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and there, after a conference with some of his general officers on his future operations, they were dismissed, and the brothers remained alone. The Conqueror grasped the hand of the hitherto inflexible patriot, and tracing on the map which lay before him the wide extent of his dominions, he said, “ Now choose—any part shall be yours—we will share them all.” Lucien replied that" his principles were unaltered, and would remain so; he could not therefore accept of his brother's proposal.”
Eh bien," rejoined the Emperor, " we shall meet again at dinner, when, perhaps” He left the room by one door; Lucien at the same instant quitted it by another, and entering the carriage he bad only just left, was, before the dinner hour arrived, when temptation was again to be thrown in his way, some leagues on the road to the retirement from which he did not again emerge till Napoleon became Emperor.
Here then is almost the same bare outline as in the prophetic tragedy of Alfieri. Timophanes is indeed a true and classic model of Buonaparte, though unlike him in some points; for Napoleon undoubtedly possessed the affections of his people, and his fame and conquests were more exleast expected, and his consequent meeting with Lucien, was unknown in that country till his return, nor has it ever been actually proved that the meeting did then take place; but the following incident, related to us by the officer already alluded to, and who did not leave his native country till after the event, goes far to establish the fact, confirmed as it was by the general report :
“ At the end of November, 1807," says our informant, “ I was returning from an afternoon's walk with my father, in the town of Vercelli (at a short distance from Mantua), past one of the principal inns in the place. Two carriages were stopping to change horses ; from the first of which, two persons, having the appearance of generals, descended to give orders. A third, having his head enveloped in the folds of a very large red and white shawl, remained sitting back in the cor. ner of the carriage, nor did he alter his position. In the second carriage my father fancied he recognized Champagny, then Minister of the Interior, whom he had formerly received at his house. The next day we learned that, in passing over the bridge at Sesia, half a mile from Vercelli
, the third person in the red and white shawl had been known by the officer on guard as Napoleon. Little attention was paid, however, to his assertion ; but what was our surprise at learning shortly after, through the public papers, that Napoleon had been received and fêted at Venice by an immense concourse of astonished people, for how and why he came, and whence he arrived, were equally a mystery. The two carriages which we had seen bad been traced to Mantua, and another was ascertained to have entered that city by the gate of the Po a few hours afterwards.” These circumstances, together with the report which arose at that time of Lucien's having refused to become Supreme Moderator of the Federation of Italy, which Napoleon is supposed to have taken this journey incognitio to consolidate, leave little or no doubt that the interview between Napoleon and his brother, which lately-published memoirs prove to have actually bappened at this period, took place at Mantua. The terms of their con. versation, though kept profoundly secret at the time, appear to have transpired subsequently in the form in which we have placed them before our readers. We go on to quote the words of our informant, as showing the sentiments of veneration and hope with which Napoleon was regarded even by those of republican principles at the period of his greatest glory, and how completely it seems to have dazzled the acutest judgments. After observing that such was the universal admiration for Napoleon throughout France and Italy (especially the latter) that, had his presence there been suspected, neither weather nor distance would have prevented the inhabitants almost of entire provinces from flocking to see him, he adds, " My father was a republican ; he detested the name alone, and not the person of any king, prince, or emperor whatever. Nevertheless he entertained sentiments of love, admiration, and even fondness for Napoleon, persuaded that he sincerely wished the happiness of all mankind, especially of the people of Italy. In reading the acts of his administration, my father often said to me, with tears of joy in his eyes, These are rigid laws; they are severe, it is true, but they are just, wise, beneficent, and paternal, and bearing the impress of Roman genius! Who knows if our age will understand them ? » »
tended; but the two characters, in their main particulars, are intrinsically the same, and although Lucien did not aspire to the ancient though equivocal' virtue of opposing and murdering his tyrant brother, yet the nobly patriotic sentiments expressed by the republican Timoleon are perfectly suited to the mode of thinking which he both professed and acted up to.
In the first interview between the brothers (act ii., scene ii.), the following speeches occur :
Timophanes. Perchance thou dost reproach me with the gift
Which thy wise valour made me in the field,
Of victory and life?
That double gift
I only mourn'd thy splendour.
Thine was the wisdom—what then couldst thou fear?
Thy flattery alike falls dead ; alas !
Assumed a new, till then unknown command ? This description keeps pace sufficiently with the opening of Napoleon's career to warrant its applicability. The following passage, in which the tyrant offers a share of his power to his brother, is equally well fitted. Timoleon has avowed that his brother shall only mount the throne over his corpse :
“ Timophanes. I am already there,
All that this hand hath ta'en from her, while I
Will proudly reign thy second."
“ Timophanes. Fall, then, the traitorous blow,
Strong in himself, reign envied and supreme." This is a trait peculiar to Napoleon himself; it was his own creed, perhaps only, like most of his designs, too noble to be realized. The next passage finely pourtrays the situation of a tyrant :
What hopest thou
That ne'er can be appeased.”
“ It is become a part of life itself,
The sole, immutable, and high resolve
Of reigning." Our extracts, however, must cease, our object being to give our readers a sufficient idea of the structure of the drama, and the characters of the two brothers, to establish the existence of the singular coincidence we have pointed out, and which was so apparent to the Italians immediately after Napoleon's short exaltation among them, that the tragedy became doubly popular, and the Emperor, his mother, and brother, were constantly designated by the titles of its characters, thus fulfilling the desire of the former to be compared with the heroes of antiquity in a manner but little congenial to his feelings.
