome ;
And ever since, in arts and power
They 're making great advance ;
They 've had strong beer from that glad hour,
And sea-coal fires in France.
MORAL.
My uncle, Captain Flanigan,
\Yho lost a leg in Spain,
Tells stories of a little man
Who died at St. Helene :
But, bless my heart ! they can't be true
They 're surely all romance ;
John Bull was beat at Waterloo
They '11 swear to it in France!
A VISIT TO BONAPARTE IN PLYMOUTH
SOUND.
AFTER his defeat at Waterloo, Napoleon went back to
Paris, and there tried to bring some sort of order out of
the chaos he found, but all in vain. Fickle France would
consent to nothing but his abdication. Those who had been
the most enthusiastic in their greetings upon his return
from Elba were now the loudest in their demands that lie
vacate the throne. In answer to these demands, Napoleon,
for the second time, laid down the crown ; and then, as a
soldier, offered his services to France in an endeavour to
drive back the invaders, now rapidly approaching Paris.
His offer was refused, and he was asked in a peremptory
manner to leave Paris and France as quickly as possible, else
the provisional government would not be answerable for his
personal safety. Where should he go ? This man, who had
had all Europe to choose from, was now seeking an isolated
corner of the earth to which he might flv in order to hide
o -
himself from his own countrymen and escape from the
hands of his merciless foes. America was first thought
of, but that proving impossible, Napoleon determined to
surrender himself to England, hoping to get, at least, jus-
tice from that constant and powerful enemy. His letter
to the Prince Regent proved the confidence he had in the
generosity of the English Government. On the fifteenth
454
.-/ VISIT TO BONAPARTE 7.V PLYMOUTH SOl'.VD. 455
of July he went on board the Bcllerophon and was there-
received with all the honours due his exalted rank, and he-
sailed for England, fully assured in his own mind of receiv-
ing all that he might in justice demand. On the twenty-
sixth the Bellerophon arrived at Plymouth. Mere Napoleon
was informed that, instead of being allowed even to land
in England, he was to be sent a prisoner to St. Helena.
The common people of England, more generous and
humane than the government, came in crowds to Pymouth
to catch a glimpse of the man who had ever been the
people's friend, and they greeted him with kindness and
even enthusiasm.
A VISIT TO BOXAPARTK IX PLYMOUTH SOUND.
(By a Lady.)
ANON.
There is nothing so dull as mere fact, you '11 admit.
While you read my detail, unenlivened by wit ;
My friends will believe, though they 're told it in rhyme,
That I thought to return in a far shorter time.
When at one we 're resolv'd, by half past on the move.
And by two, but a trio, \ve reach Mutton Cove:
When approaching the quay such a rabble and rout.
That we ask, " My good friend, what is all this about ? "
"They are rowing a race, and some boats are come in.
While these people are waiting till t' others begin."
Well aware of our folly, with risible lip,
The boatman we told to make haste to the ship;
On the colours of fish, here by hampers-full landing,
We ga/.e for amusement, while still we 're kept standing.
At length to the Admiral's stairs we have got.
See his party on board, and hear tunes from his yacht.
The day is delightful, the gale just enough
456 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
For the sea to look lively without being rough.
With those first at the ship, our sight costs the dearer,
As we 've longer to wait, and not, in the end, nearer;
For by land and by water so different the case is,
'T was long before we were jam'd into our places ;
But on further advice we '11 at present be dumb,
For half the spectators, you know, are now come :
In one boat a bevy, all sarcenet and veil,
In the next some good fellows while toping their ale.
" Avast ! here 's the guard boat." " Aye, here it comes
smack."
And the ladies cry, "Captain, they '11 drive us all back ! "
Then some bully our men with, " Skull out there, skull
out! "
And others check these with " Mind what you 're about."
Here 's a crazy old boat, laded dry by a shoe ;
There, a gay painted barge is forced on our view ;
In this, while Don Solus is jeered by the mob,
" See that empty boat ; turn it out." " Here 's a fine job."
Cries one, of some dozens squeezed into the next,
" I 've left the pork pie ; Oh dear, I 'm so vex'd ! "
In the long boat, that shews us profusion of oar,
From the captain bursts forth a most terrible roar
At his men ; but the anger about who, or what,
Though they still remember, we soon had forgot.
Here infants were crying, mothers scolding downright,
While the next party laughs at some comical sight.
Now watches and spy-glasses make their appearance,
And Impatience, that vixen, begins interference ;
To beguile her, through portholes we eagerly stare,
For the nobles on deck are all taking the air.
" Hey dey, what a bustle ! " then, " All safe, all safe ! "
The crowd is return'd to its chatter and laugh.
" Pray, what was the matter ? " " From that boat near the
ship
A VISIT TO BONAPARTE IN PLYMOUTH SOUND. 457
A woman fell over, and so got a dip."
But a hum of applause yes, his triumph is full ;
Yet this hum of applause has betrayed our John Bull.
"What hum of applause ? Come, I prithee be brief."
Why, John was delighted to see them ship beef.
With a smile 't is observed by the Briton polite,
How the glee of the crowd was improv'd by the sight ;
For the rough, honest tar had declared, from his heart,
That he thought this a sight that would beat Bonaparte.
Some, again, with composure, predict peace and war.
Others look at the great folks and fancy a star ;
But we, much fatigued, six o'clock now approaching,
And on our good nature we thought them encroaching
When boats are made bridges ; nay, tempted to think
That through some of these freedoms not strange we
should sink.
But here I must mention, when all was most merry,
As here is each size, from the long boat to wherry.
When the crowd should disperse, I was fearful, I own.
Lest your small boats by barges should then be run down.
But a truce with our hopes, our predictions, and fears,
For now yes, at last our grand object appears ;
And now every eye to the ship is directed,
Though to see Bonaparte I no longer expected ;
For between us what number of men ! and aghast
We stood, as still thicker and thicker the mast, ('mass)
But now see Napoleon, who seems in his figure
What we call mediocre, nor smaller, nor bigger.
For in spite of our fears, how it was I can't tell,
What our distance allowed of, we saw very well.
But in this we're full right, for now, hurry-scurry.
Boat rows against boat with the madness of fury.
The show was all over, but time was outstaid
By some, and by others attempts were still made
To get round the ship, in hopes Bonaparte might
At some place yet be seen, tints to perfect their sight.
NAPOLEON'S LAST LOOK.
HISTORIANS differ as to just when and where Napoleon
took his last look at France after his surrender to Cap-
tain Maitland on board the BcllcropJion ; but it seems
fairly well settled that the incident occurred as the Nor-
thumberland passed Cape de la Hogue on the way out
from Plymouth to St. Helena, and after Napoleon had
been transferred to that vessel. A number of writers hold
that it was on the twenty-third of July, when passing Cape
Ushant, going from Rochefort to Plymouth, that the
Emperor saw France for the last time. Cape Ushant, it is
true, was in sight on the morning of the day mentioned,
and Napoleon, with his suite, from the deck of the Bel-
IcropJion, gazed long and sadly upon it. That scene has
been the theme of the poet and the artist, and it is gen-
erally accepted as representing Napoleon's farewell to
France ; but the best authorities agree that it was in Au-
gust, as the NortJiumbcrland passed Cape de la Hogue, that
the last glimpse of France was obtained. However this
maybe, the scene, wherever it took place, must have been
an impressive and an affecting one to those who witnessed
it. What were the thoughts that passed through the
mind of Napoleon as he gazed upon those fast receding
shores, never again to be seen by him ? Still in years a
young man, he was going into an exile worse than death
453
NAPOLEON'S LAST LOOK. 459
to his proud and haughty spirit. Condemned to end his
existence upon a cold and barren isle, he was leaving be-
hind the land in which he had won such high distinction
and enjoyed such power and glory as had never before
been equalled. Did he think of Lodi and Arcola, of
Marengo and Austerlitz, of Jena and Friedland and
Wagram, and the many other fields upon which he had
won such wonderful renown ? Did he think of Moscow
and the train of disasters that had followed him after
leaving that ancient city of the Czars ; of bloody Water-
loo, so recent, and so decisive of his fate? He who so
lately had been master of the world, was now only per-
mitted to gaze upon, and that for the last time, the
country he had found so poor and had made so mighty
and so rich. Surely he had food enough for reflection.
XAPOLLON'S LAST LOOK.
BAKTIIOI.OMI-AV SIMMONS.
What of the night, ho! Watcher there
Upon the armed deck,
That holds within its thunderous lair
The last of empire's wreck,
E'en him whose capture now the chain
From captive earth shall smite ;
IIo! rocked upon the moaning main,
Watcher, what of the night?
'' The stars are waning fast, the curl
Of morning's coming breeze
Far in the north begins to furl
Night's vapour from the seas.
Her every shred of canvas spread,
The proud ship plunges free,
460 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
While bears afar, with stormy head,
Cape Ushant on our lee."
At that last word, as trumpet-stirred,
Forth in the dawning gray
A silent man made to the deck
His solitary way,
And, leaning o'er the poop, he gazed
Till on his straining view
That cloudlike speck of land, upraised,
Distinct, but slowly grew.
Well may he look until his frame
Maddens to marble there ;
He risked Renown's all-grasping game,
Dominion or despair,
And lost; and lo ! in vapour furled,
The last of that loved France,
For which his prowess cursed the world,
Is dwindling from his glance.
He lives, perchance, the past again,
From the fierce hour when first
On the astounded hearts of men
His meteor-presence burst ;
When blood-besotted Anarchy
Sank quelled amid the roar
Of thy far-sweeping musketry,
Eventful Thermidor !
Again he grasps the victor-crown
Marengo's carnage yields,
Or bursts o'er Lodi, beating down
Bavaria's thousand shields;
N A POLECAT'S LAST LOOK. 461
Then, turning from the battle-sod,
Assumes the Consul's palm,
Or seizes giant empire's rod
In solemn Notre Dame.
And darker thoughts oppress him now,
Her ill-requited love,
Whose faith, as beauteous as her brow.
Brought blessings from above ;
o o
Her trampled heart, his darkening star.
The cry of outraged man,
And white-lipped Rout and wolfish War,
Loud thundering on his van.
Rave on, thou far-resounding deep,
Whose billows round him roll !
Thou 'rt calmness to the storms that sweep
This moment o'er his soul.
Black chaos swims before him, spread
With trophy-shaping bones ;
The council-strife, the battle-dead,
Rent charters, cloven thrones.
Vet, proud one ! could the loftiest day
Of thy transcendent power
Match with the soul-compelling sway
Which in this dreadful hour
Aids thee to hide beneath the show
Of calmest lip and eye
The hell that wars and works below.
The quenchless thirst to die ?
The white dawn crimsoned into morn,
The morninir flashed to duv,
462 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
And the sun followed, glory-born,
Rejoicing on his way ;
And still o'er ocean's kindling flood
That muser cast his view,
While round him awed, and silent, stood
His fate's devoted few.
Oh for the sulphurous eve of June,
When down that Belgian hill
His bristling Guards' superb platoon
lie led unbroken still !
Now would he pause, and quit their side
Upon destruction's marge,
Nor kinglike share with desperate pride
Their vainly glorious charge ?
No, gladly forward he would dash
Amid that onset on,
Where blazing shot and sabre-crash
Pealed o'er his empire gone ;
There, 'neath his vanquished eagles tost.
Should close his grand career :
Girt by his heaped and slaughtered host
lie lived, for fetters here !
Enough, in noontide's yellow light
Cape Ushant melts away,
Kven as his kingdom's shattered might
Shall utterly decay,
Save when his spirit-shaking story.
In years remotely dim,
Warms some pale minstrel with its glory
To raise the sonir to him.
MllRAT.
From an engraving by Rosmcesler, after fin
Zwickau (no date).
THE DEATH OF MURAT.
WHILE Napoleon was on his way to St. Helena, his
brother-in-law, that gallant horseman, Murat, met his fate.
It will be remembered, that directly after the return of
the French army from Russia, in 1812, Murat, in order to
save his crown, basely deserted the Emperor, retired to
his own kingdom, and there took up arms against France
and his former comrades. After Napoleon's first abdica-
tion the Allies agreed to reward M unit's treachery with
treachery, and they passed a resolution at the Congress
of Vienna expelling him from Naples and awarding that
country to its former rulers. Before this act of perfidy
could be carried into effect, Napoleon was again in France
and at the head of his army. Murat, with all his old-time
impetuosity, rushed at once to arms, and declared war
against the Allies, hoping by his zeal to reinstate himself
in the favour of the Emperor. The result of his hasty act
was the inevitable one. lie was crushed by overwhelm-
ing strength, his little army cut to pieces, and he lett a
fugitive. Escaping to France, he arrived there only in time
to learn of the final overthrow of Napoleon, without being
able to assist, by the aid of his might)' sword, in averting
it. In fact, his untimely action in drawing that formidable
weapon at home \vas, no doubt, a great detriment t> the
cause he wished to advance. After Napoleon's departure
4<>3
464 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
for St. Helena, Murat made a desperate attempt to regain
his throne ; which ended in his being arrested, tried by
court-martial, and condemned to immediate execution.
The day before St. Helena was sighted by those on board
the Northumberland, Murat expiated all his faults by
bravely dying the death of a soldier.
THE DEATH OF MURAT.
THOMAS ATKINSON.
" My hour is come. Forget me not. My blessing is with
you ;
\Yith you my last, my fondest thought ; with you my
heart's adieu.
Farewell, farewell, my Caroline, my children's doting
mother !
I made thee wife, Fate made thee queen ; one hour and
thou art neither.
Farewell, my sweet Letitia! my love is with thee still ;
Louise and Lucien, adieu ; and thou, my own Achille."
With quivering lip, but with no tear, or tear that gazers
saw,
These words, to all his heart held dear, thus wrote the
brave Murat.
Then of the locks which, dark and large, o'er his broad
shoulders hung,
That streamed war-pennons in the charge, yet like caress-
ings clung
Iii peace around his forehead high, which more than
diadem
Beseemed the curls that lovingly replaced the cold, hard
gem,
He cut him one for wife, for child 't was all he had to
will ;
THE DEA 777 OF MURA T. 465
But with the regal wealth and state he lost its heartless
chill.
The iciness of alien power what gushing love may thaw
The agony of such an hour as this thy last, Murat ?
" Comrade, though foe, a soldier asks from thee a soldier's
aid;
They 're not a warrior's only tasks that need his blood and
blade ;
That upon which I latest gaze, that which I fondest clasp,
When death upon my eyeballs sinks and stiffens on my
grasp,
This, and these locks around it twined, say, wilt thou sec
them sent,
Need I say where ? Enough ! 't is kind ! To death, then !
I 'm content.
Oh, to have found death in the field, not as a chained
outlaw !
Xo more! To destiny I yield, with mightier than Murat."
They led him forth ; 't was but a stride between his
prison room
And where, with yet a monarch's pride, he met a felon'-;
doom.
"Soldiers, your mu/./.les to my breast will leave brief
space for pain.
Strike to the heart ! His last behest was uttered not in
vain.
lie turned full to the levelled tubes that held the wMied-
for boon ;
Hega/ed upon the love-clasped pledge; then volleyed
the platoon.
And when their hold the hands gave up, the pitying
gaxers saw
In the dear imatre of a wife thv heart's best trait, Murat.
ON THE DEATH OF MARSHAL NEY.
THE execution of Marshal Ney may be justified upon
strictly technical grounds, but it can never be excused.
According to the terms of the capitulation of Paris he
should have gone free. Wellington could have saved
him, if he would ; but what mercy had Ney to expect at
Wellington's hands, when this same " Iron Duke " had
advised the English Government, when it had Napoleon
in its power, to turn him over to the French authorities to
be dealt with as a traitor? There was but little differ-
ence in sentiment in regard to their conquered foe be-
tween the English duke and the Prussian marshal ; they
both sought revenge on about the same level. And it is
o o
beyond comprehension how any court in France could
condemn Marshal Ney to be shot to death by French-
men. With the advance guard on every forward move-
ment, with the rear guard on every retreat, Ney had
fought his hundred battles for France, and never one
against her. Guilty he may have been of a very grave
offence, but did his many years of noble service for his
country count for nothing in the balance? Napoleon
pardoned Ney's faults with regard to himself, and they
were many, and he recognised him always as the " bravest
of the brave." Surely Louis XVIII. could, without dis-
honour, have forgiven the sturdy, impulsive old marshal
466
ON THE DEATH Ol- MARSHAL KEY, 467
his one offence against him. The Treaty of Paris stipu-
lated that no person should be molested for his political
opinions or conduct during the Hundred Days, and yet.
in spite of this solemn agreement, fifty-eight persons were
banished and three condemned to death. The young and
gallant Colonel Labedoyere suffered the penalty with
Ney. Lavalette escaped.
ON THE DEATH OF MARSHAL NEY.
ANON.
Could haughty Britain stoop so low from her laurel-girded
throne,
When that noble chief was fallen, and all his glory gone?
When vanished was his marshal pride, and torn his wax-
ing plume,
To lead the captive warrior forth to meet a felon's doom .'
With nations banded at her side, when from her throne
she hurled
The arbiter of kingdoms wide, the conqueror of tin-
world,
Could she not then have; stretched forth her victor .inn
to save
Napoleon's honoured chieftain the bravest ot the brave '
When bayonets flashed around him, and the sheen oi
sabres bright.
As he clove his red path forward through the thickest <>t
the fight ;
Where'er his waving cre>t was seen, tossed by the battles
breath.
There his brave host followed him to victorv or to death.
A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Look on him now, how fearlessly he inarches forth to die!
How proud his noble bearing, and how calm that haughty
eye !
And his voice will sound its latest in tones as full and clear
As when above the fight it rose in spirit-stirring cheer.
lie waved his white-plumed hat high as he did of yore,
When his comrades stood behind him, the enemy before ;
"Adieu! my brethren!" was the last, the hero's brief
farewell
The signal waved, the volley streamed, and the noble
chieftain fell.
He fell whose life the northern snows on red Smolcn-
sko's plain,
The Cossack's lance, more deadly still, had both assailed in
vain ;
Whose heart, though swayed by destiny, was to the
mighty true
He fell who stood where thousands died, at deadly
Waterloo !
And, oh ! if in that bloody day when the star of victory
waned,
Amid the thundering cannon's smoke, nor e'en a hope
remained ;
Oh ! if the death so oft he dared had found him even
then,
And he had died, as soldiers die, on the field of fighting
men ;
lie should have fallen with the brave upon that glorious
field,
With those immortal guards who died, but knew not how
to yield,
ON THE DEATH OF .MA RSI I A I. KEY. 469
Leading the chivalry of France along like a resist los
tide,
Where battle raged the thickest, 't was there he should
have died.
And can it be that England the glorious and the free.
The conqueror of France on earth, the mistress of the
sea
So far forgot her laurelled pride, nor even dared to save
The glory and the pride of France the bravest of the
brave ?
She did forget, and from that hour forever shall her
name
Be stained with the accursed spot, the impress of her
shame ;
The mightiest power looked placid on and saw her allies
slay,
When the fight he led so well was o'er, all that could die
of Xey.
And, oh! when dark oblivion has forever o'er them
thrown
The shadow of her silent pall, n<>r e'en their names are
known :
The memory then of him they slew shall glorious shim-
on high,
In the light of fame's immortal wreath " the brave can
never die !
MADAME LAVALETTE.
THE escape of Lavalette from prison was due to the
efforts of his noble wife, aided by three gallant and
friendly English officers. Condemned to die like Ney
and Labedoyere, Lavalette had bidden farewell to his
friends and the world, and it only remained for him to
say good-by to his wife and child before being led to
execution. But this heroic wife was of no mind to part
with her beloved husband, if escape for him was possible,
and she determined on making a bold attempt to save
him. Being permitted, with her daughter, to see her hus-
band, as it was supposed for the last time, Madame
Lavalette induced him to change garments with her,
and so pass out in safety, in her stead, while she remained
behind to suffer the consequence of her act. The guard
and the prison walls being passed, Lavalette, with the aid
of the English officers, was soon outside the gates of
Paris and across the frontier of France. To the wit, the
nerve, and the courage of his wife he owed his life, and in
after years she had her reward when Lavalette was par-
doned and allowed to return to France and his family.
MADAME I.AVAT.ETTE.
ANON.
Let Edinburgh critics o'erwhelm with their praises
Their Madame de Stael, and their fam'd L'Epinasse ;
Like a meteor, at best, proud Philosophy blazes,
And the fame of a wit is as brittle as glass :
470
MA DA ME 1. .-} I '.-/ /. TTE. 4 / 1
But cheering 's the beam and unfading the splendour
Of thy torch, wedded love ! and it never has yet
Shone with lustre more holy, more pure, or more tender,
Than it sheds on the name of the fair Lavalette.
Then fill high the wine-cup, e'en virtue shall bless it,
And hallow the goblet which foams to her name ;
The warm lip of beauty shall piously press it.