In the meantime, the enormous masses of information continually appearing on the subject of Napoleon's life and campaigns must ultimately form as rich a store for the poets and romancers of a future age, as Froissart left behind him for those of the present (if in this era of utilitarianism all remains of the gaie science be not banished the world); and thus we cannot better conclude than in the words of Manzoni:
“ Was it true glory ? Time will end
That mighty Hand before,
Of its creative power."
I have only, in my life, known one lunatic--properly so called. In the days when I carried a satchel on the banks of the Shamsheen (a river whose half-lovely, half-wild scenery is tied like a silver thread about my heart,) Larry Wynn and myself were the farthest boarders from school, in a solitary farm-house on the edge of a lake of some miles square, called by the undignified title of Pomp’s Pond. An old negro, who was believed by the boys to have come over with Christopher Columbus, was the only other human being within anything like a neighbourhood of the lake (it took its name from him); and the only approaches to its waters, girded in as it was by an almost impenetrable forest, were the path through old Pomp's clearing, and that by our own door. Out of school, Larry and I were inseparable. He was a pale, sad-faced boy, and, in the first days of our intimacy, he had confided a secret to me which, from its uncommon nature, and the excessive caution with which he kept it from every one else, bound me to him with more than the common ties of schoolfellow attachment. We built wigwams together in the woods, had our tomahawks made of the same fashion, united our property in fox-traps, and played Indians with perfect contentment in each other's approbation.
I had found out, soon after my arrival at school, that Larry never slept on a moonlight night. With the first slender horn that dropped its silver and graceful shape behind the hills, his uneasiness commenced, and by the time its full and perfect orb poured a flood of radiance over vale and mountain, he was like one haunted by a pursuing demon. At early twilight he closed the shutters, stuffing every crevice that could admit a ray; and then, lighting as many candles as he could beg or steal from our thrifty landlord, he sat down with his book, in moody silence, or paced the room with an uneven step, and a solemn melancholy in his fine countenance, of which, with all my familiarity with him, I was almost afraid. Violent exercise seemed the only relief, and when the candles burnt low after midnight, and the stillness around the lone farmhouse became too absolute to endure, he would throw up the window, and, leaping desperately out into the moonlight, rush up the hill into the depths of the wild forest, and walk on with supernatural excitement till the day dawned. Faint and pale he would then creep into his bed, and, begging me to make his very common and always credited excuse of illness, sleep soundly till I returned from school. I soon became used to his ways, ceased to follow him, as I had once or twice endeavoured to do, into the forest, and never attempted to break in on the fixed and rapt silence which seemed to transform his lips to marble. And for all this Larry loved me.
Our preparatory studies were completed, and, to our mutual despair, we were destined to different Universities. Larry's father was a disciple of the great Channing, and mine a Trinitarian of uncommon zeal; and the two institutions of Yale and Harvard were in the hands of most eminent men of either persuasion, and few are the minds that could resist a four years' ordeal in either. A student was as certain to come
forth a Unitarian from one as a Calvinist from the other; and in the New England States these two sects are bitterly hostile. So, to the glittering atmosphere of Channing and Everett went poor Larry, lonely and dispirited; and I was committed to the sincere zealots of Connec ticut, some two hundred miles off, to learn Latin and Greek, if it pleased heaven, but the mysteries of “ election and free grace,” whether or no.
Time crept, ambled, and galloped by turns, as we were in love or out, moping in term-time, or revelling in vacation, and gradually, I know not why, our correspondence had dropped, and the four years had come to their successive deaths, and we had never met. I grieved over it; for in those days I believed, with a school-boy's fatuity,
“ That two, or one, are almost what they seem;" and I loved Larry Wynn, as I hope I may never love man or woman again—with a pain at my heart. I wrote one or two reproachful letters in my senior year, but his answers were overstrained, and too full of protestations by half; and seeing that absence had done its usual work on him, I gave it up, and wrote an epitaph on a departed friendship. I do not know, by the way, why I am detaining you with all this, for it has nothing to do with my story; but let it pass as an evidence that it is a true one. The climax of things in real life has not the regular procession of incidents in a tragedy.
Some two or three years after we had taken " the irrevocable yoke” of life upon us (not matrimony, but money-making), a winter occurred of uncommonly fine sleighing-sledging, you call it in England. At such times the American world is all abroad, either for business or pleasure. The roads are passable at any rate of velocity of which a horse is capable, smooth as montagnes Russes, and hard as is good for hoofs; and a hundred miles is diminished to ten in facility of locomotion. The hunter brings down his venison to the cities, the western trader takes his family a hundred leagues to buy calicoes and tracts, and parties of all kinds scour the country, drinking mulled wine and “flip,” and shaking the very nests out of the fir-trees with the ringing of their horses' bells
. You would think death and sorrow were buried in the snow with the leaves of the last autumn.
I do not know why I undertook, at this time, a journey to the west; certainly not for scenery, for it was a world of waste, desolate, and dazzling whiteness, for a thousand unbroken miles.
The trees were weighed down with snow, and the houses were thatched and half-buried in it, and the mountains and valleys were like the vast waves of an illimitable sea, congealed with its yesty foam in the wildest hour of a tempest. The eye lost its powers in gazing on it. The "spirit-bird” that spread his refreshing green wings before the pained eyes of Thalaba would have been an inestimable fellow-traveller. The worth of the eyesight lay in the purchase of a pair of green goggles.
In the course of a week or two, after skimming over the buried scenery of half a dozen states, each as large as Great Britain (more or less), I found myself in a small town on the border of one of our western lakes. It was some twenty years since the bears had found it thinly settled enough for their purposes, and now it contained perhaps twenty thousand souls. The oldest inhabitant, born in the town, was a youth in his minority. With the usual precocity of new settlements, it had already