And Hymen shall honour the pledge to her fame :
To the health of the woman, who freedom and life, to-).
Has risk'd for her husband, we '11 pay the just debt ;
And hail with applauses the heroine and wife, too.
The constant, the noble, the fair Lavalette.
Her foes have awarded, in impotent malice,
To their captive a doom which all Europe abhors,
And turns from the stairs of the priest-haunted palace,
While those who replaced them there blush for their
cause.
But in ages to come, when the blood-tarnish'd glory
Of dukes, and of marshals in darkness hath set,
Hearts shall throb, eyes shall glisten, at reading the story
Of the fond self-devotion of fair Lavalette.
THE STAR OF THE LEGION OF HONOUR.
As the shores of France disappeared beneath the dis-
tant horizon, Napoleon's thoughts, as he stood upon the
deck of the Northumberland, may well have been of him-
self ; of the wonderful destiny which had been his ; of the
"star" he had followed blindly so many years, and
which had led him from obscurity to the most dazzling
splendour ever attained by man ; of the " star " that had
lured him on from victory to victory, until he had reached
the very zenith of power and glory, only, in the end, to
draw him, by the renewed brightness of its baneful light,
to the fatal field of "Waterloo, there to betray him, and
vanish, for all time, from his sight. From Corsica to the
throne of France ! from Austerlitz to St. Helena ! Well,
indeed, may Napoleon, as he took his last look at his
beloved country, have thought of " his star " and of the
history he had made, following whither it had beckoned
him.
THE STAR OF THE LEGION OF HONOUR.
Ci. W. CTTIKR.
" O'er Ajaccio's spires Corsica's isle
And ocean's breast, that foam'd the while
A beauteous paradise of earth !
That star arose to hail my birth,
And guide me to the haughtiest throne
o o
That any save the gods have known
47-
THE STAR OF THE LEGION OF HOXOl'K. 473
At least that e'er was bought with blood,
From Indus to the Volga's flood.
In halcyon peace or battle fray
I 've read my fortune in its ray
When midst night's gorgeous coronal
Of millions, it outshone them all ;
Or tempest robed, its cheering beam
Blazed where no other dared to gleam.
My midnight vigils to beguile,
I Ve watched its image in the Nile ;
And where the Magi used to ga/.e,
To form the horoscope of kings,
I 've joyed to see its silver blaze
Fall on my eagle's folded wings.
" O'er Mount St. Bernard's awful height,
All redly on the brow of night,
What time my meteor banners rose
O'er avalanche and Alpine snows,
And gathered up those mighty crowds
Around my standard in the clouds.
And still more brilliant did it rise
Above the smoke-enveloped skies
Of Mincio Wagram Marengo
And Hohcnlinden's blushing snow,
When droop'd my standard o'er the field
Where empires had been taught to yield :
And brighter still, and brighter glow'd.
As on the mighty empire flow'd,
That to my very feet swept down
The Bourbon and the iron crown.
And redder still, and redder beam'd
Till Venice Naples Rome were mine ;
My banners o'er the Tagus stream'd.
And flam'd along the Rhine.
474 - -/ METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
" And yet, thou bright and glorious star,
Thou 'st tempted even me too far ;
I trembled as thy light grew tame
O'er Moscow's rolling sea of flame,
And saw an hundred thousand lay
In death beneath thy frozen ray.
That instant from my grasp was hurl'd
The /Egis of a crouching world ;
And o'er the retrospect of blood,
A musing, powerless man I stood,
Till round my throbbing brow accurst
The crumbling Kremlin's cinders burst.
I did not weep, I did not pray ;
I wished not to survive that day ;
And I had perish 'd with a smile,
Beneath so grand a funeral pile ;
But Beauharnais and Murat bore
Me struggling in their arms away,
Where hilt and rowel red with gore,
My famish'd ranks had won that day.
" Once more, from Elba's pictured plain,
I saw thee, o'er the storm}' main,
So fiercely glow, so redly shine,
I thought the world again was mine ;
And springing to my glorious France,
I bared my bosom to her lance,
And wept, tho' fallen, still to see,
Of all my veteran soldiery,
Xot one but would, to shield my life,
Still venture in the deadliest strife ;
And freely, ere my blood had flown,
A nation would have poured its own.
But, treacherous star ! what boots to tell
The grief the agony -the hell
THE STAR OF THE LEGIOX OF HONOUR. 475
That wrung my heart, as pallid grew
Thy blaze o'er damning Waterloo !
When urged my bugle's wild alarms
The few against the world in arms !
While yet the iron storm was driven,
And gush'd the war-cloud's crimson rain,
I saw thy light retreat from heaven,
And set to rise no ! ne'er again ! "
DESCRIPTION OF ST. HELENA.
Ox the fifteenth of October, 1815, the island of St.
Helena appeared in sight, and on the afternoon of the
next day Napoleon was permitted to land. The fe\v lines
following give a fair idea of the future home of the Em-
peror, and of the place where for six years he was to live
a life of pain and anguish, both of body and of mind.
DESCRIPTION OF ST. HELENA.
Rugged rocks and lofty mountains,
Interspers'd with crystal fountains ;
Here and there a grove of trees,
Are all the wandering stranger sees ;
The tradesmen, imitating fops,
With heads as empty as their shops ;
Unsocial wretches here reside,
Alike their poverty and pride :
Throughout this isle there's scarce a creature
With either breeding or good nature ;
For rugged rocks and barren fields
Are all that St. Helena yields.
47'*'
EPISTLE FROM TOM CRIB TO BIG BEN.
THOMAS MOORE was an Irishman, which fact will
probably explain why he saw in a fallen foe only that
which he could respect ; nothing to insult or abuse. Not
even when safely imprisoned at St. Helena did the Eng-
lish writers, as a rule, cease to revile their late mighty
enemy, and the government was still worse in its treat-
ment of him who had yielded on the field of battle after
making one of the most gallant and heroic struggles re-
corded in history. The rebuke administered to those in
authority in England, in the following verses, under the
guise of sporting parlance, was clearly merited ; and had
it been properly received and acted upon, the credit and
honour of a great kingdom would not have suffered as it
has, because of the vile treatment awarded to Napoleon
when a helpless captive in its hands.
EPISTLE FROM TOM CRII! TO I!IG REX.
THOMAS MOOHK.
What ! Ben, my old hero, is this your renown ?
Is this the new go? kick a man when he 's down !
When the foe has knock'd under, to tread on him then
By the fist of my father, 1 blush for thee, Ben !
" Foul ! foul ! " all the lads of the Fancy exclaim
Charley Shock is electrified -Belcher spits flame
477
478 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
And Molyneux ay, even Blackey cries " shame ! "
Time was when John Bull little difference spied
'Twixt the foe at his feet and the friend at his side :
When he found (such his humour in fighting and eating)
His foe, like his beefsteak, the sweeter for beating.
But this comes. Master Ben, of your cursed foreign
notions,
Your trinkets, wigs, thingumbobs, gold lace, and lotions ;
Your Noyeaus, Curacoas, and the devil knows what
(One swig of Blue Ruin is worth the whole lot !)
Your great and small crosses (my eyes, what a brood !
A cross-buttock from me would do some of them good !)
Which have spoil'd you, till hardly a drop, my old por-
poise,
Of pure English claret is left in your corpus ;
And (as Jim says), the only one trick, good or bad.
Of the Fancy you 're up to is fibbing, my lad.
Hence it comes Boxiana, disgrace to thy page !
Having floor'd, by good luck, the first swell of the age,
Having conquer'd the prime one, that mill'd us all round,
You kick'd him, old Ben, as he gasp'd on the ground !
Ay just at the time to show spunk, if you 'd got any
Kick'd him, and jaw'd him, and lagg'd him to Botany !
Oh, shade of the Cheesemonger ! you, who, alas,
Doubled up, by the dozen, those Mounseers in brass,
On that great day of milling, when blood lay in lakes,
When kings held the bottle, and Europe the stakes,
Look down upon Ben- see him, dunghill all o'er,
Insult the fall'n foe, that can harm him no more !
Out, cowardly spooney! again and again.
By the fist of my father, I blush for thee, Ben !
To show the white feather is many men's doom,
But what of one feather? Ben shows a whole plume.
TO SIR HUDSON LOWE.
NAPOLEON'S life at St. Helena was imde miserable by
a continued series of petty annoyances and insults. He
was deprived of his title of Emperor, and was known and
spoken of as " General Bonaparte " by all, except his com-
rades in exile. He was watched and guarded like an
imprisoned brigand. His personal liberty was curtailed
to such an extent that at no time, day or night, was he
alone. His jailer knew his every movement, and it was
with the utmost reluctance that even the privacy of the
bath was allowed him. His correspondence was opened
and read by the high-minded English gentleman who had
him in charge, and the requests, repeatedly made by his
comrades, for better treatment for their beloved Emperor.
were ignored in the most insulting manner. Sir Hudson
Lowe, the Governor of the island, seemed to take especial
delight in attempting to humiliate his prisoner; but the
haughty pride of Napoleon would tolerate nothing of
that kind, and in the end he refused to see, or to have
any communication whatever with, the Governor, except
through the formal and official channels. A squadron
of war vessels surrounded the island, ami a regiment <>!'
soldiers encamped around Longwood ; no one was allowed
to land, or to see the illustrious captive, without a special
permit ; and yet, with all these precautions, fear was con-
stantly expressed by the valiant Lowe that his charge
47'y
480 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
might escape, unless the utmost severity was exercised
in the prison discipline established. Napoleon came to
hate his persecutor, and with good reason.
Moore very aptly describes the situation in the follow-
ing lines :
TO SIR HUDSON LOWE.
THOMAS MOORE.
Sir Hudson Lowe, Sir Hudson Lowe,
(By name, and ah ! by nature so,)
As thou art fond of persecutions,
Perhaps thou 'st read, or heard repeated
How Captain Gulliver was treated
When thrown among the Lilliputians.
They tied him down these little men did
And having valiantly ascended
Upon the Mighty Man's protuberance,
They did so strut ! upon my soul,
It must have been extremely droll
To see their pigmy pride's exuberance,
And how the doughty mannikins
Amused themselves with sticking pins,
And needles in the great man's breeches :
And how some very little things,
That pass'd for Lords, on scaffoldings
Got up, and worried him with speeches.
Alas, alas ! that it should happen
To mighty men to be caught napping !
Though different, too, these persecutions ;
For Gulliver there took the nap,
While here the Nap, oh, sad mishap,
Is taken by the Lilliputians !
THE EAGLET MOURNED.
WHEN Dr. Antommarchi went to St. Helena as Napo-
leon's medical attendant, he took with him a number of
books and other gifts for the Emperor, among which was
a portrait of the King of Rome as a little child. How
eagerly did the father seize this precious gift, sent to him
by Eugene, and how lovingly did he gaze upon the pic-
ture of his idolised son. This man of iron, who had put
all Europe in mourning that his own ambition might be
furthered, and who had spread desolation and woe over
all the land unmoved, wept at the sight of his son's pic-
ture. It was for the sake of perpetuating his name in
this son he had disowned the wife he still loved, and had
allied himself with a nation that was to aid in his own
undoing. It was through this son he had hoped s<> much
for the future, and now both were prisoners in foreign
lands, and the fate of his son seemed even more dark and
hopeless than his own.
TIIK MACLKT
YKTOK Hr
Too hard Napoleon's fate ! if, lone,
No being he had loved, no single one,
Less dark that doom had been.
But with the heart of might doth ever dwell
482 A METRICAL JUS TORY OF NAPOLEON.
The heart of love ! and in his island cell
Two things there were, I ween.
Two things a portrait and a map were there.
Here hung the pictured world, an infant there ;
That framed his genius, this enshined his love.
And as at eve he glanced round th' alcove,
Where jailers watched his very thoughts to spy,
What mused he then what dream of years gone by
Stirred 'neath that discrowned brow, and fired that
glistening eye ?
T was not the steps of that heroic tale
That from Arcola marched to Montmirail
On Glory's red degrees,
Nor Cairo pashas' steel-devouring steeds,
Nor the tall shadows of the Pyramids
Ah, 't was not always these !
'T was not the bursting shell, the iron sleet,
The whirlwind rush of battle 'neath his feet,
Through twice ten years ago,
When at his back, upon that sea of steel
Were launched the rustling banners there to reel
Like masts when tempests blow.
'T was not Madrid, nor Kremlin of the Czar,
Nor Pharos on Old Egypt's coast afar.
Nor shrill rcveillciirs camp awakening sound,
Nor bivouac couch'd its starry fires around,
Crested dragoons, grim, veteran grenadiers,
Nor the red lancers 'mid their wood of spears
Blazing like baleful poppies 'mong the golden ears.
No ; 'twas an infant image, fresh and fair,
\\ ith rosy mouth half oped, as slumbering there-
It lav beneath the smile
THE EAGLET MOURNED. 483
Of her whose breast, soft-bending o'er its sleep.
Lingering upon that little lip doth keep
One pending drop the while.
Then, his sad head upon his hands inclined.
He wept ; that father-heart, all unconfined,
Outpoured in love alone.
My blessings on thy clay-cold head, poor child.
Sole being for whose sake his thoughts beguile,
Forgot the world's lost throne.
DEATH OF NAPOLEON.
FIRST, the faithful Las Casas was torn from the side of
the Emperor, cast into prison, and finally sent to Eng-
land, because he undertook to send a letter to a friend
without its having passed through the hands of the Gov-
ernor ; then Doctor O'Meara was recalled, because he
would not play the part of a contemptible spy on his
illustrious patient. General Gourgaud and Madame
Montholon had also left the island. There remained
only Bertrand and Montholon to share the weary days
yet to come before death would release their chief. For
six years Napoleon lived a life of daily torture. Broken
down in body, deprived of even the ordinary comforts
of life, forced to submit to insult and calumny, is it a
wonder that he did not bear it all with the resignation
and dignity expected from so exalted a captive ? St.
Helena and Sir Hudson Lowe will forever remain a blot
on the fame of England. Both were unnecessary cruel-
ties inflicted upon Napoleon, more in the spirit of revenge
than to meet the demands of justice. On the fifth of
May, 1821, death closed the scene. On the night of the
fourth occurred one of the most terrible storms ever
known at St. Helena. The very elements seemed to be
in harmony with the mind of the dying warrior, who, all
night through, fought again the glorious battles he had
4 S 4
DEATH OF NAPOLEOX. 485
won for France. The army his country Josephine
were the last thoughts that engaged his attention. As
the storm ceased, his mind grew calmer, and just at sun-
set he died.
DEATH OF NAPOLEON.
ISAAC: MAC I.KU.AN.
Wild was the night, yet a wilder night
Hung round the soldier's pillow ;
In his bosom there waged a fiercer fight
Than the fight on the wrathful billow.
A few fond mourners were kneeling bv,
O * '
The few that his stern heart cherished ;
They knew by his glazed and unearthly eye
That life had nearly perished.
They knew by his awful and kingly look,
By the order hastily spoken,
That he dreamed of days when the nations shook.
And the nations' hosts were broken..
He dreamed that the Frenchman's sword still slew,
And triumphed the Frenchman's " Eagle " ;
And the struggling Austrian fled anew,
Like the hare before the beagle.
The bearded Russian he scourged again.
The Prussian's camp was routed,
And again on the hills of haughty Spain
His mighty armies shouted.
Over Egypt's sands, over Alpine snows.
At the Pyramids, at the mountain.
Where the wave of the lordly Danube ll<>\vs,
And bv the Italian fountain;
486 A METRICAL If/STOKY OF XAPOLEON.
On the snowy cliffs, where mountain streams
Dash by the Switzer's dwelling,
He led again, in his dying dreams,
Ilis hosts, the broad earth quelling.
Again Marengo's field was won.
And Jena's bloody battle ;
Again the world was overrun.
Made pale at his cannon's rattle.
He died at the close of that darksome day,
A day that shall live in story ;
In the rocky land they placed his clay,
" And left him alone with his glory."
THE DEATH-BED OF NAPOLEON.
So many poems have been written concerning the death
of Napoleon, that it would be impossible to insert them
all in a collection of this kind, nor would it be profitable
to do so. Most of these poems are historically incorrect,
in that they describe Napoleon's death, apparently for
effect, as occurring in the very midst of the awful storm
which took place during the night of the fourth ; when,
in fact, he died about six o'clock on the evening of the
fifth, after a day of nearly total unconsciousness, and
when the storm of the night before had virtually ceased.
It was during the night of the fourth, while the storm
was at its height, that the dying Emperor appeared in his
delirium to live his life over again : his death was a peace-
ful and quiet one, without a word or a sound to denote
any thought on his part.
THK UKATH-BKn OK NAI'OI.KON.
MKS. \V AKKII i i> AND Mi;*. I.K.I-.
The wild and foaming wave
Broke on the island strand
Win-re a monarch found a living grave
\Yith a tried yet broken band.
And the ocean winds were high.
And the tempest walked abn>ad.
When that eagle caged was called to die
1 hat soul restored to (mil.
488 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
No woman's form was there,
An angel 'mid the gloom ;
But war-worn men, in stern despair,
Watched in that midnight room.
Those eyes which proudly looked
On strife and hostile spears,
And shame and insult never brooked,
Were now all dim with tears.
But he for whom they wept
Their crownless Emperor
His spirit still its vigils kept
O'er the purple tide of war.
Far from that dying bed,
From the nerveless heart and limb,
From the bitter tears around him shed,
And the torches burning dim ;
Far from the foeman's stings
The isle in the lonely seas
That spirit fled on her eagle wings,
As a bird on the morning breeze.
And he seemed in death to stand,
As on many a glorious day,
With folded arms and high command,
Once more a tctc d'aruie'c.
He heard the cannon's roar
'T was but the thundering sea ;
And the trumpet pealed on his ear once more-
'T was the tempest sweeping free ;
And the crash of armies meeting,
And the wail of the crushed and dying
'T was but the surf on the white sands beating,
O
And the eatrlc's scream in flvinf their number, Sergeant Hubert, refused to leave
his dead chief, and he remained for nineteen years to
guard the solitary tomb. \Yhen France recalled Napo-
leon, this faithful soldier followed his remains to their
final resting-place.
THK DKAD NATO I. EON.
Helena ! lone and rocky tomb !
Art conscious of thv trust ?
THE DEAD NAPOLEON. 491
Thy bosom, quiet isle ! inurns
An Emperor in dust !
And dynasty and diadem
Are with his rageless brow,
Adorned they him alone, on earth
Indeed, him onlv, now !
Xo empire which his spirit reared,
No sceptre which he won,
Is heritage by him bestowed,
Or gilds a loyal son.
Mis power, magnificence, and pride
Are buried with his frame ;
Of all his glories, but survives
The glory of his name !
He trod the Alpine hills, and shook
His sceptre from their brow
O'er startled Italy and bade
Her hundred cities bow !
An unresisted conqueror
Trampled the Caisars' halls ;
He gazed upon the hills ot Rome,
And thundered at her walls !
He shook the giant Pyramids,
And bade old Kgypt kneel ;
lie gave the suppliant his law.
The Syrian his steel !
lie wrote at Austerlitx. i:i blood-
I'roud Austria subdued !
At Jena humbled Prussia bowed
That urn of ashes sued !
492 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
He smote the autocrat, and flung
The gates of Moscow wide,
And revelled in her palaces,
And trampled on her pride !
Lo ! lo ! her thousand spires are lit
To guide the conqueror's way !
And Russia's snows, like silver seas,
Illuminated lay !
But hark ! his hour of triumph ends !
Behold on Elba's shore
The desolater of the world
His desolation o'er !
Again he girds that blade of power
The prisoner is free!
The shriek of startled Europe shook
The pillared Pyrenee !
Kings leapt, convulsive, to the field
To subjugate or die ;
From Europe unto Asia's sands
\Ycnt up the battle cry.
And Britain trembled on her tide.
Displayed her broadest shield ;
And rushing to the fearful strife,
The war cry trebly pealed !
Ay, but the world in maddened might
Could grapple with the Brave ;
1 1 is dying bed was Waterloo
Helena is his grave.
'T is well in Europe's reeking soil
That bosom could not sleep ;
That giant spirit's prison house
Should be the mighty deep !
THE DEAD NAPOLEON. 493
Could Austerlitz or Jena hold
Their hero's trodden dust ?
Their swelling brains would bleed afresh
Their throbbing bosoms burst !
Ay, fitting grave, that lonely isle,
Where but the pilgrims tread,
And not the careless steps of all
Make echoes o'er his head.
THE GRAVE OF NAPOLEON.
TlIE story is told that, soon after the death of Napo,
Icon, a party of ladies, on their way from India to England,
landed at St. Helena, and visited the tomb of the Emperor.
After they had viewed the grave of the mighty dead, and
as they were about to seat themselves on the grass, in
order to enjoy their noon-day lunch, one of their number
discovered a spring near by, from which she dre\v enough
water to furnish each of the party a drink. This spring,
they were told, had been a great favourite of Napoleon's;
and, as they drank the cold, sparkling beverage, one of
them soberly and seriously observed : " I low happy Bona-
parte must have been to have had such delicious water to
drink ! " The others smiled at the philosophy of their
friend, which enabled her to find in a glass of pure water
an antidote against the loss of health, liberty, power, and
domestic affection. As they went away, the ladies filled
their bottles, with the water, and carried it to England as
a souvenir of their visit to the tomb of the great Napoleon.
This incident was the occasion for the following lines
from a young provincial poet, Mr. C. A. Hurlbert of
Shrewsbury :
THE (iRAYE OF NAPOLEON.
C. A. IlrKI.l'.KRT.
The tempest is hush'd and the Eagle is dead ;
His thunderbolts fly, and his wings clap no more:
494
THE GRATE OF NAPOLEOX. 495
The plumes that to war and to victory led,
Forever lie folded on Helena's shore.
But where is the tomb that should mark the repose
Of that bright-flaming Comet on History's pages ?
Or the shrine which the bay and the laurel crown strews
Where the song echoes loudly the Wonder of ages?
Beneath the deep shade of a mute willow only,
O'er his still honoured relic's pale History weeps;
And a titleless stone, midst its mountains so lonely.
Alone marks the spot where Napoleon sleeps.
A few heartfelt tears at his burial fell,
But no orphan or parent or widow was there ;
And Friendship alone op'd its tear crystal well,
To water the willows which mourn for him there.
But tears do not speak all the anguish of grief
'T is deeper when pain stops the springs of the eye ;
When the heart is confined, and deprived of relief
In the sweet balm of nature, the tear or the sigh.
And the soldier still heaves in his soul that deep sigh,
When he thinks of His glory remembers His war^ :
And with mourning of sorrow, which never can die.
Still honours His name and is proud of his scars.
Immortal with man when mausoleums are rotten,
While Genius is honoured and conquests enhance.
He shall need not the praise of the early forgotten-
His fame is impressed on the bosom of France !
Barren Isle! thou dost hold in thy sea-beaten bosom
His ashes be proud of the treasure that 's there :
For Pilgrims for ages shall scatter their blossom.
Till thv deserts smile lovelv. thv rocks become fair.
NAPOLEON.
TlIK following stanzas are a translation of part of a
noble ode, written for the fifth of May, the anniversary
of Napoleon's death, by Manzoni, the celebrated Italian
poet and novelist :
The stormy joy, the trembling hope,
That wait on mightiest enterprise ;
The panting heart of one whose scope
Was empire, and who gained the prize
And grasped a crown of which it seemed
Scarce less than madness to have dreamed
All these were his ; glory that shone
The brighter for its perils past ;
The rout, the victory, the throne,
The gloom of banishment at last-
Twice in the very dust abased,
And twice on fortune's altar raised.
His name was heard ; and mute with fear
Two warring centuries stood by,
Submissive from his mouth to hear
The sentence of their destiny ;
While he bade silence be, and sate
Between them, arbiter of fate.
lie passed, and on this barren rock
Inactive closed his proud career,
A mark for envy's rudest shock ;
For pity's warmest, purest tear;
496
NAPOLEON. 497
For hatred's unextinguishcd fire,
And love that lives when all expire.
As on the drowning seaman's head
The wave comes thundering from on high
The wave to which, afar displayed,
The wretch had turned his straining eye,
And gazed along the gloomy main
For some far sail, but gazed in vain
So on his soul came back the wave
Of melancholy memory.
1 low oft hath he essayed to grave
His image for posterity,
Till o'er th' eternal chronicle
The weary hand desponding fell.
How oft, what time the listless day
Hath died, and in the lonely flood
The Indian sun hath quenched his ray,
With folded arms the hero stood ;
While dreams of days no more to be
Throng back into his memory.
He sees his moving tents again,
The leaguered walls around him lie,
The squadrons gleaming o'er the plain,
The ocean wave of cavalry,
The rapid order promptly made,
And with the speed of thought obeyed.
Alas ! beneath its punishment.
Perchance, the wearied soul had drooped.
Despairing ; but a spirit sent
From heaven to raise the wretched stooped
And bore him where diviner air
Breathes balm and comfort to despair.
NAPOLEON'S GRAVE.
UNDER the willow at St. Helena Napoleon slept, wait-
ing the time when France would arise in her might, and
demand his second return. It was desertion and treach-
ery that accomplished his downfall. It was ingratitude
and cowardice that consigned him to a living tomb, lie
who had been a generous victor to the many monarch*
he had vanquished on the field of battle, in that he per-
mitted them to retain their crowns, was, during his dreary
exile, and at his death, without a friend among them all.
Not one raised a hand to lessen the anguish of his soul
during those last awful days. Not one but rejoiced when
they knew him dead. The history of Napoleon's exile
at St. Helena is an especial shame to England ; but Prus-
sia, Austria, and Russia cannot escape censure. They
could have insisted upon a different course of treatment
for their old foe ; the}" could have demanded, at least, an
honourable exile for the man who had spared them in his
days of power; the man who had voluntarily given him-
self up, expecting justice, but not torture. St. Helena,
as the tomb of Napoleon, became a place of interest to
the whole world, and visitors went there to get but a
glimpse of the unmarked grave of the man who so lately
had held the fate of Europe within the hollow of his
498
NA POL EON'S GKA I 'A. 499
hands. Poems without number were written, having for
their subject the illustrious dead. The following we think
one of the best :
NAPOLEON'S GKAVK.
RICHARD HKNKY WII.UK.
Faint and sad was the moonbeam's smile.
Sullen the moan of the dying wave.
Hoarse the wind in St. Helen's isle,
As I stood by the side of Napoleon's grave.
And is it here that the hero lies,
Whose name has shaken the earth with dread ?
And is this all that the earth supplies,
A stone his pillow, the turf his bed ?
Is such the moral of human life ?
Are these the limits of glory's reign?
Have oceans of blood, and an age of strife,
And a thousand battles been all in vain ?
Is nothing left of his victories now
Hut legions broken, a sword in rust,
A crown that cumbers a dotard's brow,
A name and a requiem, dust to dust .*
Of all the chieftains whose thrones lie rear'd,
Was there none that kindness or faith c< mid bind 5
Of all the monarchs whose crowns he spared.
Had none one spark ot his Roman mind J
Did Prussia cast no repentant glance,
I)id Austria shed no remorseful tear.
When England's truth, and thine honour, France.
And thy friendship, Russia, were blasted here '
500 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
No holy leagues like the heathen heaven
Ungodlikc shrunk from the giant's shock ;
o o
And glorious Titai], the unforgiven,
Was dooni'd to his vulture and chains and rock.
And who were the gods that decreed thy doom?
A German Caesar, a Prussian sage,
The dandy prince of a counting-room,
And a Russian Greek of earth's darkest age.
Men call'd thee Despot, and call'd thee true ;
But the laurel was earn'd that bound thy brow :
And of all who wore it, alas! how few
Were freer from treason and guilt than thou !
Shame to thee, Gaul, and thy faithless horde !
Where was the oath which thy soldiers swore?
Fraud still lurks in the gown, but the sword
Was never so false to its trust before.
Where was thy veterans' boast that day,
" The Old Guard dies, but it never yields "?
Oh, for one heart like the brave Dessaix,
One phalanx like those of thine early fields !
Hut, no, no, no ! It was Freedom's charm
Gave them the courage of more than men ;
You broke the spell that twice nerved each arm,
Though you were invincible only then.
Yet St. Jean was a deep, not a deadly blow ;
( )ne struggle, and France all her faults repairs ;
Hut the wild Fayctte and the stern Carnot
Are duprs, and ruin thy fate and theirs!
NAPOLEON II., DUKE nv KEK HSTAUI.
From an engraving by Ramus, after l'hili|>|>oteaux.
1'ari-- (no date).
ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF
REICHSTADT.
ON the twenty-second of July, 1832, Napoleon's son, the
Duke of Reichstadt, died, a prisoner, virtually, in the
hands of the Austrian Government. Born King of Rome
and heir to the mightiest empire on earth, he died an
Austrian Prince; an exile, stripped of the title that was
his by birth, and bearing that of a foreign country. With
his death the house of Napoleon, in a direct line, ceased
to exist. When Napoleon was sent to Elba the Empress
Marie Louise took the young King of Rome and went to
the home of her father, the Emperor of Austria. He
gave her Schonbrunn for a residence, and, by a treaty
among the Allies, she was made Duchess of Parma for
life. Hardly had she quitted France ere her love for
Napoleon, if ever she had such a feeling, was transferred
to the Count de Neipperg, a general in the service of
Francis II., and when Xapoleon died, she married this
Austrian. The Count and her children by him were
always first in her affections. Napoleon was forgotten,
and his son, deserted by his mother, was left to the care
of his grandfather, who, fortunately, had a real love for
the young Prince. Brought up and educated as an Aus-
trian subject, the Duke of Kcichstadt entered the army
5O2 -/ METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
of that nation as soon as his age would permit. But an
Austrian education and an Austrian uniform never for a
moment effaced from the mind of the Duke the fact that
his father had been Emperor of France, and that he was
his heir. A true Frenchman he lived, and a loyal son he
died. When he was at the point of death he said, sadly,
" My birth and my death that is all my history." But
what an eventful history it was ! At his birth, Paris and
all France went wild with enthusiasm. The twenty-second
roar of the gun, which told the people of Paris that the
Empress had given Napoleon a son instead of a daughter,
was the occasion for unbounded rejoicing. Never was
babe born with brighter prospects for a brilliant future,
and yet four years were to cover his reign as King of
Rome ; Napoleon II. he was never to be ; as Duke of Reich-
stadt, an Austrian Prince, he was to live and die. He
was not at Paris to greet his father upon his return from
Elba ; nor, dead, was he allowed to sleep with him upon
his return from St. Helena. The fate of the son was truly
as sad as that of the father.
)N THE UK ATI I OF TIIK UL'KK OF KKICIISTADT
1 leir of that name
Which shook with sudden terror the far earth,
Chiltl of strange destinies e'en from thy birth,
When kings and princes round thy cradle came,
And gave their crowns, as playthings, to thine hand,
Thine heritage the >poils of many a land !
ON THE DEA Til OF THE DUKE O/-' REICH STAD T. 503
Ho\v were the schemes
Of human foresight baffled in thy fate,
Thou victim of a parent's lofty state !
What glorious visions filled thy father's dreams
When first he gazed upon thy infant face.
And deemed himself the Rodolph of his race!
Scarce had thine eyes
Beheld the light of day, when thou wert bound
With power's vain symbols, and thy young brow crowned
With Rome's imperial diadem the pri/.e
From priestly princes by thy proud sire won.
To deck the pillow of his cradled son.
Vet where is now
The sword that flashed as with a meteor light,
And led on half the world to stirring fight,
Bidding whole seas of blood and carnage flow '
Alas! when foiled on his last battle plain,
Its shattered fragments forged thy father's chain !
Far worse tJiv fate
Than that which doomed him to the barren rock ;
Through half the universe was felt the shock"
When down he toppled from his high estate;
And the proud thought of still acknowledged power
Could cheer him e'en in that disastrous hour.
Hut thou, poor boy !
Iladst no such dreams to che.it the lagging hours;
Thy chains still galled, 'ho' wreathed with tairest
flowers ;
Thou hadst no images of by-gone joy.
No vision of anticipated fame.
To bear thin.- through a lite- of >loth and --liame.
504 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
And where was she
Whose proudest title was Napoleon's wife ?
She who first gave, and should have watched, thy life,
Trebling a mother's tenderness for thee,
Despoiled heir of Empire ? On her breast
Did thy young head repose in its unrest?
No ! round her heart
Children of humbler, happier lineage twined ;
Thou couldst but bring dark memories to mind
Of pageants where she bore a heartless part ;
She who shared not her monarch-husband's doom
Cared little for her first-born's living tomb.
Thou art at rest !
Child of Ambition's martyr, life had been
To thee no blessing, but a dreary scene
Of doubt and dread and suffering at the best ;
For thou wert one whose path, in these dark times,
Would lead to sorrows it may be to crimes.
Thou art at rest !
The idle sword has worn its sheath away ;
The spirit has consumed its bonds of clay ;
And they who with vain tyranny comprest
Thy soul's high yearnings, now forget their fear,
And fling Ambition's purple o'er thy bier !
THE BRONZE STATUE OF NAPOLEON.
Ix 1830, when the French nation drove the Bourbons
from the throne, and placed the crown upon the head of
Louis Philippe, the "Citizen King," a petition was pre-
sented to the Chamber of Deputies, requesting that the
remains of Napoleon might be demanded of the British
government and restored to France. From that time
until the demand was actually made, and acquiesced in by
England, there was no cessation of Napoleonic enthusiasm.
In 1831 a national ordinance was passed, decreeing that
the statue of Napoleon which had adorned the Column
Vendome, and which the Allies had torn down, and in
derision dragged in the mud of the streets, should be re-
placed. In 1833, in accordance with that decree. "Na-
poleon in Bronze" was again at the top of that column
erected in commemoration of the gallant deeds of the
Grand .Army.
Barbier did not echo the voice of the people in the
following lines. lie spoke as a hater of the man who
made France what she is to-day; of the man who. with
all his faults, laboured onlv for his country, and in order
that she might rise among the greatest nations ot the
world and stand their equal. France to-day proves Bar-
506 A METKICAI. HISTORY OF NAPOLEO.V.
bier wrong and Napoleon right. The Bourbons are gone
forever, and France, a glorious republic, is but reaping
what her greatest leader sowed years ago.
THE BRONZE STATUE OK NAPOLEON.
AucrsTK BARHIEK.
Come, stoker, come, more coal, more fuel, heap
Iron and copper at our need !
Come, your broad shovel and your long arms steep,
Old Vulcan, in the forge you feed !
To your wide furnace be full portion thrown ;
To bid her sluggish teeth to grind,
Tear, and devour the weight which she doth own,
A fire palace she must find.
'T is well, 't is here ! the flame, wide, wild, intense,
Unsparing, and blood-coloured, flung
From the vault down, where the assaults commence
\Yith lingot up to lingot clung,
And bounds and howlings of delirium born ;
Lead, copper, iron, mingled well,
All twisting, lengthening, and embraced, and torn
And tortured, like the damned in hell!
The work is done ! the spent flame burns no more :
The furnace fires smoke and die ;
The iron flood boils over. Ope the door,
And let the haughty one pass by !
Roar, mighty river, rush upon your course!
A bound, and from your dwelling past
Dash forward, like a torrent from its source,
A flame from the volcano cast !
'I o gulp your lava-waves earth's jaws extend,
Your fury in one mass fling forth !
In your steel mould, O Bron/e, a slave descend,
An emperor return to earth !
THE BRONZE STATUE OF XATOLEOX. 507
Again Napoleon, 't is his form appears !
Hard soldier in unending quarrel,
Who cost so much of insult, blood, and tears,
For only a few boughs of laurel !
For mourning I'" ranee it \vas a day of grief
When, down from its high station flung,
His mighty statue, like some shameful thief,
In coils of a vile rope was hung;
When we beheld at the grand column's base.
And o'er a shrieking cable bowed,
The stranger's strength that might}- bron/e displace
To hurrahs of a foreign crowd ;
When, forced by thousand arms, head-foremost thrown.
The proud mass cast in monarch mould
Made sudden fall, and on the hard, cold stone
Its iron carcass sternly rolled.
The Hun, the stupid Hun, with soiled, rank skin,
Ignoble fury in his glance,
The Emperor's form, the kennel's filth within,
Drew after him, in face of France !
On those within whose bosoms hearts hold reign,
That hour like remorse must weigh
On each French brow ; 'tis the eternal stain.
Which only death can wash away !
I saw, where palace walls gave shade and ease,
The waggons of the foreign force ;
I saw them strip the bark which clothed our trees,
To cast it to their hungry horse.
I saw the Northman, with his savage lip.
Bruising our flesh till black with gore,
Our bread devour ; on our nostrils sip
The air which was our own before!
In the abasement and the pain, the weight
< )f outrages no word-; make known.
508 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
I charged only one being with my hate :
Be thou accursed, Napoleon !
O lank-haired Corsican, your France was fair
In the full sun of Messidor !
She was a tameless and a rebel mare,
Nor steel bit nor gold rein she bore ;
Wild steed with rustic flank ; yet, while she
trod,
Reeking with blood of royalty,
But proud with strong foot striking the old sod,
At last, and for the first time, free,
Never a hand, her virgin form passed o'er,
Left blemish nor affront essayed ;
And never her broad sides the saddle bore,
Nor harness by the stranger made.
A noble vagrant, with coat smooth and bright,
And nostril red, and action proud,
As high she reared, she did the world affright
With neighings which rang long and loud.
You came ; her mighty loins, her paces scanned,
Pliant and eager for the track ;
Hot Centaur, twisting in her mane your hand,
You sprang all booted to her back.
Then, as she loved the war's exciting sound,
The smell of powder and the drum,
You gave her earth for exercising ground,
Bade battles as her pastime come !
Then, no repose for her; no nights, no sleep !
The air and toil forcvermore !
And human forms like unto sand crushed deep.
And blood which rose her chest before !
Through fifteen years her hard hoofs' rapid course
So ground the generations,
And she passed, smoking in her speed and force,
Over the breast of nations;
THE BRONZE STATUE OF NAPOLEON. 509
Till, tired in ne'er earned goal to place vain trust,
To tread a path ne'er left behind,
To knead the universe and like a dust
To uplift scattered human kind,
Feebly and worn, and gasping as she strode,
Stumbling each step of her career.
She craved for rest the Corsican who rode.
But, torturer, you would not hear!
You pressed her harder with your nervous thigh,
You tightened more the goatling bit.
Choked in her foaming mouth her frantic cry,
And brake her teeth in fury-fit.
She rose, but the strife came. From farther fall
Saved not the curb she could not know ;
She went down, pillowed on the cannon-ball,
And thou wert broken by the blow !
Now born again, from depths where thou wert hurled,
A radiant eagle dost thou rise;
Winging thy flight again to rule the world,
Thine image reascends the skies.
No longer now the robber of a crown,
The insolent usurper,- he,
With cushions of a throne, unpitying. down
Who pressed the throat of Liberty,
Old slave of the Alliance, sad and lone,
Who died upon a sombre rock,
And France's image until death dragged on
For chain, beneath the stranger's stroke,
Napoleon stands, unsullied by a stain !
Thanks to the flatterer's tuneful race,
The lying poets who ring praises vain,
lias Cajsar 'mong the gods found place!
II is image to the city walls gives li;.;ht ;
His name has made the citv's hum.
5IO A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Still sounded ceaselessly, as through the flight
It echoed farther than the drum.
From the high suburbs, where the people crowd,
Doth Paris, an old pilgrim now,
Each day descend to greet the pillar proud.
And humble there his monarch brow ;
The arms encumbered with a mortal wreath,
With flowers for that bronze's pall.
(No mothers look on, as they pass beneath,
It grew, beneath their tears, so tall !)
In working-vest, in drunkenness of soul,
Unto the fife's and trumpet's tone,
Doth joyous Paris dance the Carmagnole
Around the great Napoleon.
Thus, gentle monarchs, pass unnoted on !
Mild pastors of mankind, away!
Sages, depart, as common brows have gone,
Devoid of the immortal ray !
For vainly you make light the people's chain ;
And vainly, like a calm flock, come
On your own footsteps, without sweat or pain,
The people, treading towards their tomb.
Soon as your star doth to its setting glide,
And its last lustre shall be given
By your quenched name, upon the popular tide
Scarce a faint furrow shall be riven.
Pass, pass ye on ! For you no statue high !
Your names shall vanish from the horde :
Their memory is for those who lead to die
Beneath the cannon and the sword ;
'1 heir love for him who on the humid field
By thousands lays to rot their bones ;
! or him who bids them pyramids to build.
And bear upon their backs the 1 stones !
THE DISIXTERMENT.
" IT is my wish that my ashes may repose on the banks
of the Seine, in the midst of the French people whom I
have loved so well." The time had come when Napoleon
was about to have his wish fulfilled. The people of
France, who had so shamefully deserted their chief in
his hoar of greatest need, were about to make amends.
On the fifth of May, 1840, the anniversary of the great
Emperor's death, France formally demanded of England
the ashes of her beloved dead. England, officially recog-
nising Napoleon's title as Emperor, and no longer speak-
ing of him in derision as " General Bonaparte," at once
granted the request. Thus, though dead, he had, at last,
gained the victory over his bitterest foe. Immediately,
t\vo war vessels were prepared to carry out the sacred
duty of bringing home the body of the " Emperor Na-
poleon," and with the Prince de Joinville, a son of the
King, in command, accompanied by the younger Las
Casas, Gourgaiid, and Bertram!, the expedition set out
for St. Helena. On the eighth of October the two vessels
dropped anchor in the harbour of that island. Every-
thing being prepared for the important operation, at half-
past t\velve o'clock in the morning of the fifteenth of
October, the twenty-fifth anniversary of the arrival of
Napoleon at St. Helena, the first blow was struck which
was to open the grave and give liberty to the hero, who
^ 1 1
512 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
had slept there so long, in order that his dying wish
might prevail that his ashes might repose in the midst
of the people he loved so well. After nine hours of un-
interrupted labour the work of exhumation was accom-
plished, and the coffin containing the remains of the
great warrior was removed from its tomb, and placed
under a tent erected near by for its reception. Here the
different enclosures were opened and the body of the
Emperor exposed to view. How great the surprise and
astonishment of his old comrades when they looked and
beheld their Emperor lying before them as they had
beheld him, as they supposed, for the last time, nineteen
years before ! The body was perfectly preserved, and
the features so life-like and natural that one would sup-
pose it was the first instead of the second funeral that
was taking place. After the body had been identified,
the coffin was again closed, and the ceremonies continued,
leading up to and including the surrender of the remains
of the Emperor by the Governor of the island, in the
name of the British Government, to France. From that
moment the same honours which the Emperor had re-
ceived while living were paid to his mortal remains. On
the eighteenth of October, with their precious charge
safely on board, the French vessels left St. Helena.
THE DISIXTERMENT.
BARTHOLOMEW SIMMONS.
Lost Lord of Song! who grandly gave
Thy matchless timbrel for the spear,
And. by old Hellas' hallow'd wave
Died at the feet of Freedom, hear!
THE DISINTRRMENT. 513
Hear from thy lone and lonely tomb,
Where 'mid thy own " inviolate isle,"
Beneath no minster's marble gloom,
No banner's golden smile,
Far from the swarming city's crowd,
Thy glory round thee for a shroud,
Thou slcep'st, the pious rustic's tread
The only echo o'er thy bed,
Save, few and faint, when o'er the foam
The Pilgrims of thy genius come,
From distant earth, with tears of praise,
The homage of their hearts to raise,
And curse the country's very name,
Unworthy of thy sacred dust,
That draws such lustre from thy fame,
That heaps such outrage on thy bust !
Wake from the dead, and lift thy brow
With the same scornful beauty now
As when beneath thy shafts of pride
Envenomed Cant the Python died !
Prophet no less than bard, behold
Matured the eventful moment, told
In those divine predictive words,
Pour'd to thy lyre's transcendant chords:
" If e'er his awful ashes can grow cold--
But no, their embers soon shall burst their
mould.
France shall feel the want
Of this last consolation, though but scant
Her honour! Fame and faith demand his bones.
To pile above a pyramid of thrones
If, then, from thy neglected bier,
One humblest follower thou canst hear.
O Mighty Master! rise and flee,
Swift as some meteor bold and bright,
514 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
One fragile cloud attending thee,
Across the dusky tracks of night,
To where the sunset's latest radiance shone
O'er Afric's sea interminably lone.
Below that broad unbroken sea
Long since the sultry sun has dropp'd,
And now in dread solemnity,
As though its course Creation stopp'd
One wondrous hour to watch the birth
Of deeds portentous unto earth ;
The moonless midnight far and wide
Solidly black flings over all
That giant waste of waveless tide
Her melancholy pall,
Whose folds in thickest gloom unfurl'd.
Each ray of heaven's high face debar.
Save, on the margin of the world
Where leans yon solitary star,
Large, radiant, restless, tingling with far smile
The jagged cliffs of a green barren isle.
Hark ! o'er the waves distinctly swell
Twelve slow vibrations of a bell !
And out upon the silent ear
At once ring bold and sharply clear,
With shock more startling than if thunder
Had split the slumbering earth asunder.
And iron sounds of crow and bar;
Ye scarce may know whence they come,
Whether from island or from star,
Both lie so hush'd and dumb!
On, swift and deep, those echoes sweep,
Shaking long-buried kings from sleep.
Up, up, ye spectred jailers! ho !
Your granite heaped his head in vain ;
THE DI SIN TERM EXT.
The very grave gives back your foe
Dead Caesar wakes again !
The nations, with a voice as dread
As that which once in Bethany
Burst to the regions of the dead,
And set the loved-one free,
Have cried, " Come forth ! " and lo ! again,
To smite the hearts and eyes of men
With the old awe he once instill'd
By many an unforgotten field,
Napoleon's look shall startle day
That look that, where its anger fell,
Scorch'd empires from the earth away
As with the blasts of hell !
Up from the dust, ye sleepers! ho !
By the blue Danube's stately wave.
From Berlin's towers, from Moscow's snow.
And Windsor's gorgeous grave !
Come, summoned by the omnific power.
The spirit of this thrilling hour ;
And, stooping from yon craggy height,
Girt by each perish'd satellite,
Each cunning tool of kingly terror,
Who served your reigns of fraud and error,
Behold, where with relentless lock
Ye chain'd Prometheus to his rock ;
And, when his tortured bosom ceased
Your vulture's savage beak to feast,
Where fathom-deep ye dug his cell.
And built and barr'd his coffin down,
Half doubting if even death could quell
Such terrible renown ;
Now 'mid the torch's solemn glare',
And bended knee:, and muttered prayer.
Within that green sepulchral glen
l/ncover'd groups of warrior men
516 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Breathless performed the high behest
Of winning back, in priceless trust
For the regenerated West,
Your victim's mighty dust.
Hark ! how they burst your cramps and rings !
Ha, ha ! ye bandied, baffled kings!
Stout men, delve on with axe and bar !
Ye 're watched from yonder restless star ;
Hew the tough masonry away,
Bid the tomb's ponderous portals fly !
And firm your sounding levers sway,
And loud your clanking hammers ply !
Nor falter though the work be slow.
Ye something gain at every blow,
While deep each heart in chorus sings :
" Ha, ha ! ye bandied, baffled kings ! "
Brave men, delve in with axe and bar !
Ye 're watched from yonder glorious star.
'T is morn ; the marble floor is cleft,
And slight and short the labour left.
'T is noon ; they wind the windlass now,
To heave the granite from his brow.
Back to each gazer's waiting heart
The life-blood leaps with anxious start;
Down Bertrand's cheeks the tear-drop steals,
Low in the dust Las Casas kneels.
(Oh ! tried and trusted! still, as long
As the true heart's fidelity
Shall form the theme of harp and song.
High bards shall sing of ye!)
One moment, and thy beams, O sun,
The bier of him shall look upon,
\Vho, save the heaven-expelled, alone
Dared envv thee thv bla/.incr throne !
THE DISINTLKMKNT. 517
Who haply oft, with gaze intent.
And sick from victory's vulgar \var.
Panted to sweep the firmament,
And dash thee from thy car.
And cursed the clay that still confined
His narrow conquests to mankind.
'T is done ; his chiefs are lifting now
The shroud from that tremendous br<>w,
That with the lightning's rapid might
Illumed Marcngo's awful night,
Flash'd over Lodi's murderous bridge.
Swept Prussia from red Jena's ridge.
And broke once more the Austrian sword
By Wagram's memorable ford.
And may man's puny race that shook
Before the terrors of that look,
Approach unshrinking now, and see
How far corruption's mastery
Has tamed the tvrant tamer!
Raise
That silken cloud ; what meets the ga/.e ?
The scant}' dust, or whitening bones.
Or fleshless jaws' horrific mirth.
Of him whose threshold rose on thrones,
A mocker}' now to earth ?
No ; even as though his haughty clay
Scoff'd at the contact of decay.
And from his mind's immortal flame
Itself immortalised became.
Tranquil!}' tin.' re Napoleon lies revealed.
Like a king sleeping on his own proud shield.
Harnessed for conflict, and that eagle-star,
Whose fire-eved I.e'ji<>n foremost waked the war.
5l8 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Still on his bosom, tarnished, too, and dim,
As if hot battle's cloud had lately circled him.
Fast fades the vision ; from that glen
Wind slow those aching-hearted men,
While every mountain echo floats,
Filled with the bugle's regal notes ;
And now the gun's redoubled roar
Tells the long peak and mighty main,
Beneath his glorious tri-colour
Xapoleon rests again !
And France's galley soon shall sail,
Shall spread triumphant to the gale,
Till, lost upon the lingering eye,
It melts and mingles in the sky.
Let Paris, too, prepare a show,
And deck her streets in gaudy woe ;
And rear a more than kingly shrine,
Whose taper's blaze shall ne'er be dim,
And bid the sculptor's art divine
Be lavished there for him.
And let him take his rest serene
(Even so he \villed it) by the Seine ;
But ever to the poet's heart,
Or pilgrim musing o'er those pages
I Replete with marvels) that impart
1 1 is story unto ages ;
The spacious azure of yon sea
Alone liis minster floor shall be,
Coped by the stars ; red evening's smile
I 1 is epitaph ; and thou, rude isle,
Austerely browed and thunder-rent,
Napoleon's only monument !
NAPOLEON'S RETURN.
TlIE voyage from St. Helena afforded only one incident
of note. As the little fleet bearing the sacred relics was
about crossing the equator a French frigate was met,
which announced the startling news that there was grave
*->" o
probability war had already commenced between England
and France over the Turkish-Egyptian treaty. It was at
once resolved by the Prince de Joinville and those under
him that, if the news should prove true, they would sink
the vessel carrying the remains of the Emperor rather
than surrender them again to England. Fortunately,
the reported war cloud passed away, and France was
reached in safety. Napoleon was again with his own.
A complete collection of the poetry written on the sub-
ject of Napoleon's return from St. Helena would fill a
volume. The few selections which follow have been
chosen as best suited to the purpose in view.
NA1'\'s KKTl'KX.
Mi-- \V.\i I.ACF.
A bark has left the sea-girt isle,
A prince is at the helm,
She bears the exile emperor
Back t< > his ancient realm.
520 A METKICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
No joyous shout bursts from her crew,
As o'er the waves they dance,
But silently, through foam and spray,
Seek the}' the shores of France.
A soldier comes! Haste, comrades, haste!
To greet him on the strand ;
'T is long since by his side yc fought
For Glory's chosen land ;
A leader comes ! Let loud huzzas
Burst from the extended line,
And glancing arms and hemlets raised
In martial splendour shine.
A conqueror comes ! Fly, Austrian, fly
Before his awful frown !
Kneel, Lombard, kneel ! that pallid brow
Has worn the Iron Crown !
The eagles wave ! the trumpet sounds!
Amid the cannons' roar.
Ye victors of a hundred fields,
Surround your chief once more!
A monarch comes! From royal arms
Remove the envious rust ;
A monarch comes ! the triple crown
Is freed from gathering dust.
Guard him not to the halls of state,
His diadem is riven ;
But bear him where yon hallowed spire
Is pointing up to heaven :
And with the requiem's plaintive swell,
\Yith dirge and solemn prayer,
Knter the marble halls of death,
And throne your monarch there!
NAPOLEON'S KETUKN. 521
Napoleon comes ! Go, speak that word
At midnight's awful hour;
In Champ dc Mars will it not prove
A spell of fearful power?
Will not a shadowy host arise
From field and mountain ridge,
From Waterloo, from Austerlit/,
From Lodi's fatal bridge,
And wheel in airy echelon,
From pass and height and plain,
To form upon that ancient ground
Their scattered ranks again?
Go speak it in the Louvre's halls,
'Mid priceless works of art ;
Will not each lifelike figure from
The glowing canvas start ?
Go to Versailles, where heroes frown,
And monarchs live, in stone ;
Across those chiselled lips will not
A startling murmur run ?
No, no, the marble still may be
Cold, cold and silent. So is he.
The pencil's living hues may bloom,
But his have faded in the tomb;
And warriors in their narrow homes
Sleep, reckless that their leader conies.
Napoleon comes! but Rhine's pure flood
Rolls on without a tinge of -blood ;
The Pyramids still frown in gloom
And grandeur o'er an empty tomb ;
And sweetly now the moonbeam smiles
Upon the fair Venetian isles.
522 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Napoleon comes ! but Moscow's spires
Have ceased to glow with hostile fires ;
No spirit, in a whisper deep,
Proclaims it where the Caesars sleep ;
No sign from column, tower, or dome,
A man that once was feared at Rome,
For life and power have passed away,
And he is here, a king of clay.
He will not wake at war's alarms,
Its music or its moans;
He will not wake when Europe hears
The crash of crumbling thrones
And institutions gray with age
Are numbered with forgotten things,
And privilege and " right divine "
Rest with the people, not their kings.
Now raise the imperial monument,
Fame's tribute to the brave ;
The warrior's place of pilgrimage
Shall be Napoleon's grave.
France, envving long his island tomb
' ^ O O
Amid the lonely deep,
Has gained at last the treasured dust !
Sleep ! mighty mortal, sleep!
THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON.
EARLY in the morning of November 30, 1840, the Belle
Panic and the Favourite anchored in the harbour of Cher-
bourg : where, on the eighth of December, the remains of
the might}- dead were transferred -from the Belle Panic to
the steamer Normandie, and from whence the voyage up
the Seine began. At Havre the body was again trans-
ferred to the smaller vessel especially prepared t carry
the dead Emperor to the gates of Paris. The journey up
the Seine was a series of continued ovations and demon-
strations of welcome. The people for miles around
(locked to the river to greet and to pay homage t<> the
remains of the man who had done so much for them and
for their country in the days of his power. ( )n the four-
teenth the flotilla. Consisting of twelve vessel.^, reached
Courbevoie, a small village about four miles from Paris.
Here the remains were transferred from the steamer to
the shore. The preparations for receiving the illustrious
dead, and for escorting the " Emperor Napoleon" to his
last resting place were of a kind unparalleled in history.
The story of the Second Funeral ha-; been told so many
times, in poetry and in prose, that it were idle t< repeat
it, in detail, here. The fifteenth of December, 1840. was
a dav such as Paris never before- or ever a-jain >ha!i wit-
524 -4 METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
ness. The entire population of the city took part in the
celebration, for celebration it truly was. Over one
hundred thousand soldiers were present on this great
national occasion. The vete'rans of the armies of Italy
and of Egypt, of Spain and of Russia, heroes of the
Pyramids, Marengo, Austerlitz, Jena, Wagram, Moscow,
and Waterloo, were there to welcome their dead chief.
Every member of the reigning family was at the Inva-
lides ; but the dead warrior alone represented his family.
Visitors from all parts of the world were in Paris. All
were free to come, except the brothers and nephews of
him to whose memory these honours were paid ; they
were still proscribed, in exile or in prison.
The following poem, by an unknown author, tells the
story of the Second Funeral in a clear and graphic
manner :
THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON.
A NUN.
Cold and brilliant streams the sunlight on the wintry banks
of Seine,
Gloriously the imperial city rears her pride of tower and
fane ;
Solemnly, with dec}) voice, pealeth Notre Dame, thine
ancient chime,
Minute guns the death-bell answer in the same deep,
measured time.
On the unwonted stillness gather sounds of an advancing
host,
As the rising tempest chafeth on St. 1 Iclen's far-off coast ;
THE SECOND FUNERAL OF XArOLF.OX. 525
Nearer rolls a mighty pageant, clearer swells the funeral
strain,
From the barrier arch of Xeuilly pours the giant burial
train.
Dark with eagles is the sunlight, darkly on the golden air
Flap the folds of faded standards; eloquently mourning
there,
O'er the pomp of glittering thousands, like a battle-phan-
tom flits
Tatter'd flag of Jena, Friedland, Arcola, and Austerlit/..
Eagle-crowu'd anil garland-circled, slowly moves the
stately car,
'Mid a sea of plumes and horsemen, all the burial pomp
of war ;
Riderless, a war-worn charger follows his dead master's
bier-
Long since battle-trumpet roused him -he but lived to
f> >llow here.
From his grave 'mid ocean's dirges, moaning surge and
sparkling foam,
Lo, the Imperial Dead returneth ! Lo, the Hero's dust
Comes home !
1 Ie hath left the Atlantic island, lonely vale and \\ illow tree,
'N'eath the Jnvalides to slumber, 'mill the (Jallic ("hivalry.
(jlorious tomb o'er glorious sleepers! gall, ml fellowship
to share
Paladin ami Peer and Marshal France, thy noblest dust
is there !
Names that light thy battle annals ! Names that shook
the heart of earth !
Stars in crimson War's hori/.oii synonym-; for martial
worth !
526 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
4
Room within that shrine of heroes ! place, pale spectres
of the past !
Homage yield, ye battle-phantoms ! Lo, your mightiest
comes at last !
Was his course the Woe out-thunder'd from prophetic
trumpet's lips ?
Was his type the ghostly horseman shadow'd in the
Apocalypse ?
Gray-hair'd soldiers gather round him, relics of an age of
war,
Followers of the Victor-Eagle, when his flight was wild
and far ;
Men who panted in the death-strife on Rodrigo's bloody
ridge,
Hearts that sicken'd at the death-shriek from the Russian's
shatter'd bridge.
Men who heard the immortal war-cry of the wild Egyptian
fight :
" Forty centuries o'erlook us from yon Pyramid's gray
height."
They who heard the moans of Jaffa, and the breach of
Acre knew,
They who rushed their foaming war-steeds on the squares
of Waterloo
They who loved him, they who fear'd him, they who in
his dark hour fled,
Round the mighty burial gather, spell-bound by the awful
Dead !
Churchmen, 1'rinces, Statesmen, Warriors, all a kingdom's
chief array,
And the Fox stands, crowned Mourner, by the Eagle's
hero-clay.
THE SECOND EL' \EKAL OF NAPOLEOK. 527
But the last high rite is paid him, and the last deep knell
is rung,
And the cannons' iron voices have their thunder-requiem
sung
And 'mid banners icily drooping, silent gloom and moul-
dering state,
Shall the Trampler of the world upon the Judgment-
trumpet wait.
Yet his ancient foes had given him nobler monumental
pile,
Where the everlasting dirges moan'd around the burial
Isle-
Pyramid upheaved by Ocean in his loneliest wilds afar.
For the War-King thunder-stricken from his fiery battle-
car !
THE RETURN OF NAPOLEON FROM ST.
HELENA.
As Thackeray has given us, in prose, his version of
what he saw at the Second Funeral of Napoleon, and
how the whole arrangement impressed him ; so Mrs.
Sigourney has told us, in poetry, of what she beheld on
that occasion, and how it all impressed her.
THE KKTUKX OF XAPOI.KOX FROM ST. JIKLKNA.
I.YDIA II. SlCOURNEY.
I lo ! city of the gay !
Paris ! what festal rite
Doth call thy thronging million forth,
All eager for the sight ?
Thy soldiers line the streets
In fixed and stern array,
With buckled helm and bayonet,
As on the battle-day.
Hy square and fountain side,
Heads in dense masses rise ;
And tower and battlement and tree
Are studded thick with eyes.
Comes there some conqueror home
In triumph from the fight,
\Yith spoil and captives in his train,
The trophies of his might ?
= 23
RETURN OF NAPOLEON EROM S7\ HELENA. 529
The " Arc de Triomphe " glows !
A martial host arc nigh !
France pours in long succession forth
Her pomp of chivalry.
Xo clarion marks their way,
No victor trump is blown ;
Why inarch they on so silently,
Told by their tread alone?
Behold ! in glittering show,
A gorgeous car of state !
The white-plumed steeds, in cloth <>f gold.
Bow down beneath its weight ;
And the noble war-horse, led
Caparisoned along,
Seems fiercely for his lord to a>k,
As his red eye scans the throng.
\Vho rideth on yon car?
The incense flameth high.
Comes there some demi-god of old ?
Xo answer ! no reply !
Who rideth on yon car ?
Xo shout his minions raise.
But by a lofty chapel dome
The muffled hero stays.
A king is standing there,
And, with uncovered head.
Receives him in the name of France :
Receiveth whom? The dead '
Was lie not buried deep
In island cavern drear.
(iirt by the sounding ocean surge ."
llo\\- came that -leeper here .'
530 A METRICAL HISTORY OF NAPOLEON.
Was there no rest for him
Beneath a peaceful pall,
That thus he brake his stony tomb,
Ere the strong angel's call?
Hark ! Hark ! the requiem swells,
A deep, soul-thrilling strain !
An echo never to be heard
By mortal ear again.
A requiem for the chief
Whose fiat millions slew
The soaring eagle of the Alps,
The crushed at Waterloo ;
The banished who returned,
The dead who rose again,
And rode in his shroud the billows proud.
To the sunny banks of Seine.
They laid him there in state,
That warrior strong and bold
The imperial crown, with jewels bright,
Upon his ashes cold ;
While round those columns proud
The blazoned banners wave,
That on a hundred fields he won,
With the heart's-blood of the brave.
And sternly there kept guard
His veterans scarred and old,
Whose wounds of Lodi's cleaving bridge,
Or purple Leipsic told.
Yes, there, with arms reversed,
Slow pacing, night and day,
Close watch beside the coffin kept
Those veterans < r rim and